Chapter 4
4
LUKE
“H ey, Unc,” I answer the FaceTime call.
I prop the cell on the phone mount affixed to my desk, positioning it so Uncle Dan and I can see each other.
“Just had a minute on my break,” he says, “so thought I’d give you a call.”
After my mom died, Dad’s brother became my legal guardian, and he’s definitely stepped up to take on that responsibility. Despite how busy he is with work, he always finds time to check in. And considering I’m not having an easy time making friends here, and my issues with Brad and Seth, not to mention a whole series of fucked-up thoughts around Mom and Dad not being around for this chapter of my life, it’s nice to be able to talk to a guy who I can let my guard down with.
After he tells me a little about his day, he says, “Everything all right? You look stressed.”
“Stayed up late finishing some reading,” I lie.
Because even though I can usually talk to Dan about just about anything, I can’t tell him what’s been occupying my thoughts lately.
Since I confronted Brad in the kitchen at the end of last week, I’ve become a paranoid fucker. Talking to him was supposed to answer my question, but now I have more.
What the fuck happened when he touched me?
Why did I have to run back to my dorm room and jerk off while thinking about him?
And why does my dick twitch every time I see him around campus?
I’m convinced this is something he and Seth did to me. I don’t know how, but I intend to find out.
“If you’re going to lie to me,” Dan says, “then you should make up a more plausible story. Unless you became a totally different person than the Luke who left here, I can’t imagine you weren’t all over that reading. You’re probably a few chapters ahead of the rest of the class.”
I snicker. The guy knows me. “I was just staying ahead.”
Again, a lie, but he can’t know what’s really stressing me out. No one can. If anyone would believe me, it’d be Dan, but considering the theories running through my brain, I’m not saying shit until I’m absolutely certain.
“Been thinking about a part-time job,” I say to change the subject. “I know we agreed—”
“Let’s just get you through this first semester. I make fine money. Not send-you-to-St. Lawrence money, but I can cover you for this. It’s not worth risking your scholarship or falling behind.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Because if I don’t keep an A average, I’m fucked out of tuition, books, and lodging.
“Looks like you’re more settled in,” Dan says. Now he’s the one changing the subject. “I’m already seeing the clothes piling up on your bed.”
“If you’re gonna give me hell, then maybe I should hang up and get back to what I was doing,” I tease.
“It’s nice. Means you’re comfortable.”
“Eh…”
“Uh-oh. Knew I’d hit on something.”
Fuck. Of course he did.
“Just some growing pains.”
“You like your roommate?”
“Yeah, Alexei’s cool. My only friend here right now. Some guys aren’t great. And others don’t seem very friendly.”
I noticed this ramped up after my chat with Brad that morning in the kitchen, so I’m wondering if he spread some rumor or if Seth is running around performing his wizardry on our peers.
“Are you being bullied? You think you need to talk to an administrator?”
I hear the concern in his voice, as he surely reflects on the issues I had in the past.
“This isn’t like when I was younger,” I insist, and at his suspicious gaze, I confess, “But yeah, I might need to. Better than using fists.” That’s the right thing to do, and if there wasn’t this fucked-up element to it that I don’t yet understand, maybe I would have already talked to someone about it. “Sorry, but can we talk about something else?”
Dan reminds me that if I’m threatened, I need to report the incident to administrators, if not the police, before embracing a subject change. We talk about this conference he’s looking forward to attending in a couple of months because it’s in Hawaii. And once we’re all caught up, I say, “I do have a little work I need to finish up before class. Then I have a pickup game.”
“Pickup game?”
“I’m playing soccer with some of the other students.”
“Soccer? This hasn’t come up.”
“Just a way to meet new people. Alexei talked me into it last week.”
Dan chuckles. “Sounds good. I’m glad you’re getting out and socializing, even if some of the kids are being assholes. Fuck, I shouldn’t say that. I mean— dammit .”
Dan’s worked so hard to stop cursing since Mom’s death, when he decided he needed to be more of a positive role model for me. It’s sweet of him, and we get a good laugh out of his fumble, then say our goodbyes.
I pack up and head out to Brit Lit, where Prof. Strauss lectures on the reading from last night, and we have a quick class discussion. After class lets out, as I’m passing his desk, he says, “Mr. Waters, could I chat with you for a minute?”
