You've brought this upon yourself.

The words rang in Roy's head. Over and over, over and over. Was Whit right? If it was true, if Roy had brought his present circumstances upon himself, did he have a right to feel angry anyway?

Roy's brow furrowed in concern. He couldn't bring himself to cry, evidentially because he didn't know who or what to cry for. He didn't know if he deserved this either.

Even so, Whit hadn't kicked him out after all, or spit in his face, or punch him, like Roy's worst case scenario dilemmas. He simply left Roy alone, just as Roy had left his family two years prior. He wasn't sure if that was his cue to leave, or if Whit decided it was decent for him to stay.

But was it worth it?

His back ached nearly as much as his mind. His muscles tensed, an aching pain pulsing through his spine. Roy's thoughts turned to the bottle of morphine he still carried on him.

He wasn't sure why, or at least didn't want to face why.

It was almost like a keepsake...a reminder. A reminder of someone? An unfinished goodbye and unanswered questions. Unharnessed desires and unvoiced opinions. Memories. So short. So far away, several states over.

He folded the towel Whit had thrown at him and placed it on the kitchen table. Roy ran his finger along the bottle of morphine, studying it carefully. He inhaled deeply and poured three pills into his palm. They were small and white like little orbs. He downed them without water and the bitter aftertaste nearly made him gag.

Roy sat and waited for the pain to stop. Soon a euphoric sensation took over his body. It started at his spine and spread to his fingertips. They tingled and so did his tongue. His eyes suddenly grew heavy as if he hadn't slept for days. He squinted and giggled to himself.

Roy glanced around him. His mother had decorated the kitchen with objects pertaining to chickens. He never understood why as they never even kept chickens. Just wheat. And what chickens and wheat had in common, Roy had no idea, and it made him question the meaning of the universe.

He giggled again, rubbing the side of his face filled with pins and needles. His back no longer hurt, the tension subsiding.

Roy wheeled closer to the kitchen table, just enough to place his head on the towel. His mind spun like a carousel, the horses ever slightly menacing. But he didn't close his weary eyes. They gazed at the chicken decor placed around the kitchen. In time they drifted closed, and Roy imagined he'd have time to sleep at last.

* * *

He stands in the middle of a lake. The water is lukewarm, calming and serene. The tiny waves lap up against his body, soaking his trousers inch by inch. He breathes in deeply, the smell of untouched nature filling his tar-filled lungs. Lily pads move past him, an odd occurrence due to an unknown current in a lake.

Dread.

A hole opens up around him. A big black mouth enough to swallow three men whole.

The water tunnels around his body and pulls him under, straight under, down down down, a bottomless unseeing pit, void of air, a thousand sounds of screeching water life pounding through his ears, shattering his eardrums.

He's sinking and endlessly falling, deeper deeper deeper. His feet hit the bottom, soaked in soggy brown mud. An unbearable pain in his spine causes him to howl in agony, and he realizes something is inside him. Something weird, enough for him to scratch and claw and yank it out. Thick slimy tentacles pierce through his back, broken skin and bone tearing and snapping. They slither around him, wrapping around his legs, his arms, his neck, his head, and plunge into his mouth...

* * *

Roy groggily opened his eyes, his heartbeat slowed but pounding at the same time. For a split second he forgot where he was, and then it dawned on him.

Home.

His head was heavy and neck stiff from the way his head was positioned on the table. He lifted it slowly, his heart skipping a beat when he noticed who was in front of him.

"We were expecting you yesterday."

His parents were both near sixty and had been married years before Roy and Whit were born. His mother's hair had long gone grey years ago, his father's beard always changing every year and with the seasons. Both seemed whiter.

"Two years."

"It's true," Roy said.

"You didn't hear us come in. You must have been tired," his father said.

Ma nodded.

"Whit was here," Roy mentioned.

"Haven't seen your brother all day," Pop answered.

Ma stood up. She seemed to have gotten shorter. Her dress just covered the tips of her warn out shoes.

"Come on. Let me see my son."

Roy stared at her.

"Let me see you," she repeated, tears forming in her eyes.

Roy slowly wheeled out from the table to face his mother, eyes downcast. She gazed at him for what seemed like hours, though it couldn't have even been several minutes.

She knelt down beside him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Are you well? Are you okay?" She began to sob into Roy's chest, squeezing tighter with each sob.

Roy said nothing and stared ahead, avoiding eye contact with his father.

"Please, Roy, tell me. Please. You're okay. You're okay."

"I...I'm fine," Roy said hushed. He stroked her coarse hair, he stroked her neck.

Pop's arms were crossed. He never locked eyes with his son but never stopped looking. His jaw was clenched.

"You're gonna get better...you're gonna be better."

"Maybe," Roy whispered, it was almost a whimper.

His mother stood up and attempted to compose herself.

"Now I'm told you're stayin' here awhile," she said.

"If you'd like," Roy replied.

"I'm afraid the sofa will have to do, right."

"It's fine."

"Of course, your old room is upstairs."

"Yeah."

"Unless you can-"

"No," Roy stopped her."

Ma nodded. "I'll get some blankets."

Roy's anxiety thickened. He was alone with his father. The air in the house was thick, it choked him. His mouth was dry, no drink would've quenched his thirst.

"It's about time for bed," his father said.

Ma came down the stairs, delicately placing a pillow and thin quilt on the edge of the couch in the other room.

"I hope this is enough," she said.

"Certainly," said Roy.

"We're glad to see you home, Roy."

"I'm glad."

He wasn't sure if he believed it, or if he even wanted to. And his parents left him alone, and he was alone once more. Alone. He was used to sleeping to the creaks of the old house. It was different this time. He couldn't imagine how hard it would be to fall asleep to his father's weeping in the adjacent room.