Curly just punched me. It hurt. My own red stuff is dripping; I don't like it.

  Curly has a bandage around his neck and seems to be out of breath. Maybe he just went running. Why do people keep hurting me?

  "You stupid, fucking, dumb psychotic shit!"

  Curly is still upset. My head hurts. The world is moving funny. The lights are wrong.

  I think he's going to hit me again. CRACK. Curly's on the floor.

  Derek hit him. I think he's also been running.

  "Don't hurt what's mine." I look up at him. Maybe he is a real friend?

  Derek smiles at me, his teeth sharp. "Mine." Maybe he likes me?

  He lifts me up. I think I like flying (it hurts a little).

  My legs are around his waist, his hands on my butt. He must like me. Friends carry you, right?

  We go to his Bar Room. He says I owe him now. Momma used to say that. My whole body feels hot now. His hands are like Curly's; spiders. Everywhere. I think they like me.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I hope they do.

  The spiders are crawling, weaving, touching. I can't move. Maybe this is what friends do. I must be very lucky.

  Derek's grip tightens. His fingers feel like heat, sharp at first, then softer. He's pulling me closer, pushing me down. My body feels shaky, like the world is bouncing. I can't pull away. I think he really likes me.

  "You owe me now," Derek says, his voice sounds weird.

  I nod. The spiders are crawling up my legs now, gentle at first, then their tiny hands are everywhere. No space. The air feels like it's avoiding me. Maybe it's mad.

  Derek's breath is hot against my neck. I think I like it. I think I do. My stomach twists. That means I like it, I think.

  His hand brushes my face again, soft. He's making shapes on my skin, slow. My body feels floppy. My arms and legs feel like rubber.

  Do I like this? Momma's friends did this too, I didn't like that. But I didn't owe them. The spider's sneak into my underpants, they seem interested.

  "Good boy," he whispers. My chest feels like it's being pulled. "You're gonna make this right."

  My stomach flips. The spiders pull harder. More. Everywhere. My body feels small.

  "You know," he continues, pausing to laugh. "You really are mine now. What happens to what's mine, Eli?"

  I swallow. I think I know. "They obey."

  "That's right," he smiles, but it's not a nice one. "And you, my little psycho, are gonna learn what happens when bad boys don't listen."

  "His fingers tighten on my skin, his voice colder now. 'You'll do what I say, won't you, Eli?" I nod.

  His bed is like mine, hard, especially when you're being pushed down on it, over and over again. Hard.