Chase
IV.
Sleepy. I should just go to bed. The lights have been shut off. It's not like I have much of a choice...
Rage, imposing, almost ten feet tall, lurches towards Peter's sleeping body, but He stops to wait while fear and lust prepare him for the nightmare.
Fear grips his heart massaging it, making it beat faster. Lust gently caresses his inner thighs and listens as his breathing becomes shorter and quicker.
As they back away, Rage shambles forward. When he gets close enough to the body, he raises it from the bed by the ankles. In his free hand, he holds a cat of nine tails. With it, he whips the sleeping body's back...
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"Have you always been able to protect yourself, Mister Chase? Even as a child?"
Handcuffs at the wrists and ankles. Dog collar. Leash attached to the radiator. Naked, eleven year old body, facedown, stretched. Back, red marks. The belt. Perpetrator 5 of 5 pulls and holds the cuffs at my ankles, while perpetrator 2 of 5 slashes at my back with the belt.
"No.'
Rage stands behind Peter. He reaches out and places his hands, one on each of the shoulders. Kneeling in front of Peter, Depression squeezes his heart.
"Mister Chase? Sit up straight, shoulders back, feet planted on the ground, hands on your lap, deep breath, hold it, release." After a few seconds of silence.
"Flashback. No. Past memory. I know the difference. In this one, I'm in the kitchen, again, naked, again, attached to the radiator by the leash and the dog collar. The radiator is off. The window is open. Winter wind abruptly licks at me. Greg has me stretched out on my stomach. He pulls at me by the cuffs at my ankles. I'm pulling at the collar, trying to keep the air flowing into my lungs. Ana is slashing at my backside with a leather belt."
"I'm sorry that happened to you."
A third amorphous entity steps through the wall, it's Anger, wanting to slap the therapist.
"You have no reason to be; it's not like you could have been there to stop it but didn't. I'm sharing this because I know the difference between a flashback and a memory. What I just shared, was a memory. What I am about to share is a flashback. I'm going back to work. It's a crowded city street in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. The Sunnyside of the street is warm, but it's The Fall, so the wind is constant. Suddenly, it shifts from blowing behind me, to slamming into me head-on. With it comes the stench of rotting fish. In a heartbeat, I'm eleven years old, naked, on my knees. Willie is holding my arms behind me with one arm and with his other hand he is grabbing the back of my head by my hair and slamming my face between my aunt's legs. Gloria was obese. She was an alcoholic and a chronic smoker. She rarely bothered with her hygiene. I was drowning in her menstrual fluids. The flashback caused me to stumble to the left. Had it not been for the truck blaring it's horn as it sped by, I would be dead. The noise brought me back to the present. I looked down the street to see a homeless elderly man pulling out a discarded fish sandwich from McDonald's."
"Your entire frame is trembling. Let's stop for the breathing exercises."
"What I need is to stand and walk around a bit. I need to stretch my ribcage."
Peter waits for the therapist to stand first. He takes a deep breath. Sadness wants to wrap its arms around him, but Peter walks away. He walks the length of the office, turns, stretches his back, his sides, takes another deep breath and watches as all of the amorphous entities leave. Anger stubbornly remains.
"You've done alot of hard work today. How will you reward yourself?"
There's a Mr. Softee, ice cream truck parked at the corner. I'm going to get a hot fudge sundae."