Nuvein Fiction | Anguish by Cameron Evans

Anguish
by Cameron Evans

1.
Ryan gazed longingly into the mirror at the long, sulky image that stood before him. In the smoky light, he admired how the dark fitted fabric drew itself tightly around him and defined the smooth contour of his body. It reminded him of expensive, exquisite wine bottles wrapped in satin. He grazed his long eyelashes with mascara and penciled around his eyes so they seemed striking and more intense. He reached into a small black bag and took out a plastic compact. He brushed the soft chunky hues onto his face to render a near flawless visage which he perfected as he smoothed the thick, buttery flesh colored lipstick onto his pressed lips. Satisfied, he put his cigarette to his mouth and drew in the rich smoke. It seemed to penetrate every fiber in his chest. He liked the way it burned and how it felt so painful but blissful at the same time.

He picked up the frame that was on the desk. The picture beneath the glass was smudged and worn, but from underneath shone the bright eyes and familiar faces of his family.

His two older sisters stood next to his mother. They both had the same delicate features that reminded him of Botticelli goddesses. He had always coveted their sensuous dark eyes, creamy skin, and full blooming lips. He had the same large eyes and hollow cheeks, but instead of sleek blonde hair and a small angular face, he had thick, dark hair and a longer more somber face like his father’s. His father looked like an archaic Greek statue in the midst of a trio of Roman marble beauties. His broad shoulders and arms were taut and his face was stricken and tense.

Ryan felt his entire body tremble as he felt something prick him from within. He struggled to keep those memories that haunted him from flooding his mind. He set the frame back down and drew in more luxurious smoke. To him everything seemed like a dream now. He sighed and thought back to those very recent years of his life.

2.
In high school, he had everything other kids coveted. Good looks, remarkable athletic ability, money, and of course the popularity that came along with it all. He owed part of his status to his sisters who walked those same halls in their fashion glory and established themselves quite prominently among the male populace. In any case, despite all those things, he still had to contend with the incessant lies and rumors being spread about him. There were those things his classmates had always suspected but never really asked. Of course, they weren’t true...or at least he said they weren’t.

Besides all those things, he was determined to make the most of his senior year. He was already guaranteed a spot on the varsity basketball team his father coached and knew volleyball wouldn’t be a problem as he was the MVP last year. He was hopeful that this year would bring another successful election as he had been the student body Vice President last year, and hoped for Presidential status this year. His grades had slipped a little, but he still was fiercely determined to have the honors of valedictorian of Carson High. He wanted to continue his acting and musical interests, but wasn’t sure if they would conflict with being the editor of the yearbook.

If this weren’t enough, things at home were even more complicated. His mother had been caught in her boss’s office. That wouldn’t have been a major problem if her boss wasn’t Carson’s principal and if they weren’t both married. Now his parents were going through a vicious and difficult divorce. His mother had become deeply depressed and tried to commit suicide sitting in the garage with the door closed and the car running. His father had become enraged with the entire situation and resumed his drinking habits that fed his violent temper.

All those things roared through his mind as he sat impassively one day at school during sixth period.

3.
"Mr. Tanner..." Spat the woman at the front of the class in a rolled broken English. Her mascara nearly dripped from her eyes and her eye shadow bruised her pale, powdery skin. "Let us hear the poem you were supposed to have done last night, but instead decided to do a minute before class."

Ryan blinked. "Mrs. Lee, what are you talking about? You know I had this done..."

She snapped her fingers mid-sentence and kissed the air with her waxy, crimson lips. "You poor thing...you think I’m blind!? My eyesight is so good that I can see through your pathetic facade right now!" She laughed playfully.

"Okay, but I’m not sure if it’s right. I mean if it makes sense..." His voice trailed off.

"Mr. Tanner, you’ve always written beautifully. Stop stalling." She threw her arms up toward the ceiling as if she had executed a dismount and cried, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."

Ryan feigned a confused look then muttered, "I’m not scared..."

"For God’s sake, read!" She cried out.

