Free Pray for Darkness by Virginia Locke

masturbated, but the thought of doing that disgusted me too much. After three sleepless hours I got out of bed and started working. By the time my roommates were up, my fingers were stained with ink, my clothes were covered with charcoal, and I had papers—large, small and ripped apart—depicting god-knows-what scattered all over the floor.
    JC opened my door at six. “Hey, did you take the last—”
    I crumpled the corner of the paper I was working on in my fist. He stopped talking.
    I got to my feet and brushed off my pants, getting gesso on my palms. About five minutes before I’d decided it would be a really great idea to cover my pillowcase in gesso. It hadn’t been a good idea—not meaningful or beautiful or innovative—it had just been fucking stupid.
    JC took a step forward, right onto a picture I’d done earlier of a guy screaming as nails were being hammered into his face. “Uh…sorry for stepping on it.”
    “It’s alright.”
    “Yeah.” He inched back and took a look around the room. “Uh, you feeling okay man?”
    I almost laughed. If I weren’t so tired, I probably would’ve. I felt like someone was hammering nails into my face, and though I hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror since I’d washed it at Sasha’s, I’m pretty sure I looked like it too. “No. I’m not.”
    JC gulped. “You wanna…talk about it?”
    “Not really.”
    “Okay,” JC whispered. He was a great guy but not really a talker. “Ian ate your last strawberry poptart, but I’ve got a chocolate one if you want. I can make it for you.”
    “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
    He frowned. “You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”
    I smiled that time. I must have really looked like shit if JC was trying that hard. “I just want to be alone for a while is all. Got some work I need to finish.”
    He nodded and stuffed his hands into his jeans. “Okay. Well, we’re out here.”
    “I know.”
    He walked out of here at least three hours ago and since then no one has disturbed me. He’d probably told my other roommates something was up. Well, it was better that way. This wasn’t the sort of thing I could talk about with anyone.
    My hands shake as I gather the papers off the floor. They’re horrific images, full of twisted limbs, harsh angles and long shadows. The abstract ones are the most frightening—the ones where I fill the entire sheet with violent lines that run of the page and dark, circular abysses. They don’t look like a human made them. They’re full of raw, primal, alien feelings. It looks like I was exercising a demon and looking back, I guess I kind of was.
    It didn’t work, though. I feel worse now than I did before because I know I’m completely powerless.
    The front door closes. The clock beside my bed reads 4:40pm. That must be Ian going to his job, which means I’m now alone in the townhouse.
    As I stand, my phone goes off. It’s Black Magic Woman .
    You have got to be fucking kidding me .
    I kick open my door and walk into the hall.
    It keeps ringing.
    Don’t you dare turn around. You’re fucking hungry and fucking tired. You don’t need to talk to her right now. You need to eat JC’s nasty chocolate poptart .
    When I reach the kitchen, I turn around and run for the phone. My finger fucking shakes as it swipes the screen, but it’s too late, it’s already gone to voice mail.
    Thank fucking God.
    I set the phone down, walk to the fridge and grab a few beers. I sit on my bed and prop my feet up on the chipped coffee table in the center of my room. One of my roommates, Danny, had gotten it from ex-girlfriend—or, more accurately, she’d thrown it out her window when she’d found out he’d cheated on her. Don’t know why I kept this kind of shit.
    I open the beer and start to drink. The cold liquid sliding down my throat is calming and soothing, but not enough. I want to forget. I need to forget. I take another drink, and then another.
    The cell goes off again.
    My entire body