Chapter 24. Liam
The act of holding two hardcover dictionaries at shoulder height for fifteen minutes is, I learn, a slow death.
Fifteen doesn't sound too bad, but it is. It is bad. The first two minutes, I feel it burn, arms stuck out like airplane wings. By minute six, my triceps twitch like they’re on fire, and my fingers begin to shake.
By minute eight, I imagine my arms are filling with cement and, I let them drop just an inch, but Griff’s watching.
“Horizontal.”
He said if I drop them, we'll start over, but I can't, I can’t start over. I’m already on the verge of tears.
I want to curse him, but my teeth are clenched together.
I want to throw the dictionaries at the wall and bolt.
Maybe I could run away if I tried very hard.
But I can’t even adjust my weight without him scolding me for “fidgeting.” I count the seconds.
I count heartbeats. I count the freckles on the back of my hand, which is now red and shaking so badly the letters on the spines vibrate.
“American Heritage” and “Webster’s Unabridged” start to look all mingled up together and bad.
Then, things get really bad. Much worse than how the dictionaries were looking. Somebody knocks on the door, and I'm sure, the moment I hear it, who it is, and I’m not wrong. Ethan walks in with a serious face, but I know that, deep down, he must be burning with rage and plotting my demise.
Griff tells him to stand in front of his desk, completely ignoring my suffering now. I take this opportunity to drop an inch from each arm. It fucking hurts, my muscles feel like they're being boiled in hot oil.
Griff lays out the situation and my punishment, then glares at Ethan and says, “I need you to do your job as his leader, Ethan. And your job is to keep him out of trouble. You’re not exactly excelling at the moment, are you?”
“No, sir,” Ethan responds like a perfect little soldier, not missing a beat, hands clasped behind his back, eyes downcast, looking very sorry. I try to enjoy this look of his, as, I'm sure, the next time he's done with me, I'll be the one who'll be extremely sorry.
“He’s been seriously punished quite a few times, and he’s only been here for a couple of months. Not good, is it?”
“No, sir,” Ethan repeats, and I can feel my face turning red, my chest tight. Besides the horrifying pain, that is. At least, it serves as a good distraction. I'm sure I must have less than five minutes left on the clock, even if it feels like five hours.
Also, a small part of me hates that Ethan is getting chewed out because of me. He doesn’t deserve it, even if he is probably going to kill me later, even after everything he’s done. Even if I’m still angry at him.
But I’m not, not really. I just want him to hold me. I’m fucking done being angry, so fucking done. I’m much, much sorrier than angry. Anger disappeared, evaporated, and now I just feel extremely bad.
“Well, I hope that changes, Ethan. I hope you keep a closer eye on him and keep him in line, because if not, you’ll be punished too for not doing your job. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan says, exactly as expected of him. Such a good boy. I shiver. If he ever finds out I called him a good boy in my head, he'll skin me alive.
“For now, you’ll write a five-thousand-word essay on leadership for me. You have three days. Handwritten. I hope this helps you reflect on your role. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan repeats. I almost scoff. I get all the pain, and he gets away with an easy-peasy essay that he probably could write in his dreams? Oh, well.
“Get out of here, both of you. You’re to spend the rest of the day in your room, only leaving for meals. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan says, yet again. I sigh in relief, dropping my arms. Fucking shit hell, it hurts. They sure as hell don't beat you here, but they have other legal ways to cause pain.
I can’t manage to say a word as I leave, following Ethan's trail, like a little puppy.
We head to the hallway, and with each step closer to our room, I swear I can feel my nerves going haywire.
I totally know Ethan is about to lose it with me.
I can feel his shallow breathing and how he's flexing his jaw so tight it could pop at any second.
Wanting to nip it in the bud, I blurt out, "Sorry. I didn't mean to get you in trouble."
But he just gives me this silent, furious look that sends chills down my spine. As if he needs some time to pull himself together not to murder me right at that second.
We enter the room, and it's Quiet Time, so everyone is here. Everyone knows what I did, too, but they don't say anything. Jack looks at me with these big eyes of his, assessing how angry Ethan actually is. I see him gulping, and it doesn't help with my fucking nerves.
Then Ethan pulls a move I totally don't see coming.
He goes for Harry, who's chilling on his bunk, grabs him by the collar, and yanks him right off the bed. Harry’s feet don’t even touch the ground as Ethan holds him up in the air and slams him against the wall, while he protests.
I just stand there, freaked out, no clue what to say or do. Jack opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Miles is the only one who doesn't do anything, but even he is looking at the scene.
“What the FUCK, Ethan?! Let me GO!” Harry basically screams.
“I know what you did, dirtbag,” Ethan hisses at Harry. “You dragged Liam off to smoke in that storage, left him passed out there, and bailed. You'll fucking regret the day you were fucking born, I'll make sure of it, asshole. I’m sick of you.”
“I tried waking him up, but he wouldn’t wake the fuck up!
I couldn’t miss curfew, or I’d be the one getting the heat,” Harry argues, desperately.
He tries to kick him, but Ethan is much taller and stronger, holding him firmly in place.
He has no chance to even move, so he resorts to begging.
“Let go, man! I even made sure to open the door and spray some Breeze I found there so it wouldn't smell like weed!”
But Ethan isn’t having any of it. “I swear if you pull this crap again, you’re done for.
Smoke and screw up your life all you want.
But Liam is mine, and he’s not trashing his life on my watch.