4.
He took out the frayed and crumpled paper bleeding with ink. He had spent the entire night trying to do the assignment. All the while, his mother screamed and cried as his father yelled at her in the downstairs kitchen. Their incessant fighting had kept him up until he fell asleep at his desk. All morning long, he struggled to organize his thoughts onto paper. Then a few minutes before class, he managed to clear his mind, and let the words flow effortlessly onto the page.

"Mr. Tanner, I’m beginning to think you yourself are deaf." She spoke monotonously and winced with dull eyes.

He bit down, and flexing his jaw, breathed in. "Okay, Anguish by Ryan Tanner." He bit his lower lip then swallowed.

"Last night a star fell
Streaking the ashen sky.
With luminous tears
Bidding a weak goodbye.

To the dark, cruel heavens
And lonely incessant void.
Transcending all celestial glories
To be ne’er annoyed.

For neither sun nor moon
Would share their glorious light,
With stars that flickered
Only half as bright.

As thus our star fell
From great heights,
Through suffocating darkness
And intoxicating night.

For a moment burning more brightly
And beautiful than before,
Alas, sorrow is shame
Our star is no more."

He folded the tattered paper and shoved it into his pocket.

Mrs. Lee nodded and raised her thin eyebrows. "Well Ryan, uh, Mr. Tanner, may I ask the meaning of your poem?"

Ryan shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, great then. Thank you Mr. Tanner for the wonderful insight and profound explanation." She clapped sporadically several times and smiled.

"Okay...class shut-up. Who’s next!?" She cackled as she whisked around the room.

5.
Ryan closed his eyes in an effort to clear his mind. He was interrupted by a brazen, familiar voice.

"What’s that about?"

"Huh?" He looked into the dark imploring blue eyes staring at him. "Oh, Kristy."

She brushed her streaked blonde hair out of her face. "The poem? Where’d you get that?" She snapped her gum sharply while adjusting her bra strap.

"Um, Kristy, I wrote it," he said plainly while trying to quell the shades of mixed emotion that stirred inside him.

She smirked, narrowing her eyes, wrinkling her nose, and baring her teeth like a snarling canine. "I thought you wrote only vile, cynical pieces slandering other people."

"Get over it, Kristy. It was a mistake. I didn’t know he was your father," he said trying to ignore her.

She looked incredulously at him letting her slacked jaw drop, and then glowered maliciously. "Yeah, whatever." She pouted sympathetically then spoke thoughtfully while tapping her finger against her lip, "It’s okay though. I’m sure you understand now. They don’t want people like you."

Ryan sat silently. Frightening images pressed into his mind. He recalled a bare, simple room and its damp, musky smell. He remembered the darkly clad ominous figure looming overhead and whispering harshly, "Ryan, is there something you want to talk about? NO? Well, I’m going to be honest. There is no place for you here in this church. Until you change...neither is there a place for you with God."

Kristy lurched forward, breaking his concentration, then whispered, "Its true isn’t it? I know everything that goes on…my father’s the pastor you screwed over in that damn newspaper editorial you idiot." She leaned back into her seat and popped her gum again, this time too loudly.

"Mrs. Evans! Stop harassing Mr. Tanner...in some countries there are laws against people like you," snapped Mrs. Lee.

"Too bad this isn’t one of them," Ryan remarked.

"Ugh." Kristy moaned as she rolled her eyes and slowly turned toward the teacher. "I was only trying to get Ryan to tell the class what he told me."

Mrs. Lee folded her arms and sat on a student’s desk crossing her legs. "And if I should waste my precious breath and time to ask..."

Kristy immediately interjected with dramatic melancholy, "It would be horrible for me to say it." She turned to Ryan and nudged him lovingly. "Go on, tell the class what you said about being..." She stared deeply into his eyes as if they shared some intimate secret. His face burned as premonitions of devastating humiliation ruptured in his mind.

"Gay!" She blurted out explosively and convulsed in a terroristic fit of laughter.

