The Chair

I am tied to a wooden folding chair, being beaten in the face by some thug.
The Mafia.
But I don't mind.
I've never felt this good before, I say in between the sounds of fist sinking into bone.
The feelings.
I have to be honest, I tell my captors.
My entire life, I've never done anything important.
I was the middle child, ya know.
I didn't do well in school, I didn't do well with women.
I had trouble managing myself alone.
The thug socks my jaw.
The gang leader watches me get destroyed but he doesn't seem moved.
Dropped out of college, I continue.
Haven't kept many jobs.
Still can't make it with the ladies.
Here I am, I say.
Being beaten to death by the Mafia.
The thug punches me in the cheek.
I have to be honest.
I've never felt more important in my whole life.
The thug rubs his fist, like it's getting sore.
He lands a knuckle in my gut, where it's softer.
You guys make me feel needed, I choke out.
Thank you.
The gang leader looks up in disgust.
OK, untie him, he says.
I stand up, wobble and smile wide through a bleeding gumline.
Thank you, I say again.
The gang leader doesn't look happy.
He looks worried.
Like I'm gonna retaliate now.
Here's the money we owe you, he says.
He hands me a paper bag.
Don't count it, he says.
Same time next week? I ask.
Sure, he says.
But next time we're going to use duct tape.