Chapter 15
You Are The Reason
Clark
A week after prom night
This summer is the worst. Mom goes on vacation with her husband again, Amy goes with Chris, and I’m left home alone. My friends are all busy with their own family trips. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss my mom. At least she’d nag me when I lie around all day in my room during summer.
I’ve told her a hundred times that marrying Mr. Schmidt is a bad idea. Because of him, I have to move out, leave my friends, and start all over. I’ve begged her more than once to get a divorce and come back to our old house. Of course, she never listens. She wins the jackpot, and I get left alone.
I stare at the photo from graduation—me and Fenella before prom night.
That morning, she still has that bright smile, like some sweet angel.
In the picture, I’m standing next to her, and I have to admit, we actually look good together.
We should’ve been in love. I run my fingers through my hair in frustration, take a deep breath, and keep staring at her blue eyes.
“Clark!” My door flies open. Amy and Chris storm in like they own the place.
“Amy? You can’t just walk into my room like that!” I snap, but she doesn’t care.
“You should thank me. I’m doing you a favor,” she says, tossing a brown envelope onto my desk so hard it almost knocks over my lamp. “It’s from Dad.”
I get up from the bed and half-run to the table. “You can’t just throw it like that!” I grab the envelope and freeze. “Wait—why isn’t this sealed?”
“You’re so picky,” Chris says, smacking my back so hard I flinch.
“Hey! Don’t touch that!” I yell when he starts fiddling with my action figures. I snatch one out of his hand, and he just laughs.
“I wonder why,” Amy mutters, glancing around my room like she’s inspecting something gross.
“Did you open it?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Why would you do that? It literally says confidential on the seal.” My voice rises before I can stop it. Fear creeps in, because something feels off.
Amy rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. We’re siblings. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us.”
I pull out the documents from inside. They’re thick—some kind of legal form filled out in pen. There’s a note attached on top:
I have filed for your name change to use the name Schmidt. Please sign and send it back to your father’s office so the lawyer can file it in court. From now on, your name is Alan Schmidt.
Happy 18th birthday!
Love, Mom.
“Oh, no…” I whisper, my heart pounding. What the hell does she mean, changing my name? Like a thunderbolt hits me right between the eyes.
“Hey, look at this.” Chris’s voice pulls me back.
I turn, and my stomach drops. He’s holding the graduation photo with Fenella. Before I can move, Amy snatches it from him and looks at it too.
“Don’t touch that!” I shout, throwing the document onto the table. I rush to grab the photo, but Chris slams into me, knocking the air out of my chest.
“Shut up!” He punches me in the face. My head jerks back, and before I can react, he shoves me onto the bed.
He pins me down, yanks my hands behind me. His knees press into my back, one hand shoving my head into the mattress. I fight him off, but he slaps my back hard again, and pain shoots through my ribs.
From my tilted view, Amy walks over and locks the door. Her hand waves a white cable tie, and her smile spreads like she just found treasure. No, no, no. The next second, my hands are tied so tight I can barely move.
“Let me go!” I yell, thrashing.
“Big guy, but weak as hell,” Chris laughs.
“What can I say? He’s just a useless lump of fat,” Amy giggles. “Hey, you got a new name like a newborn. Congrats. Be a good boy and put on some diapers, will you?”
Amy yanks my pants down, and my whole body burns with humiliation.
“Hey, what are you doing? Let me go!” I kick and struggle, but Chris grips my legs tight with both hands. They roll me onto my back, exposing me again.
“Please, stop. Let me go.” I beg, tears streaming down my face.
“You should be quiet, Clark. Oops, sorry—Alan.” Amy glares down at me, her smirk twisting into something cruel.
Are they gonna take pictures again? What else do they want from me? Why is this happening?
“Help! Mrs. Greta, please!” My voice cracks as I scream for the housekeeper, but Amy laughs.
“I told Mrs. Greta to take a vacation starting tonight. There’s no one else in this big house but us.” Amy wipes my photo across my face like it’s a tissue, smearing away the tears.
“If you behave and stay quiet, we won’t make you suffer,” Chris says, picking up one of my action figures.
“No! Not that! Please, I’m begging you.” I shake my head, still crying.
“You’d better shut up, or I’ll smash every one of these.” Chris twists the head off the figure in his hand, the sound cracking through the air like bone.
“Not the head! Please, stop it! Please…” I sob as he throws the broken pieces into the trash.
“Then shut your mouth!” Amy snaps, her voice slicing through me. I bite my lip and hold back the tears, my body shaking uncontrollably.
My skin prickles, starting from my exposed thighs and spreading across every inch of me. I’m powerless against them. My body trembles, my wrists ache, and my shirt sticks to me with sweat.
“Calm down. We’re not gonna hurt you,” Chris says, sweeping the rest of my figurines off the desk into the trash.
“Yeah. We just wanna help you unwind. We can’t stand watching you mope around, jerking off to pictures of Fenella. It’s pathetic.” Amy steps onto the bed, her tone mocking, eyes glittering like she’s enjoying every second.
“My name’s not Alan, and I don’t need your help. Please, just let me go.” I twist and pull, trying to break the cable tie, but they tied it so tight it cuts into my wrists. Every movement makes the plastic slice my skin open.
