ι've coмe нere aѕ a мan ιn ѕнaмвleѕ
It never would have bothered him much whether or not his father's old house got sold if he had an Anchor. Parrish didn't have anything-- hadn't had anything--interesting enough to hold him in any town for as long as he could remember. Now that his father was dead, he wasn't required to live within close proximity to him in case of an emergency anymore. He was free.
He was finally free, and still he felt as if he were sinking, a slow descent to hell.
The cat he had adopted in his last town, named Cheetah, mewed from her cage in the backseat of Parrish's car. The car was quiet; he'd found that the music he played only made him think deeper on his problems, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He'd turned it off miles ago.
The house seemed to be in all the glory and more as he finally arrived. He hadn't expected it to look so... great. What a shame he had to fix it just so he could sell it. If he found something worthwhile, he could have been otherwise convinced to stay and keep it. After all, it was left to his name, completely paid off and at his mercy.
"Cheetah, what do you think?" he asked, but the cat was quiet.
worn oυт ғroм вeggιng on мy ĸneeѕ
It was at least a week before Parrish actually decided he'd sleep in the house. It was no less than three days before he'd begun to feel royally fucked up. Moira was... this fine as hell woman who'd basically appointed herself house maid. Parrish knew he'd probably have to do some other things to make more money, but he couldn't make himself say no to her. Who could? She was almost dripping in sex. Then there were... other people. Parrish could never pay enough attention to their names, but people kept popping in and out of his house, claiming to be neighbors and whatnot and other people wanting to be his 'friend'. He had never been so sure he liked what that meant, but at the same time, he didn't make his complaining obvious. There was, after all, a nice gay couple that lived near him that offered decorating advice for the house so to better sell it. Ah, yes--Chad and Patrick. What a nice couple.
Months into living there, Parrish got used to people bombarding him with sudden visits and appearances. He didn't know where any of them really lived, but he wasn't bothered too much by that fact. As long as they didn't try anything fishy, he was okay with their presence.
Except, of course, for a few less-than-friendly neighbors.
ι нave нalғ a мιnd тo мaĸe yoυ нυrт,
His shower had been longer than normal that day because he couldn't bring himself to come out. He was comfortable there. The water was warm and it could comfort him like nothing else on earth could. Not even like Cheetah when he was feeling a little less like himself.
Then the water very suddenly went cold and he dove out of the shower with no time left to spare.
The man shivered as he turned off the tap with shaking hands, wondering what in hell had happened, though it was too late to call anyone to come see about busted pipes. He sighed as he dried himself off along with his hair and put on underwear and pajama pants, his formal night wear. He had no one to accompany him in his bed that night, which was a change, so he was going alone.
тo мaĸe yoυ вleed,
Cheetah lay in wait on his bed, purring at the sight of him. Parrish smiled at her and rubbed her head a little before turning his light off and snuggling up in bed next to her. Cheetah was his most intimate partner, the closest any living thing had ever gotten to his heart. He really loved that cat to death.
His dreams were plagued with him running through smoke, a voice following behind him relentlessly. He tossed and turned as it whispered his name and ramblings of him next to men. His breath caught as vices rose through the darkness of his nightmare and wrapped choking arms around him, holding him too close, a deathly grip sure to be the end of him. The man screamed to his heart's content in his dream. It was no use. The voice continued, the vices moved and continued burning him with their touch.
And quite suddenly, he jerked himself awake, sweaty and uncomfortable, next to another man.
Parrish screamed. He screamed at the blonde man lying in bed beside him, his arm suspended in mid-air from where Parrish had moved. "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" he screamed, running the few paces to where he had his baseball bat. He raised it, unafraid to swing at the intruder. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE? GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE BEFORE I BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR SICK BODY!"
тo мaĸe yoυ ѕυғғer.