I approach his desk, waiting as he types on his laptop. I’m wondering how long this will take, but a minute later he stops and addresses me. “These short responses I assign in the first month are designed to help me gauge where my students are at, and I must say, I was surprised when I read your recent one.”
I’ve always gotten props for reports and essays, so I’m ready for him to give me the sort of compliments I’m used to, when he says, “Yours was…substandard.”
“What?”
“Overly simplistic. Like you were rushing. Or not really thinking it through. I expect more from my students. I know you’re a transfer, so I suspect that has something to do with this. And I don’t just speak for my own class—I can’t imagine this was sufficient at Emory.”
He’s so matter-of-fact that I’m running back through what I thought was a sophisticated philosophical argument about God’s fucked-up design of his garden in Paradise Lost . But clearly, I was mistaken.
“I’m sorry. Could I have a chance to rework it?”
“That’s not how my class works, Mr. Waters. The grade you get is the grade you earned. I just wanted to give you a heads-up because you have another essay response for next week, and I’m really hoping you’ll put the time in that the assignment deserves.”
I spent an hour on that. I thought it was good. But now I’m like…fuck me. It’s like the whole fucking school’s against me.
The interaction really puts me in a mood, and though I’ve been dreading this pickup game all week, it’s nice to have an excuse to let off some steam. I’m not a soccer player, but I’m impressed with how quickly I pick it up, mostly to piss off Brad Henning.
I’m still a fast fucker like I was when I trained for track. Guess all those years of desperately trying to run from my pain paid off, even if they never made the pain go away.
I use my speed to my advantage throughout the game, noticing Brad somehow manages to change positions so he can play defense to my offense every chance he gets. I return the favor, and during a play, as one of his teammates kicks him the ball, he takes off with it, calling back to me, “Come on, Pretty Boy. Show me what you got.”
Damn, it doesn’t take much for him to get me on edge, and I’m right on his ass when Alexei comes from the side. Brad looks like he’s about to dodge Alexei before he kicks the ball between Alexei’s legs and goes the other way so that I wind up slamming into him at full speed.
He’s like a brick wall, stopping my body, but my leg kicks under his and he trips up, grabbing me as we both tumble to the ground. As we land, his weight crushes down on top of me.
“Fuck,” I groan, but even with the pain, as our bodies are mashed up against each other, there’s a rush of sensation. Not as intense as when he grabbed my wrist the week before, but still fucking electric, exhilarating. It drives me so wild, I can’t even bring myself to get the fucking guy off me. I’m gasping, and I know it’s not because he knocked the wind out of me.
Something hard presses against my pelvis, wedged between us. As he raises himself up on his elbows, he grunts. “Fucker, look what you did to me.”
“Which thing are you talking about? I can’t control your boners, dude.”
“I meant running into me. And you don’t have any room to talk about the other thing.”
As he shoots me a glare, I notice I’m as stiff as he is, and it’s not helping that our bodies are still tight against each other, neither of us making a move to pull away.
This is definitely gonna show in gym shorts.
God, he has a fucking pretty mouth. I could just kiss him right now.
Stop it. He’s doing this to you!
Brad reaches in his collar, grabbing hold of his necklace again.
As he pushes off me, there’s still a buzz from him being up on me, but now it’s like my body wants him back on me, craving that sensation again. I’m fucking empty inside without it.
What the fuck are you doing to me, Brad Henning?
As I try to get up in a way that’ll make my hard-on less obvious, I notice his isn’t as bad, maybe because of whatever the hell he’s doing with his necklace. Frustratingly, I’m the one who ends up getting looks and chuckles from the others on our team.
“Look who’s getting hot and bothered from all the action,” Alexei teases as we get into positions for our next play.
I roll my eyes, my gaze turning to the bleachers, where one lone student sits in the stands beside a backpack.
The guy looks familiar. Shorter than me, with blond hair. When I see him, he’s typically with Brad and Seth, but I can’t remember his name.
He’s too far away for me to be sure, but I have this feeling he’s looking at me.
He tilts his head, and Ross, our team captain, calls my name, pulling me back into the game.
I don’t give the guy in the stands much thought until the game’s over, but when I look for him, he’s gone, which gives me an uneasy feeling. Of course, most things do when it comes to that crew.