“Shh… it’s okay. We’re gonna help you get any woman you want. You just need a diet, the gym, and some attitude training. Trust me.” Amy pats my shoulder like I’m some child throwing a tantrum.
“There you go. Be quiet, and stay still. I’ll even be your trainer. You’ll turn into a real catch in no time.” Chris chuckles, stepping closer to the bed.
Then they start undressing. Both of them. And I just stare, frozen, my mind spinning.
“What are you doing? Why are you doing this to me?” My voice shakes, tears sliding down my cheeks. I hate them, but I can’t look away. Are they for real?
“Because you’re about to carry the Schmidt name. But look at you. You’re disgusting. I hate you with every piece of me. I hate when Dad praises you. You and your whore mother ruined my life.”
Amy’s voice cracks, but her eyes burn. She runs her fingers through her hair, tugging hard like she wants to rip the anger out of her skull.
She closes her eyes and rubs her neck. She sucks in a long breath, calming herself. Chris hugs her from behind and kisses her shoulder.
“For years, I was the only daughter. Dad fucked his mistresses in this house, and I let it slide. But the moment you and your mom showed up, it got real. Too real.” A tear rolls down her cheek, her whole body trembling. “Why can’t anything go my way?”
“Amy, baby…” Chris brushes his thumb across her cheek to wipe her tears.
Then her voice drops. Soft. Dangerous. “And now Dad’s changing your name? I can’t let you carry the Schmidt name and pretend to be my brother when you look like some filthy pig.”
Her breath shakes, but her smile curves back slowly—thin, twisted, almost peaceful. “So relax, Alan. Enjoy tonight. Think of it as your initiation into the Schmidt family.”
Then she turns to Chris, and they kiss.
That night, I watch a real-life porn scene unfold right in front of me. I hate myself because I can’t say I don’t like it. My body betrays me. Even my cock won’t lie—it reacts, joins in, becomes their plaything.
From that night on, my days blur together. Amy and Chris become my wardens. They rebuild me from the inside out, molding me like clay until I’m exactly how Amy wants.
Goodbye, Clark Thomson.
* * *
Alan
June, 2023
Everything might pass in the blink of an eye for others, but not for me.
I spend four long years at the same university as Amy and Chris.
Those years are torture stretched into eternity.
They make me their sexual slave, and it changes me completely.
Psychologically and physically, I’m no longer Clark Thomson.
How can someone twist another person so much they lose their whole identity?
I used to love food, but Amy forces me to eat clean.
Now I weigh every calorie like it’s a sin.
I used to watch cartoons while snacking, but Amy turns that into gym time.
Now I’m addicted to working out, sculpting my body until it fits her idea of perfection.
Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe that’s what I need, even if I have to bleed for it. It’s what transforms me into someone people finally notice. Someone who matters.
I walk toward the altar. A small box holding a gold ring sits in my tuxedo pocket. As I step along the red carpet, heads turn. Women’s mouths part. Their eyes linger. Their cheeks flush when mine meet theirs for a second.
Look at me. I’m Alan Schmidt, the charismatic one.
When the music starts, Amy appears at the door, dragging her feet to the rhythm of a string quintet.
She’s in a luxurious white wedding dress by a famous designer, holding a perfect bouquet filled with red roses, pink hydrangeas, and baby’s breath.
Amy Schmidt glows with joy, looking every inch the fairy-tale princess girls dream about.
Well, people, you’re all fooled by that demon.
I smile as she stops in front of the altar. Mr. Schmidt lets go of Amy’s hand with shaky steps. Amy forces him to walk her down the aisle, even though since his stroke last year, it’s the one thing he can barely do.
But for Amy, everything has to be perfect. If nobody recognized Mr. Schmidt, she’d probably hire a more handsome older man just to make women envy her sugar-daddy fantasy.
It’s a mess. But after years of living under Amy’s rule, I’ve learned to tolerate everything she asks for. Better that than ending up tied naked in a public park again. That was the punishment I got when I once refused to do her college assignments, after she nearly drowned me in whiskey.
The pastor gives a short speech, then moves on to the vows. Amy and her husband exchange promises that sound beautiful but ring hollow. I know Amy too well to believe a word she says.
“Now you are husband and wife,” the pastor declares. “You may exchange the rings.”
I step forward and do my part. I reach into my pocket, pull out the velvet box, and open it to reveal two gold rings, one crowned with a massive diamond.
Amy’s husband, the senator, is twenty years older than her. It’s his third marriage, but Amy’s first. Our father never agreed to it, but he didn’t have the strength to fight my mother or Amy.
Money—no, wealth and power—are all that matter to them. Turns out those women have the same spirit inside their souls. Dad has nothing left, not with his hotel chain getting closer to bankruptcy and debts crushing us.
So here we are, kissing the old man’s ass with polite smiles and Amy’s fake bombshell charm.
The church fills with applause as Amy slips the ring on her husband’s finger. I clap too, because that’s what I’m supposed to do. Everyone cheers. Everyone except Chris.
He sits there, eyes burning, glaring at Amy and her new husband. I can’t blame him. He’s the one who lost everything in business. One company after another, burning all his daddy’s money until nothing is left but dull clothes and leftover food in his fridge.
At least Amy still keeps him around for her pleasure. Oh yeah, he knows how to give her all the satisfaction she needs in the world. And somehow, they love each other. It’s pathetic. And it’s sad.