Suburbs Boy

16 - #GoodbyeCruelWorld

Chad opened his eyes sharply.

How long had it been? Days, weeks? He had lost count after the tenth time the glass had been dug into his back and he had felt it with three times the agony that had been promised to him. Endless taunting had taught him that there really were worse things than death. Torture, torture designed in a way that was both emotionally damaging and physically paralyzing could break even the strongest man you could find.

The man had come in twice each day after giving him a glass of cool lemonade that had begun to taste like paper as the days went past to remind him that he was never getting out of this. He had tried to kill himself once by holding his breath until his head hurt but before he could fully die he inhaled and relieved his lungs, unfortunately. He had tried to refuse the drink in order to starve to death but instead he had been force fed.

He was doomed to nothing but miserable torture without any assurance it was going to be over one day.

Currently he was sitting in the same room of mirrors and his reflection stared back at him, gross and disturbing with the smoke of the grim reapers approach swirling all around him. A damaged boy. A damaged Suburbs Boy.

Chad chuckled.

How he missed hearing the words roll off the tip of the girls at his school's tongue. Even though it was meant to annoy and anger him, he would kill for a chance to hear someone call him that again. It made him feel as if he was worth something. Now he fully realized how easily a life could have been wasted. He should have helped more people. He should have sent more flowers to Jordan's hospital room. He should have gone to visit Trisha / Chris more often if it could have done anything at all to improve her condition. He should have done more things. He could just have been so easily snuffed out and he would have left nothing behind on this earth. He would have stood for nothing on this earth.

He would have been nothing.

And his soul. His poor soul would be ravaged by demons. If there really was heaven and hell he would be nowhere near the shining gates. 

But on the other hand, if he was not to go to hell but instead be anywhere else even if it was to be deemed as a lost soul wandering around the confines of this earth like a forgotten ghost he would be better off, wouldn't he be? He had not found anything on this earth as much as the earth had found nothing in him. His life was just a series of depression, anxiety, and betrayal from those he trusted most and for it to waste away would not be as much as a big deal as the life of anyone that he had come in contact with. If, by any miracle, he was to get out of this with a life ahead of him he would be nothing but a burden to himself and others. He would most surely end up taking his life as the times passed by.

#GoodbyeCruelWorld

At least here he served a purpose, he was a way for Vincent to escape from his demons and to release his fear and anger on somebody else. He was something. And he was noticed. To leave here would mean to return to not having anything to live or strive for. To return to that dark place where he had lived in denial of his sins and unhappiness and allow it to continue to eat at him each day until there was nothing left for it to eat at. Because there would be nothing left of him. Just a walking corpse. A dead zombie and even worse so.

He laughed. He was finally going crazy wasn't he? Being locked in the restrains of this room where he endured endless torture only to be refueled by fleeting thoughts of hope and the paralyzation of his limbs was taking away whatever inch of sanity he had left. He had already begun to forget about life outside the room of mirrors.

He had liked to play a game with himself when the occasion rose to it that he was awake without Vincent in the room and he had enough energy to think. He would look at himself in the mirror, count how many of his ribs were showing through his thin skin and try to find out how many mirrors were in the room, multiply his ribs by the mirror and find out how many of his ribs were being shown in the room at that particular moment. the number always seemed to increase each day.

He had begun to think of what it would be like to be eaten. It came to him when he played the game when he thought of everything where ribs were involved. Someone using their teeth to eat the muscle in his leg of to suck the juice out of his already broken bones - the thought sickened him and he thought to himself that if he managed to make it out of the four walls covered with mirrors in this room of mirrors, he would go vegetarian. 

The thought of food returned to him with the thought track that he had been following and his stomach grumbled loudly, begging to be fed anything but lemonade. He had once asked for an orange from Vincent. Because even if he felt that lemonade was enough to live on, wouldn't it be more fun to have more flesh to cut into? Vincent had stared at him and the next day a doctor with an extremely worried look on his face had asked him what he saw in blobs of ink. Blobs of ink, he had said and the doctor had recommended that his stress level should be reduced. Chad thought that funny. He was tied up and being tortured. How were his stress levels going to ever return to the recommended level?

Chad heard a car's engine revving which was usually a tell tale sign that Vincent was leaving the house which meant an hour or so of sleep for him. He smiled, tried to get cosy, and closed his eyes.

It wasn't long before he wasn't in this world anymore.