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He placed a hand on Art's shoulder and spoke, not too Art. Not toanyone really."I'm gonna go and get a drink." With that he turned and left, lumberingheavily down the stairs. Art watched him leave, thoughts whizzing aroundhis brain. They were a lot clearer than he had expected them to be. Oddthoughts strayed to the front of his mind then shot back before he couldever really focus on them. What was he doing, taking drugs, wearing adress? God, he loved the feeling of his own shaved legs. When would Doylebe back? He stood there, in the noise and heat of the party, quitestill,just thinking. He barely even noticed the hand that gripped his wristtight and dragged him into a small room, up a second flight of stairs andinto a dark, well presented bedroom. The door locked behind him. A lampwas switched on, orange light shooting across the bed and desk and walls.Across a face. An almost perfect face, if not for the anger etchedacrossit. A face framed by golden waves."Why are you here!?". ‘You quit breathing.’ he says. I nod, since I’m well aware of this fact. He sighs and carries me up a set of stairs I hadn’t previously noticed. He unlocks the door at the top of the stairs and puts me down on the couch. ‘I know you say you are fine, but humor me. Stay here as long as you need.’ he says. I roll my eyes but relax against the cushions. Suddenly I do feel very sleepy. He closes the door behind him after kissing the top of my head gently. I slip into my dreams almost immediately. They are not, I’m sorry to say, very pleasant. Somewhere in my mind I know this can’t be happening, because it already has, but that doesn’t really help any. I watch, tied in the floor again, as he kills my parents. He then comes toward me, holding that bloody fillet knife. I whimper, a little bit of self preservation kicking in. he just laughs and straddles me, forcing me onto my back. The pain in my hand and ankles is nothing compared to the fear I’m experiencing. ‘Please, you said you loved.
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