Nocturnal

Roberta

Rex drew.

Alex Panos this time. No axes, no chain saws, and no monsters. Just Alex.

Alex, and Rex.

It felt good to draw it. Rex felt his dick stiffen as he sketched a look of pain in Alex’s eyes.

The pencil flew, a skritch-scratching sound so fast it was a constant hiss. Shapes formed — circles, ovals and cylinders that became faces, chests, arms and legs.

Curves became blood.

Yeah, yeah it was good it was good.

Rex’s breaths came faster, shallower. His face felt hot. His heartbeat hammered inside his head. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to get turned on by this, but he didn’t care anymore. The blood and pain and death spun him up and now he knew why the boys at school talked about porn all the time.

More lines. Rex grabbed a colored pencil. Alex’s severed hand took shape, flash-frozen in a spray of red. Rex drew with his right hand. His left hand reached down, unzipped his pants and slid inside.

This would be his best drawing yet. His best drawing ever.

Moments went by and time vanished. Rex saw only lines to be drawn and shapes to be made.

His bedroom door opened, breaking the trance.

Rex’s head snapped up.

There stood Roberta. She was already holding the belt. Her gaze slid down, her forehead furrowed. Rex looked down as well — his little, hard dick was in his hand.

Oh no.

“The school called me,” Roberta said. She stepped into his room, slammed the door shut behind her.

Rex was trapped.

“They said you skipped school, again. So I came to teach you better, and what do I find? I find you being a nasty boy. Dirty, nasty, touching yourself.”

“But Mom, I—”

“Don’t you call me mom! You’re no son of mine, you nasty, nasty thing!”

Rex looked down and started to zip up when he heard a crack sound and felt the sting across his left cheek. He sucked in a half-breath of surprise. His hand touched his face. The skin hurt.

“That’s right,” Roberta said, the belt dangling from her right hand. “I’ll teach you to be a dirty, sinning boy in my house.”

The belt snapped out again. Rex ducked away but tripped on his desk stool. He and the stool fell — the back of his head thonked against the floor.

“Don’t you duck, you sinner! You take what’s coming to you!”

He tried to get up. His arms and legs seemed to move in slow motion.

Crack across his forehead, then on his nose; he brought his arms up in front of his face.

“Dirty!”

Crack on his shoulder, a deep stinging.

“Nasty!”

Rex grabbed the overturned stool, tried to use it to help him scramble to his feet.

Crack across his back, the flash of pain so bad he cried out.

“I’ll teach you, you worthless little—”

Rex stood and swung, did both things so fast he didn’t even know what he was doing. There was a sound like a bat hitting a softball, then he heard something crash on the floor.

Rex blinked away tears. He opened his eyes.

He was holding his stool by the base of one leg. The edge of the rounded seat … it had blood on it.

And on the floor, Roberta. Moving slow, like she was drunk. Bleeding bad from her right cheek, her eyes glazed and unfocused.

The belt was still in her hand.

“Nas … tee,” she said. “Getting my … paddle …”

This pathetic thing was the woman who had beaten him so many times? Why had he let her do that? For the same reason he had allowed BoyCo to ruin his life — because he’d been a coward, because he’d been afraid.

But Rex wasn’t weak anymore.

“You’re a bully,” he said quietly. “I hate you.”

She puckered her lips and then puffed out, like someone trying to blow away a long strand of stray hair. Flecks of blood sprayed from her lips. She tried to sit up.

She didn’t get far before Rex put a foot on her chest and pushed her to her back. He reached down and tore the belt from her hands.

Roberta blinked; the glazed look vanished. She looked up at him with enraged eyes, grabbed his leg and tried to push it away.

His leg didn’t move. How had he once thought of her as strong? Her hands and arms, so weak, they couldn’t even budge him.

“Let me go!” She dug her fingernails into his calf.

This time, Rex saw the pain coming. He let it happen and found it wasn’t that bad. He pressed his foot down harder.

Her eyes widened. She dug deeper with her nails, so he pressed harder still. Now her eyes scrunched tight, her mouth opened in an airless scream. Her hands slapped at his foot and leg.

Rex smiled. How exciting. All the things he’d felt when he made the drawings, they were nothing compared to the thunderstorm in his chest, the hurricane in his head.

He dangled the belt so that the end slid across her face.

“You like this belt, Roberta? You like it so much? Let’s see how much you really like it.”

He took his foot off her chest, then swung the belt as hard as he could. The leather cracked across her face, leaving an instant red mark.

Roberta screamed. She flipped onto her belly and scrambled for the door, crawling even as she started to rise.

She’s running!

His excitement spiked up to an impossible level. Rex ran after her. She stumbled into the hall and almost reached the front door before he kicked her feet out from under her. She fell hard, her face hitting the hardwood. He moved in front of her and blocked the door.

“Where are you going, Roberta? Aren’t you going to teach me a lesson?”

She lurched to her right, crawled into the TV room.

He followed her. He caught her next to her TV chair. She started to beg, but only got out a few words before Rex wrapped the belt around her neck. Her eyes bulged, her hands shot to the cracked black leather.

Yeah, yeah that’s it, come on, comeoncomeoncomeon …

Rex pulled the belt tighter.