Drake's Sleeping

It was half past ten when she last checked her watch.

He nods his head. She knows that he shouldn't be up, but it's the weekend and she promised him this movie tonight.

Horror.

Of all the genres, she isn't quite sure why she even let's him watch these sorts of things! It isn't even halfway into the story when she first hears it. It's low, but it sounds like an old motorcycle muffler -- the gargling was almost cute but intimidating. She doesn't pay much attention to the movie at this point, now that his head tilts sideways -- he resembles an old tree and one too many branches.

'let's get you locked in, tiger.' She smiles.

She tries to collect him but, naturally, he protest. He insists that he isn't tired and reminds her on her promise. She can tell by those bags around his eyes and halfway breaths that his argument is merely childish excuses, but she agrees to let him watch the movie for a little while longer anyway. It wasn't even five minutes later when she sees him nod again, but the monster on TV can't justify these snarls and just as he starts to twitch, she throws him around her shoulders.

"We'll watch the rest in the morning." She whispers sweetly.

Out of that dark movie lit room, she carries him into the hall but with each passing step those grunts sink lower. What was once disjointed child-like adjustments became skirmish struggle, as if a giant insect had been caught between her arms and breast. He kicks her bruises and bites down on her flesh wound.

As soon as she's there, she lays him in a bed nailed into the floor and just manages to buckle him in with every lace. There are no blankets to cover this tarnished mattress. There are no desk or drawers -- only a light bulb branded into the ceiling. He shakes more violently with every passing second.

Vicious gashes mark up the wall, and blood and dark feces stain the floor. There were now even scratches on the ceiling.

'It's getting worse,' she looks.

Lightly brushing his bruised forehead with the palm of her soft hand, she kisses it between movements before turning toward the door. He's now shouting. And with a snap, the lights were off. The door closes.

<span style="color:rgb(44,54,53);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">One. Two. Three.

<span style="color:rgb(44,54,53);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">Every lock is locked in sequence, just as it starts. Her footsteps down the hall are barely audible under the screams. Louder and louder they become until it is joined by the bumps of the rocking bed. She sits in front of the TV and hears the bed tip over, followed by the violent banging on door. This isn't from the likes a child.

<span style="color:rgb(44,54,53);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">"That's not him." She reminds herself.

<span style="color:rgb(44,54,53);font-family:Verdana,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:19.5px;">Turning up the volume, as if to do away with it all, but that's impossible. IT was howling and screeching in a demonic manor. She tries to remind herself that it's not him, really. She has to remember that Drake's just sleeping.