6.
He froze. He felt as if thistles had crept beneath his skin and were painfully protruding through his every pore, spilling the blood in his veins that burned like chemical acids. The rest of the class sat awestruck unable to react to Kristy’s shocking apathy toward something whispered about in empty classrooms and discreet, crowded lunch tables. All of a sudden, a few of the students snickered and a few more started laughing nervously as well. The hot sensation of fear and panic wrenched him from within. In his mind he screamed.

7.
That night, Ryan went straight to his room and turned off all the lights. He stared out of his window and watched the surging ocean beneath the pale moonlight. The tempest on the water brought waves from the ocean depths to crash upon the rocks. A warm salty mist lingered into his room. He shuddered. It was on the same kind night when his father walked in on him. Those discarded memories now assaulted his mind with vulgar clarity.

"What the hell are you doing?" His father had lashed in a drunken outrage, stepping back stricken with horror. He then stepped forward and grabbed Ryan by the shoulders and shook him. "What the hell is going on here!?"

Ryan had tried to say something while being rocked mercilessly, but words refused to grace his tongue. Instead, heavy tears formed and streaked dark mascara down his pale, innocent face. His father raved in a chaotic frenzy until he finally forced Ryan to the floor with his powerful arms. Although hurt, Ryan had managed to pick himself up and back away from his father while sobbing bitterly.

8.
"Ryan, come down here." Called his mother.

Ryan cursed and threw his bag on the floor. He ran downstairs and froze. "Dad...what are you doing home early?"

"Ryan...." His mother interjected. "There’s something we need to talk about.
Things aren’t going too well between your father and me and there’s something
involving you..."

"Goddamn right! What the hell is going on!?" Yelled his father. He moved slowly and steadily toward Ryan. "We brought you up right! We took you to church and did everything right. We didn’t raise no...Hell! Is this what you are?!?"

His father tossed a glossy black and white photo onto the table. Ryan was immediately seized with desperation. His large eyes widened and his entire body shuddered.
"Tell me what you see." His father spoke quietly.

"A person..." Whimpered Ryan. He didn’t dare look at his father.
His father rushed up to him and slammed his fists on the table, and yelled, "Why is that person, a man wearing makeup!? Why is that person really a man wearing a dress!? Why is that person my son!"

Ryan looked desperately at his mother but she had buried her head in her hands. Her soft light hair fell over her face and spilled down her shoulders.

"Why are you doing this to us?" She muttered.

Suddenly intense guilt and grief swept over him in a tremendous wave of emotion. "Doing what!? What am I doing so wrong that’s making you so angry?" He looked at his father who was nearly shaking with anger. "I can’t help it, I wish there was something I could do about it, but the truth is that there is nothing I can do. I didn’t choose this, I didn’t wish this upon myself." He stammered a little then continued, " I was born this way."

His father reached over and grabbed Ryan by the wrist and snatched the picture away. He held it up in front of Ryan. "This!!! You were born THIS way!?" He crumpled the picture in one hand and whispered in a harsh, grave tone, "You’re no son of mine."

"Dad, please..." Ryan whispered. "I’m sorry, I..."

His father gripped Ryan’s wrist harder than ever then threw him to the floor. "Get the hell out of my house! I never want to see you here again." He picked up one of the chairs at the table and threw it against the wall.

"Greg..." His mother cried. "Greg, stop it! Leave him alone!" She rushed toward him, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and flung her next to Ryan. "God, Ryan. Oh God, see what a mess you got us in?" She touched the red spots of blood that bled from his mouth.

"Mom..." He began.

She just closed her eyes and shook her head. "Ryan, just don’t." She put her fingers to his lips and silenced him. She slowly got up and looked at Ryan’s father. "Don’t touch me you bastard. I swear, I’ll..."

He interrupted her, "You’ll what? Call the cops?" He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a shiny badge.

"You asshole, I swear I’ll get you in court." She said.

He growled at her, and then turned toward Ryan. He sat on the floor with his knees drawn to his chin and his arms around his legs. "Get out. I don’t know who you are," said his father in a deep voice. Ryan looked up with his wet eyes at the glowering figure looming overhead.

