Doomed (Fransykes)

Anti-Social Masochistic Rage (ASMR)

You took a knee and put some food in my cage
And then you taught me how to sit and behave
You told me, "Lick your fingertips for a taste"
And then you smacked me and you called me a waste

Haven't I been such a good good boy?
Haven't I been such a good good boy?

~•°•~•°•~•°•~•°•~

There was nothing more awkward than that moment. Daniel seemed as cheery and friendly as the first time, and Oliver was just as — if not more — out of place.

"So, Oliver!" Daniel spoke with a beam, crossing his legs. It seemed like he did that a lot. "How's it going?"

Oliver glanced around, hands hidden in his turtleneck's sleeves, back hunched over, mind barely grounded. Paying attention these days was harder and harder and Oliver was even more exhausted to the point where the cogitation to stay was tiring enough.

"It's going alright, I guess," Oliver mumbled, mindless to his bouncy leg. But it caught Daniel's attention and he was quickly scribbling down something with a hum. Oliver fixed his glasses, pursing his lips, keeping his eyes nowhere but everywhere. Quite like his mind.

"Okay," Danny nodded. One, two, three taps of the pen onto the cardboard. "Tell me about your week?"

Oliver pushed the air slowly through his teeth, jaw staying clenched. There was no patience left for this, no patience left to think or exist. Not that Oliver wanted to.

"Didn't do much this week. Uhm... I started having school lessons every morning," Oliver nodded a bit to himself. "There's a lot of homework. I watched a movie. That was it."

Daniel nodded. "Anything else?"

Oliver shook his head. There was more, of course there was, but he didn't want a stranger to know about Joshua even if he mentioned his friend on their last meeting. Their picnic and the breakdown he had, that oddly enough was followed by a peaceful state of mind for the rest of the day. And then Joshua got him to watch another movie before he left Oliver all alone.

Oliver slept fine that night. He wished he could say the same for the following nights. 

Nightmares were a recurring thing. You could even say they were routine, but there was something different regards the last few ones. His father was in them, which wasn't unusual, but there was something different about him. His father wasn't his father. His face, his voice, the way he carried himself, it was the same but he didn't feel the same.

The nightmares seemed to be the same as they have been ever since discovering his father's passing. They both were facing each other on a dimly lit room with this strange swaying darkness surrounding them. The darkness seemed to chant its music, quite like a lullaby, so loudly that it was impossible to hear your thoughts. Oliver was on mute, trying to talk, speak, whisper, cry, yet what left his lips was untangible ringing, just like his father's mouth.

And then the sequence followed. Oliver's father would raise his arms then flap them, like a featherless bird trying too desperately to follow a fate that wasn't its own. But the ropes tied tightly around his wrists were thick and visible despite nothing else being apparent. Things went like that for a while. Until the darkness' ballad gradually started quieting down enough so Oliver's thoughts were comprehensive. Usually, it was at this point that Oliver would realise he was asleep.