Nightmares Wasting

The fist time Swofford meet Troy he’d been lying on the floor in an awkward position. His wrists had been hanging limply over his head, as they were still tied to the metal rungs of his bunk. There’d been dried blood under his nose and his whole jaw had ached from the hit he’d taken a short while ago.

Troy had been fiddling with something in his trunk, adjacent to where Swoff lay as he’d suddenly come back to himself. It took him a while to even notice his presence but he must have been watching him take in his surrounds. The remembered horror of being ‘fresh meat’ probably clearly visible in his big blue eyes as he hurriedly undid the belt twisted around his wrist. It wasn’t until has fingers traced across the un-scared flesh of his left calf that Troy bothered to acknowledge him.

“It’s a little fuck fuck trick we play with the new guys.” He explained the specifics of switching the brand up at the last second. His eyes were cold as he gauged him for a reaction. Swoff remembered him from before. He’d been there yelling and helping to hold him down. Troy waited a second before giving him the final fuck you. “You want a brand? You have to earn it.” You’re not worth shit. He gave him one last degrading look before stalking off.

----

The smell of diesel and shit was tattooed across his skin and no matter how he scrubbed he couldn’t seem to erase it. He was fucking screwed. That little bitch Fergus had screwed him.

“Hey.” Troy caught him on his way out of the showers. His eyes were apologetic and that alone made Swoff almost want to hit him.

“What?” He asked shortly, not making eye contact. The hazy memory of Troy’s hand sliding across his taut stomach unexpectedly flit across his brain. He hoped it didn’t show on his face though.

“Nothing man, just…”

“Good then. See ya.” Swoff bumped past him as he left and felt a mean streak of satisfaction at Troy’s surprise. Yeah, fuck you. He knew that he was being a dick but he didn’t fucking care. He was going crazy and no he didn’t feel like talking about it, thanks anyway, fucker.

----

“This is my rifle. There are many like it but this one is mine. Without my rifle I am nothing. Without me, my rifle is nothing.”

Swoff had left Fergus blubbering and probably sitting in a pool of his own piss in the tent alone. The adrenaline rush had faded off and left him with the memory of cold metal against his face, his own M16 pressed hard against his cheek. There were tears in his eyes and he couldn’t really breathe. Why hadn’t Fergus pulled the trigger? He wouldn’t be hurting so much right now if he had. He didn’t want to die. What the fuck was wrong with him?

That night he dreamed about Troy.

“Hey. I heard about Fergus. You’re sick Swoff you know that? There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“I didn’t mean too. I fucked up.”

“Yeah you did.” Troy pinned him to the wall. “The guys and I decided we don’t want fuck ups. We’re gonna give you what you really want.” Troy suddenly had Swoff’s M16 pressed up under his chin.

“You’re gonna kill me?! Troy!”

“I could. Do you want me… too?” Troy’s other hand suddenly grabbed his dick. “Or is this what you want?” He pumped his dick. “Come on Swoff. I’m lonely too.”

“Troy…”

Swoff woke himself up mid-groan. He swallowed the sound but jerked off quietly under the blankets.