After the game—which my team lost—I head back to the dorm to shower off. While I’m scrubbing myself down, I notice my dick’s still a little aroused as my thoughts keep returning to the moment when Brad was lying on top of me. It felt good to have his weight on me.
Fuck, no, I hate that asshole. And I’m fucking straight!
But the more I fight it, the harder I seem to get.
I give my cock a stroke, closing my eyes and imagining Brad pulling back the curtain and coming in here, pushing against me, locking his lips against mine.
I hate myself for the fantasy, but I can’t help what my dick wants right now.
I give my cock another stroke, when suddenly my fantasy shifts, and I’m a kid with Mom and Dad at Christmastime.
The hell?
Flashes of memories with my parents come flooding back. I’m very young. Making Dad’s birthday cake with Mom. Going out to picnics at the lake.
My mind’s out of control, taking me back through vivid scenes from my past.
I press my hand against the shower wall, taking deep breaths as I try to push them back, but the memories come even stronger than before.
I’m at the hospital with Mom. I can see in her teary eyes that the news isn’t good. What’s wrong with Dad? A familiar grief overtakes me. I’m back in that nightmarish moment.
As I struggle to pull myself from the scene, the image of the guy from the bleachers pops up.
Blond locks.
Eyes closed.
He’s muttering something.
I focus on this scene, hoping that will keep me from going back to the memory.
He’s in a dark room, kneeling on the cement floor in a chalked-out pentagram.
“I’m so sorry, Luke,” Mom says, straining to go on.
“No,” I say, returning to the image of the guy from the bleachers, seeing him muttering to himself, sweat beading down his forehead.
What the fuck are you doing?
In an instant I’m struck by searing pain that cuts through me, straight into my soul. I know this pain so well…the depths of despair. I collapse against the shower wall, steadily sinking to the floor as memories haunt me.
“Daddy’s not gonna be okay, sweetie.”
“Stop it!” I scream, thrashing about.
My words seem to summon the blond guy once again. His eyes pop open and he gasps, and then it’s like I’ve been shot in the chest, my body propelled into the shower wall.
It takes me a moment to realize the hit knocked the wind out of me, and as I struggle to get some air back into my lungs, the shower curtain is drawn open.
Alexei stands outside, a towel around his waist, wide-eyed with worry. “Dude, you okay? What’s wrong?”
I pat at my chest, straining, and he rushes in to help me to my feet. I finally catch my first bit of breath when he has me out of the shower.
A bunch of the guys are standing around us in a semicircle, including Seth and Brad.
Despite the discomfort of having the wind knocked out of me, my mind has quieted from the memories, but I can’t shake the image of their friend. Cody. Somehow I suddenly fucking know it like I know my own name.
But how is that fucking possible?
As my breathing steadies, everyone seems to ease up. Alexei helps me to my locker and into my clothes. “We should get you checked out at the clinic.”
“It’s okay. I’m feeling better.”
“Dude, you were on the fucking floor.”
“Can we not do this here, please?” I glance around the room…make eye contact with Brad, who’s a few lockers over. I give him a pointed glare because I don’t know how, but he had something to do with this.
Once I’m dressed, I talk Alexei out of taking me to the clinic, and we return to our dorm room.
I’m still rattled, but overall, I’m fine. At least those dark memories are at bay again. Now I just need to figure out what the hell all that weird-ass shit was with Brad on top of me and this Cody guy.
I settle into bed and pull out my phone, since I’m gonna have to google some of this crap, when I notice a notification from the St. Lawrence grade portal.
It’s listed as Strauss’s class.
He didn’t tell me the shitty grade he gave me on that homework assignment, so I pull it up just to see. Already been a bad enough day, might as well get it over with.
Second Response: A+
My jaw drops as I reflect on that weird-ass conversation he had with me.
A series of scenes play through my mind:
Cody in that dark room, kneeling in the pentagram.
Brad grabbing my wrist, and that powerful sensation shooting through me.
Brad falling on me in soccer, and me feeling another exciting rush.
Seth’s comment that’s had my brain doing backflips ever since.
This shit isn’t fucking hypnosis. It’s something much darker.
And these guys are coming for me.
Hard.