YBFJ

CHAPTER: Knock, Knock, Knock

After the Kid Rock concert
at the Bridgestone Arena
in Nashville, Tennessee,
the halls were cleared.
The doors chained.
The beer spilled.
Every seat flipped upright and counted,
collected, and stored by Billy and his team.

I was proud to be one of them.
Security. Secured. Securing.
Until midnight.

Until the knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

⸻

“Who’s there?”
I said it out loud.
Levi. Leviathan. Alone.
With a shitty half-broken air mattress,
bed bug welts up and down my thighs.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Whatever gun I had—
It should’ve been loaded.
Safety on.
Of course.
Always on.
But even then, I didn’t feel safe.

The door creaked when I touched it.
Creaked.
Snapped.
Bent in half from humidity and age.
I opened it.

And he was there.

⸻

With his back to me.
Of course.
Like a fucking movie.
Like Clarice.

He turned.
Slow, fast, sharp, soft.
He turned and looked me in the eyes
like he was trying to crawl inside.

He said:
“I love you.”

I didn’t respond.
The hallway smelled like metal and bleach.

Then he said:
“I’m sorry.”

And I snapped,
“For what?”
“Figaro… for what?”

No answer.
Just eyes.

⸻

And then—
I saw it.

Not his face.
Not his soul.
Just the image:
him taking my pants off.

That was it.
The only thought I had.
No romance.
No poetry.
Just: please, take my pants off.

And he did.
Or didn’t.
Or something in between.

But I do remember this:
he sucked something out of me.
Not the soul.
Not just the cum.
It was the fear.
It was the essence.

And that was what he was there for.

⸻

Friday night.
Air mattress.
Bed bugs that devoured my sheets,
my sleep,
my sense of direction.

I didn’t blame the bugs.
They made everything easier.
They made everything…
lackadaisical.

⸻

And I fucked him.
On that mattress.
In the dark.
No candles.
Just a security vest
thrown on the floor
next to a soda bottle half full of spit.

⸻

Am I weak?