Authors Note: This is the prologue to an upcoming story that I am currently working on. I hope you like it and please review if you want to see more of this story.
P.S.: A lot of thanks and a lot of love go out to my girls Jacks and Rene for there help on this story.
I have not spoken in about a year now. Why? Well I really can't tell you. It's not as though I have forgotten how to speak; it's just what's the point of talking when no one around you is going to listen to what you have to say? Plus, I have also learned that you learn a lot more about your surroundings and the people you are around when you don't talk. In fact I don't even remember what my voice sounds like it's been so long since I've used it.
Am I crazy? Maybe, the jury is still out on that one. Staring up at the dingy ceiling of the hotel room that I am calling home for a night I idly trace the censor embedded in my ear, a permanent reminder of who I belong to. I can remember brighter days though before the events of the past year happened. I remember my mom and how her witty humor always made me smile. I remember my dad and how he always seemed to say the right things at exactly the right times. I remember my friends and how they always seemed to make me feel special by doing nothing at all but just being there. I remember our lazy days by the lake and in the park. I remember the feeling I used to get whenever I saw one of them smile at me. Sighing heavily, I roll over on my side on the uncomfortable bed, as those bright days seem so far away in this dark place. I am not the same boy I was in those memories and even I am not as naïve as to think that I can ever be that boy again. Too much has happened over the past year for any trace of that boy to be seen any where inside me now.
Cold hands are going down my boxers as if from out of nowhere but I know he was there the whole time watching and waiting for just the right time to pounce. I shiver as the hands slide my boxers down and off before striping me of my tee shirt. I roll over on my stomach as the hands urge me that way and I bite my lip as he crawls on top of me slowly like a cat observing his pray before going in for the kill. My tears have long since stopped and I merely stare at the red digits on the clock beside the bed with lifeless eyes as he starts to consume me with a fire that I have felt many times over the past year. I let a small whimper of pain escape me, he's hurting me, burning me, shouldn't I tell him? Shouldn't I cry out for him to stop? No, what would the point of that be? He wouldn't listen to me anyway, he never did.