Happy Birthday?

When Shark awoke, he found himself in an unfamiliar room. He was gagged and hog-tied on a filthy mattress. The place smelled of stagnant urine, and was very dimly lit by a bare bulb hanging from a ceiling.

From what little he could see through a nearly covered window nearby, it had apparently become evening already. It was likely Shark had been in this place for hours. If he didn't know any better, he was in the run-down building he'd been looking at.

The teen tried to struggle against his bindings. Whoever had tied his wrists and ankles together, though, was quite the expert. No matter how hard he attempted to break free, his bindings rendered his efforts futile.

Shark could hear a voice outside of the room. It was his father, apparently speaking to someone on the phone.

"Think of the benefits of this for you, sir. You come in, do as I say, and we'll have your promotion set come your next shift. Well, oftentimes, you come in and complain of the lack of 'action', as you put it. So, think of it this way, you're taking my boy's virginity, you relieve your sexual tension, and get paid doing so!"

Quietly, Shark listened in on his father's one-sided conversation.

"The way I see it, Mister Rotter, I'm doing you a favor. And it isn't as if you're working alone. I'll be there to help you out! Yes, yes, I know I'm a 'sick fuck', as you so eloquently put it. All right, I'll see you in five minutes, then."

Then, there were the sound of footsteps coming towards the door. Quickly, Shark feigned sleep, pretending he was still knocked out. The door opened, apparently Dennis come to check in on his son.

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you..." Shark heard his father sing in a sickly-sweet tone. "Don't worry, Shark. It'll come soon enough."

Shark felt a wave of nausea come over him. He barely crawled his way to the toilet before expelling what little was in his stomach. He hadn't eaten breakfast that morning.

He tried to, but nothing would stay down. Yet, it seemed the more he vomited, the more that came out. Soon, though, he was left with only dry heaving.

"Shark? You in there, boy?" Shark's grandfather sounded clueless.

"Yeah, Grandpa. Just...don't bother me right now..." No answer, except for his grandpa walking away. When he was gone, suddenly the teen was hit with another pang.

He then heard screaming from downstairs. It sounded as if Bill had just come home from work.

"That ungrateful little fuck still holed up in the can?!" At least Uncle Bill was to the point. Shark really didn't want to hear yelling right now, though.

But then again, at least it was mildly comforting to hear a familiar voice.