"You can’t do this." He choked, then managed to go on, "I’m still your son."

His father was quiet for a while, and then spoke. "No. No you’re not."

9.
"Damnit!" Exclaimed Ryan as he read the face of the silver clock mounted on the wall. He dropped the simple brass frame, which held the portrait of his family. He stamped his cigarette out then swore silently to himself. He reached into his plain, small bag and pulled out his plastic pill bottle. He knew that his psychiatrist was against it, and that she had said, "You’re not ready, Ryan. Let’s wait."

He was sick of waiting and decided to order the pills from some overseas company that promised to be professional and discrete. He hadn’t yet undergone the expensive operation, but the pills had been working. His skin had become noticeably softer and smoother and even his chest had begun to develop noticeably. On the other hand, he sometimes experienced sudden dizziness and, worst of all, there were those damn migraines that tore through his skull. It was so painful that he went to his doctor and tried to get some prescribed hormones. He read the label.

"Increased propensity to blood clotting...venous thrombosis with risk of fatal pulmonary embolism...benign pituitary prolactinomas, infertility, weight gain, emotional lability, and liver disease." He figured that he would be better off with the migraines.

He snapped the cap back onto the pill bottle and dry-swallowed. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He turned left, then right, then completely around. He stared at the image teasing him with its dark, seductive looks. "How ya doin sweetie?" He reached up and flipped his hair behind his shoulder, exposing his slender neck. He stared at himself a little longer then burst out laughing. "God, I sound so pathetic!" He picked up a neatly folded paper with directions on it and put it into his purse along with the car keys.

10.
Megalithic concrete and glass buildings shot up toward the deep sky as their neon signs flashed playfully. Ryan sighed in frustration as he maneuvered through the surging traffic and avoided careless pedestrians. He looked at his watch again then sighed, "God, I’m late." He looked at the paper with the directions on it and took a sharp left turn into a parking lot. He muttered to himself, "Not this place again."

11.
Ryan walked into the interior of the club. The deep thudding of the bass shook the walls. He walked up the stairs and down a short corridor to a door that read, "Reserved. Private." Inside, a plush couch and table sat next to each other. A small refrigerator filled with liquor sat in a dim corner. He walked over and swung the door open. The bottles clinked and he pulled out a wine bottle. He poured the deep colored liquid into one of the glasses sitting on a table and sat down on the soft velvet couch. He looked toward the ceiling and saw his own reflection staring back at him in the large mirror. He sighed, "God, you’ve outdone yourself tonight." He stood up and walked over to the window facing the heart of the club.

12.
Below, sculpted bodies moved seductively on stage toward the surging crowd of people. When the music ended, the bronzed figures moved together and peeled what was left of their scanty outfits and hurled them forward into the crowd. Moments later, Ryan was startled by a sound directly behind him. He turned around to see someone standing in front of the door.
"How ya doin’?" Ryan flashed a sweet grin and tilted his chin toward his chest. He fluttered his long, heavy eyelashes and, extending his arm, motioned with his finger. "Why don’t ya’ come over here."

The figure moved out of the shadows and stepped into the hazy light. Ryan smiled. He recognized him as one of the Adonis dancers that had mesmerized him moments ago.
"You’re amazing." Ryan blushed then bit his lower lip. "I mean, you really looked great out there." He reached down and picked up a glass. He kept his eyes fixed on the handsome lucrative prospect in front of him. "You want a drink?" He held the bottle up and proceeded to pour into the glass.

"No." The dancer reached over and slowly pushed the glass in Ryan’s hand to the table. He stood motionless and studied Ryan’s face with his imploring light green eyes. He then put his hands on Ryan’s jaw in a way that allowed his fingers to brush the back of his neck. He hesitated for a moment, and then moved so close that Ryan could feel his hot breath on his lips. Ryan opened his mouth and moved slightly closer so they touched.

