Running With Scissors_ A Memoir - Augusten Burroughs [56]
He repulsed me and I wanted him to leave immediately. “Go away, dog,” I said.
His face fell again. His eyelids had this way of sort of sinking over his eyes exactly like a basset hound when he was hurt. It was a look I saw a lot because I felt I had mastered the art of hurting him. Next to obsessing over hairdressing school, hurting Neil Bookman was my favorite thing to do. I never asked myself why this was. I never thought that it was wrong of me. Instead I liked the sense of control. He made me feel powerful.
But sometimes he could get angry. Like now. His eyes blazed with anger. “You are a monster,” he said. “You are a fucking evil monster. You’re no innocent fourteen-year-old. You’re a fucking psychopath. The way you treat people,” he spat, “is so fucking sick I can’t even believe that you’re allowed to live.”
I smiled. “That’s good, Neil. Keep going. You poor, pathetic loser of a man. Express all that anger, you big boy. And another thing?” I narrowed my eyes, hoping that I looked menacing. “If you ever get out of line, I’ll go straight to the police and you will be arrested for statutory rape. You’ll spend the rest of your life rotting behind bars.”
I let that sink in.
“Now get the hell out of here.”
He turned. And he left.
After I listened to him walk down the hall, after I was sure he’d really left, I put my sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt on, flopped back on my bed and picked up my journal.
Bookman just left. He came down for one of his little visits and this time he fucked me. At least I didn’t have to suck on his penis. I hate the way he always forces my head down on it and no matter how much I choke or tell him not to he keeps shoving. So at least that didn’t happen. We had the Anal Sex and I didn’t like it. I don’t like Anal Sex and don’t know why people would want to have it. It’s another thing about Being Gay that I don’t like. I don’t like that I’m going to be a hair cutter and this is considered by people to be something that is a “Gay Thing.” But what people don’t understand is that I want to do it in a different way. In a bigger way. God, if I thought I’d be some nelly faggot working in a beauty salon in Springfield doing purple rinses on old ladies I’d kill myself. I would kill myself tonight this minute. And just as I write this now I feel this wall of sickness coming over me, I am feeling it RIGHT THIS MINUTE about the finger wave thing. When Shitvile was plugging me up with his fatheaded penis I was thinking about the finger waves again and I decided that maybe I should get a wig to practice on. I could use my allowance and get a cheap one. This way, I won’t have to keep bugging these Finches for their heads. What else. There was something else I was going to tell you that I was thinking. Oh yeah now I remember. At the end when Neil was leaving there was something in his eyes that scared me and I thought, he could be a serial killer even more than that Blue Moon Grill lady. He really and truly could do it. I think if he had had a butcher knife with him he could have used it to stab me. It freaked me out, seeing him like that. Sometimes I don’t know if I even know him at all. And I don’t know why I hate him so much. Probably because he is such a weak and pathetic person. But also there is something more about him that I don’t like and it’s always been there right from the beginning. I think it has to do with back when I was talking to him about being gay two summers ago and he was all nice and all, “it’s okay to be gay, I’ll be your friend,” and then he made me have that sex with him and then I fell in love with him only he turned out to not be worth loving, I think I’m angry with him about that. I wonder if I should talk to Finch about this? He’s always saying that if you don’t get your anger out it can kill you. Now I’m worried that my anger will kill me. But the thing is, I do try and get it out. I think of good mean names to call him but