Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Thomas didn’t ask about the man in The Frog it was Scott chasing, Scott suggesting, Scott writing terrible things, and even when Warren agreed, he’d phrased it in such a way to suggest he was giving Scott the money to help his sister rather than to violently rape him.
Those emails were a nail in his future coffin.
They would ensure Warren walked free if things went too far.
Thomas had left his tablet on the kitchen table, and although Scott knew he shouldn’t look, although he’d promised Thomas he wouldn’t, he still picked it up.
Beauty and the Beast.
Scott didn’t look at the number of subscribers, or even the money they’d made. He went to the requests, scrolling and scrolling until he found the one he knew was from Warren.
He gasped, eyes going wide as he read. It wasn’t a request, but more a step-by-step of what he wanted to happen to Scott with a slow but sinister build-up to a violent sexual assault.
He’d offered exactly 100K for the request to be met.
“Don’t,” Thomas snapped, yanking the tablet from Scott’s hand. He’d been unaware Thomas had come up behind him, and his heart went into overdrive at the sudden action. Scott shot to his feet, tipping the chair over in his haste, and gawped at Thomas.
“You said you wouldn’t look,” Thomas hissed, then he slumped, lowering his head. “Goddamn it, Scott, you shouldn’t look.”
“Did you read it?”
“Yes.” Thomas picked up the chair and patted the back of it so Scott would sit. Scott obediently dropped into it, resting his elbows on the table; he held his face in his hands.
“He wants to –”
“He’s not going to. It’s a sick troll with nothing better to do than type horrible shit on the internet.” Thomas gripped Scott’s shoulder. “I’ve reported it like the others, but it takes a while for the site to remove the subscriber.”
Scott lowered his hands. His voice came out shaky. “More than one person wants to do that to me?”
“No,” Thomas said firmly. “It’s him. Same guy. I report him, he gets deleted, a few hours later, he’s made another profile, and he’s at it again. As I said, he’s some cowardly arsehole tapping away on his laptop. He can’t…” Thomas paused, tightening his hold on Scott’s shoulder.
“Can’t what?” Scott asked.
“I was going to say hurt you, but that’s bullshit because he can – he has. I know. But he’s not going to touch you, Scott. I won’t let him. His sick little fantasy is going to remain in his sick little head.”
“I hope so,” Scott whispered.
Thomas frowned. “Don’t focus on the negativity. Loads of your subscribers say nice things.” He reached for the tablet. “I’ll show you.”
“I’m…I’m okay,” Scott said, pushing to his feet. “I’m…still tired.”
“Scott…”
Scott walked away, trying for a comforting smile but failing. He rushed out of the kitchen, back into the safety of his bedroom, where he locked the door.
Thomas whispered his name from the other side, but Scott didn’t let him in, instead he threw himself down on the bed and closed his eyes.
Scott still had time, and wallowing in acceptance was exactly what Warren wanted.
He had money to make, which meant he and Thomas needed to make more content.
He showered, he moisturised, brushed his teeth, did his hair, bit by bit putting his armour back on until he strolled from the bedroom, content to do something about his fate.
Thomas was in the kitchen by the sink, scrubbing a cucumber beneath the tap.
They were on the same page, apparently, with the need for more content.
“It’s not the request I would’ve chosen,” Scott remarked. “But you’ve made me enjoy everything else, minus the balloons, so let’s see how it goes.”
Thomas spun to face him, clutching the cucumber. He raised it to Scott. “I was actually considering the pineapple.”
“Pineapple!”
“I think we can do it.”
Scott recoiled. “We?”
“Yes, I’m willing to be the one who pushes it up there.”
“Because that really is the hard part, isn’t it?” Scott shook his head. “I draw the line at pineapples.”
Thomas glanced at the pineapple on the side. Scott looked too, then gawped in shock.
“Wait… I thought you were joking?”
“Of course I’m joking.”
Thomas took the cucumber to the chopping board. “You see me holding a cucumber and you assume it’s going up your arse?”
“It’s not?”
Thomas glared, then cut the cucumber in half.
“But one of the requests –”
“That is not our niche.”
Scott sat down at the table. “What are you doing then?”
“Making us sandwiches.” Thomas pointed the knife at the pineapple. “And a fruit salad.”
“Oh.”
The bread, butter, ham, pickles, and lettuce on the side suddenly made sense.
“Don’t we need to…” Scott shuffled. “Make more videos?”