Within moments, Ryan could taste the warm saltiness and feel the imploring movements within his own mouth. He placed his slender fingers on the dancer’s cheek and with the other hand unbuttoned his pants. He then proceeded as usual and let out a few intended pathetic groans. All of a sudden, the dancer grabbed him and tried to force him face down onto the floor. Ryan impulsively turned around and backed away.

"What’s wrong?" Demanded the dancer who gritted his teeth in annoyance.
"No. Not that way." Ryan said shaking his head.

The dancer moved closer, kissing him and pressing his full weight into his body. Ryan gasped and tried to move, but he was trapped in the suffocating stronghold. The dancer shoved his leg into Ryan.

"God, you’re hurting me!" He cried.

The dancer continued to grow more increasingly violent as he began to grip Ryan by his neck and tear off his clothes. Now frightened, Ryan struggled to get free from the fierce grip upon him. In an unexpected and swift motion of desperation, he balled his fist and threw it into the dancer’s face. Stunned, the dancer dropped Ryan to the floor and touched his mouth where the blood had spilled from his torn lip.

"You bitch!" He seized Ryan by his shoulder and neck. He dragged him toward the center of the room and kicked him in the stomach. Ryan instantly coughed up blood, which splattered on wall. Ryan struggled to get up and tried leaning on the couch. The dancer grabbed him by his shoulders, pulled him up to his face and whispered cruelly, "Next time you’ll listen to me you whore." He threw Ryan to the floor. "Now I’m going to teach you something."

13.
The dancer’s powerful arms and solid brute force pinned Ryan to the cold ground. He squirmed and struggled as he realized his horrible and desperate position. He tried to cry out in pain, but all he could muster was an agonizing groan. The abusive presence above him took his neck and, with those thick fingers, pushed his face into the floor. Ryan lay there helplessly as his clothes were stripped and revealed his naked flesh. His eyes swelled and his entire body ached as the painful assault continued. Finally the searing torment subsided in a wallow of blood and fluid. Ryan lay, nearly broken, on the floor doubled in pain. The dancer buttoned his pants and drew out his wallet.

"Here’s fifty." He threw it at Ryan’s feet. He continued. "There’s more, but I don’t think you’ll come back for it anytime soon." He stared coldly at Ryan, and then shut the door as he walked out of the room.

14.
Ryan stood admiring a gently curved figure modeled after his own form in the long mirror. He touched his nearly healed wounds with his slender arms and gingerly felt each one as if it were still fresh. Vivid images seared his memory like hot coals. He looked into the mirror blankly, then turned and looked out the window into the deep nighttime sky. The stars had risen from the wide horizon and glimmered in the twilight. He stood still for a long moment, watching the stars flicker as the moon glided higher in the expanding sky.

He turned around again and was startled. His face flexed with stricken amazement. With overwhelming curiosity, he slowly reached out with one hand and touched the mirror. The image on the other side did likewise and Ryan retracted his hand sharply as he gasped in shock.
He tired to comprehend the reason for his alarm. He realized it was just his reflection but he didn’t recognize it as his own. There was something different.

He stood there in a confused daze watching his chest rise and fall with every breath. He felt his heart ache and his throat tighten.

He closed his eyes and saw a solemn image of a porcelain stature he had once knelt before at church. Its long, beautiful robes flowed to its feet and seemed to kiss the roses and candles that surrounded it. Its palms were pressed together and its gaze seemed to beckon sadly to him.
All of a sudden, everything and nothing made sense to him.

He knew there was only one thing to do. He slowly dropped to his knees, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands tightly together. Sweat beaded his forehead as he struggled to mumble in reverent tones. His fingers turned white as they pressed into the back of his hands. His entire body shook as he struggled to suppress the sobs that passed through his body like waves of an electric current.

After what seemed like hours, he wearily opened his eyes and stood up. He looked around the room and then walked quickly over to his desk. He unlocked the bottom drawer and took out a small, heavy black rectangular case. He withdrew a shiny black object from the case and started at it. He felt that he should have done it a long time ago. He put the slender barrel into his mouth.

15.
Ryan looked into the mirror one last time then pulled the trigger.