AGALMATOPHILIA

_-:21:-_

As the early morning sunlight weaves its way through the dusty unused curtains of the spare bedroom, and creeps its way up the side of the bed across Tyler's closed eyelids, coffee scents drift along the air, starting the tan boy awake.

The slumber he had resided in wasn't full and restful like he had hoped, broken pieces of sleep sporadically scatter his thoughts, false recollections of last night spot through this mind.

He springs up immediately aware that he wasn't in his own bed at home peacefully snoozing.

The duvet beside him is disturbed as if someone had slept there the night previous, so with confused eyes still filled with sleep, Tyler rubs his face in an attempt to wake himself up.

Fluttering throughout his chest arises and he recognises this as nerves, anxiety, fear of what was to come.

As he peels back his covers, he just about screams in horror with the cold biting his practically bare body.

Only his tight, clearly dirty pair of briefs cling to his crotch, the light blue fabric stained a deep dark blue, the side of his thigh sticky, vague echoes from last nights ventures remind and confuse him as to why he had woken up in his own ejaculate.

Pushing this aside for now, even the dress he had worn made him feel less vulnerable than right now, scrambling to find something to cover himself, Tyler wraps a spare blanket around his lower half, wider awake than previous, he glances around the room.

There's two widows in this room that lead onto the road below, but Tyler doesn't dare attempt another stunt, looking down at the hand he had sliced open.

The angry, swollen wound stares back, Tyler just clenches his fingers tight around it and pretends it doesn't exist.

His eyes flutter shut, insistent on remembering last night, unsure as to what had truly happened.

The thoughts of his father come back for a moment but Tyler is unsure when those memories mix with new ones.

He remembers being flat on his back with a hand pressed into his chest, but he doesn't fight back. He sees a flash of green swirl past his eyes, light green, the same pale green as his dress.

Then his fathers slit open throat with his life force draining onto the concrete below, finding its own way towards the drain and dripping down into the sewer.

Shaking his head, Tyler shivers at the thought. He couldn't have possibly hurt anyone, he was upstairs in bed last night.

Before he exists the room, he shoots another glance towards the bed, clearly he wasn't the only one in that bed last night.

He pads out into the the combined kitchen and dining, poking his head around the corner, Josh stands by the stairs, facing the window with a steaming mug cupped between his hands.

Less formally dressed, he stands with pants low hung around his hips, his shiny leather shoes tap the floor with every slight rock he makes on his heels.

The thumping within his chest grows harder and louder, mouth dry, Tyler reefs his head back, back to the wall.

That horrid flutter within remains and grows worse.

Tyler flees to the bathroom, chest practically collapsing in on itself, he swears he can hear his own heart.

Sliding down the wall he simultaneously pulls the blanket up and over his head, only his face peeking out.

Last night flashes through his head, just barely covering the details, but very sharp jagged edge of last nights features come perfectly into view, Tyler's jaw clenches.