Dating : Under the Bed

The last few drops of whiskey burn a scorching hot trail down the length of his throat, forcing him to withhold a grimace of discomfort. His mouth feels dry and rough, but he refuses to look at the water jug. He lives for the taste of alcohol tainting his breath, staining his tongue and teeth.

A careless flick of the wrist and the glass is in the sink, clattering loudly at the bottom. A few more scars make themselves at home on the transparent body, firmly embedding themselves like memories; memories he desperately wants to forget.

Every step is painful and slow. His legs move sluggishly, like the weight of the entire world rests on his shoulders because Atlas refuses to hold it up anymore. He wants to collapse, wants to make a bed for himself on the floor, but he knows he has to get to the bedroom. Someone is waiting for him there. Someone is always waiting for him there.

It almost seems like a journey; the amount of effort and time it takes for him to reach the tiny dark room he has labelled his own. His feet drag across the cold floor as his arms reach out for support, finding nothing but the jagged walls.

His room is as it’s always been- dingy, closed in, small.

The room feels wrong in every way conceivable, but he has learned to love it, enjoying the desolation and the sense of someone constantly watching him. It’s oddly comforting to him.

He never sits on the bed anymore. The covers are perfectly made and spotlessly clean, not a crease in the material. It’s the only inviting thing in the room but he never throws it so much as a glance. It doesn’t get the attention it’s owed, not when the man crouches down and slowly seats himself on the creaky hardwood floor instead, crossing his longs legs. His knees hurt already but he ignores it. A lazy, knowing smile curves his lips up slowly.

“I’m home.”

It’s his standard greeting, the one he’s learned is the most receptive. His voice isn’t shaky or harsh or even slurred. It’s warm, like a cup of hot tea on a rainy day. There’s a tenderness in every word that resonates in the room, bouncing off the walls with peeling paint and scratch marks. The man places both his elbows on his knees and leans forward, catching his chin in his hands. His eyes are trained on the dark space between his bed and the floor, a darkness that had first frightened him to his very core. Now, it only makes his smile softer around the edges.

There’s a shift, ever so slight but it’s there. The man’s smile widens into a grin as he sits back slowly, eyes fixed on the figure. He can’t believe there was a time he refused to enter the room because of the abject fear that made his blood go cold in his veins. Now, all he feels is relief.

“I see you missed me,” he croons, voice level and soft. Inviting.

The figure slithers back and forth, almost shy. He knows it’s shy, surprisingly so, but that just makes it all the more endearing. He’s learned to love everything about it.

Opening his arms wide, the man cocks his head to one side and sighs, “Come here, please.”

The figure hesitates for a beat, before giving in. It always does.

Larger than anyone would ever guess, the figure unravels itself to its full length, staring at the man with empty, hollow orbs.

Grotesque.

Dark.

Infinite.

The beast is absolutely hideous, marked with scars that tear through its smoky body and cuts that knew no beginning and no end.

Imperfect, broken, damaged.

He thinks it’s beautiful.

It crawls into his embrace slowly before wrapping itself around him, consuming his entire being, engulfing him in numbing darkness. He welcomes it with a content sigh, his body going limp as he lets his consciousness slip away.

He trusts the monster under his bed to take care of him. And maybe, just maybe, help him kill the demons that scare him the most-

The ones within.