Thomas paused, glancing over at him. “The videos we’ve put up are doing great. Remember what I said about quality over quantity.”
“But we’ve only got five more days.”
“Then what happens?” Thomas asked, tilting his head.
His eyes pinned Scott in his seat.
Scott shrugged. “That’s the target I set myself. 100K in a month.”
Thomas resumed making the sandwiches. Scott bit his lip, thinking of a good argument to get Thomas back in the studio for another shoot. More videos meant more money –
“Do you remember the sandwiches in Brixton?” Thomas asked.
Scott grimaced. “Ham and lettuce with barely any ham and slimy lettuce, and houmous and cucumber with that strange tang to the cucumbers.”
Thomas’s lips lifted into a smile. “I thought I’d be nostalgic.”
He gestured to the plate of teeny sandwiches he’d already made, ham and lettuce by the pink and green Scott could see, then continued to make his cucumber and houmous ones.
“Nostalgic?” Scott lifted an eyebrow. “You do remember the rumours about the cucumbers, right?”
“Of course I remember.”
“Grown in HM Havisham, the women’s prison, and they passed the cucumbers from cell to cell to admire them before shipping them off to us.”
“So many guys jerked off to that bullshit.” Thomas shook his head. “Did you believe it too?”
“I believed there was something extra to them.”
“There was something extra to them because by the time we got to eat them, they were a few months old, not to mention Bull kept them by the bait boxes in the kitchen. We were probably slowly being poisoned by him.” Thomas finished the sandwich, then cut it into eights.
“This cucumber was grown by Tim, and he brought it up about thirty minutes ago for me. You can’t get fresher than that. ”
He began preparing the fruit salad, and the smell of strawberries and mangoes had Scott’s stomach groaning.
Scott tapped his hands on the table like an impatient child. “Let me try something, I am starving.”
“Not here,” Thomas replied, packing the sandwiches into a cooler box. “I’m taking you out.”
“Taking me…out?” Scott rolled his shoulders, getting edgy. “Sounds like you’re going to take me across the road and shoot me.”
Thomas hummed. “You’re half right.”
“What?”
“I’m taking you across the road,” Thomas clarified. “Not to shoot you, but for…” He flicked the cooler box. “For lunch.”
Scott blinked. “You made me a picnic.”
“I made us a picnic. Yes.”
“I’ve never had a picnic before.”
Thomas drew back. “What do you mean you’ve never had a picnic?”
“I haven’t.”
“It’s eating food that’s been made by hand outside, of course you have.”
Scott’s gaze trailed up to the ceiling. “I’m sure it’s more than that. There must be an actual definition.”
When Scott glanced at Thomas again, he headed through the door with the cooler bag swinging from his hand.
“Hey, wait!” Scott yelled, rushing after him.
Tim took his hat off to greet them as they came outside. “They’re on the edge of the woods.”
Scott didn’t have time to question what Tim was talking about; Thomas nodded and marched over to his car.
Scott hopped in the passenger side, waiting for Thomas, who put the food in the back.
They set off from the gate but didn’t travel far.
Thomas drove over the road to a muddy track that led through the trees.
“The man-eating deer? Your idea of a date is taking me to the man-eating deer?”
Thomas bristled. “Who said this was a date?”
“A mate-date,” Scott corrected.
“There’s no such thing.”
They kept heading through the track in the trees, until they were fewer and fewer. “I’m getting Jurassic Park vibes.” He peeked at Thomas. “And looking at you isn’t making me feel any better.”
Scott shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself.
They broke the tree line, and Thomas slowed the car, parking it beside a fallen tree. The bark had been stripped off, leaving a pale trunk that reminded Scott of a skeleton.
“There they are,” Thomas murmured, pointing out the window.
The fifty deer staring at them from a distance did nothing to ease Scott’s fears.
“Why aren’t they bouncing around looking all picturesque?”
“Because they’re not performing monkeys.”
“No, Thomas,” Scott replied. “They’re deer, quite different to monkeys.”
Thomas inflated like he might shout but instead shoved his fist in his mouth and bit down. He dropped his hand to his lap, calm again. “They’re suspicious of us,” he said. “Once they’re comfortable, they’ll act natural, circling in a group huddle to discuss how to kill us.”
“Lovely.” Scott patted his thighs. “Sandwiches.”
Thomas snorted as he reached for the box in the back.
Comfortable silence descended over them again while they ate. Most of the deer stopped staring and began grazing the grass. Scott pointed out the fawns, awing at them as they bounced around with each other.