If you drag him into your mess again, you’ll be fucking out of here.
I'll make sure to land your ass in jail, or worse. You get it, dumbass? I’m DONE with you.
Done. This is your last warning.” Ethan growls through clenched teeth, still shaking him in the air.
Jack and Miles stay quiet, and my mouth is so dry I can’t think of anything to say.
Even if I want to say something, I can't. It's like I forgot how to utter words.
“Alright, alright, I won’t do it again,” Harry says. “Let me go, you fucking asshole. You can't touch me!”
“No, but I could go to Griff’s office right now. He’s still around. Or worse, I could get a guard to search this place. How’d you like that, Harry? Ready for another stint in the hole? You didn’t enjoy it much last time.”
“Get off me, you psycho!” Harry snaps, still trying to wriggle his way out, but Ethan holds him firmly.
“I hope I made myself clear. Remember. I won't say it again,” Ethan says, finally dropping Harry to the floor.
Then, he turns to me, and I can't fucking breathe. He looks like a murder machine. That guy is angry, and I'm his next victim.
“And you,” he says, pointing a finger in my face as he steps closer, making me sick to my stomach.
And also a little turned on. Maybe a lot turned on.
“You know fucking better than that, Liam.” The way he says it is so intense that it actually makes me laugh nervously. Maybe not the best move because he grabs me by the collar, just like he did to Harry.
“You better start using your brain. We’re stuck here today, but tomorrow, you're fucked. I’m going to punish your ass.”
“No way,” I manage, even if I'm shaking.
“Way. I will, because first, you deserve it. Second, it’s my revenge.
I’m in trouble because of you. And third, I’m sick of us both not speaking.
You KNOW I didn’t rat you to hurt you. Then you go there and pull this shit with Harry?
Are you fucking kidding me? And you expect me to allow this to happen?
You must be out of your damn fucking mind, because I won’t let you ruin your life, one way or the other, and if I have to force you to speak to me, I will. ”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble, believe me. I feel awful about what happened. I'm sorry,” I say, meaning every word.
He still glares at me and replies: “That’s not enough.
If it were, you would have thought twice before doing it.
You heard Griff. I’m not doing my job right.
So get ready.” When he says that, my face turns so red and, well, other parts of me are so not helping the situation that there is no hiding it anymore.
He drops me and heads to his bed, grabbing a book. He’s still angry, still breathing hard, but now he’s pretending nothing happened. My breathing is heavy and labored, my cock twitches painfully, and I can't think straight: when I try to think, all my thoughts come mumbled together.
Eventually, Jack and Harry start talking about other stuff, acting normal. But I can’t stop thinking about what Ethan might do to me tomorrow.
Later that night, I don’t sleep right. Keep waking up because my stomach is fucking on fire with nerves.
I wonder if they'd give me some antacid tablets if I screamed and cried loud enough.
But I don't move, just lie there staring at the wooden slats supporting the top bunk.
Jack snores quietly on the bed beside me.
We have to wake up at dawn and follow the whole routine, like every day, roll call with a guard, breakfast. But then, on Sundays, we’re free for the morning. Not me, though. Ethan gets me in the hallway, right after breakfast, and says, “Come with me.”
I want to protest. I want to say he can’t punish me.
I want to run and throw a tantrum, I don’t know.
But I can’t. All I do is cross my arms and look at him with a frown, and what looks dangerously like a pout.
I'm a hundred percent sure that I look like a little kid before a tantrum, but I don't care.
I feel my eyes getting warm and stinging, the tears already prickling in the corners.
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.
And the worst part is that no matter how fucking angry I am with him, I crave this. I want his touch. I want him to punish me, give his attention, his love. No matter how fucked up this sounds. I want this so we can move on. I realize I stopped following him, just like a little scared boy now.
“You can either come by yourself, or I can drag you there, your choice,” he says, more patiently than I thought. When I don’t move, he grabs my arm to start dragging me.
I get rid of his grip and say, “I can walk!”
“Great. Follow me, then,” he says, much calmer than yesterday.
Not like he's about to trash me. I start following him, my stomach sick with what he’ll do to me.
My fucking cock, though, has a mind of its own, and it grows and twitches, already wet.
I'm fucking wet with pre-cum just imagining Ethan. This thought makes me sick, sicker.
I should be angry. I was angry, for two weeks. But watching him defend me to Harry, I can't find it anymore. It's just gone.
We go to the admin hall, get upstairs, and go to his office. I can't breathe, I can't swallow. I'm shaking a little, and probably I look pale as a ghost. He should look at me and feel bad, take pity on someone so pathetic. He doesn't. He points to the inside, and I sigh, walking in.
He gets his chair, puts it in the middle of the room, sits on it, spreading his giant legs, and taps his lap.
“Come here,” he says, casually, like this is the most normal thing in the world, like we were going to talk about the fucking weather or something, not like he's about to spank me raw. My face is redder than a beet now.
“No fucking way,” I say. “Ethan, let me go. For real, I mean it,” I consider bolting to the door. I could unlock it. I could get the fuck out of there, but where would I go, then? Prison? “I should still be mad at you for what you did!”
His eyes narrow. "You have two options here. Either you walk over willingly, or I'll come get you myself. And trust me," his voice drops to a growl, "You won't like what happens if I have to go over there."
“You’re not going to spank me over your knees, there's no way in fucking hell that you'll do that, not after everything you’ve done,” I say, crossing my arms, definitely throwing a tantrum now, feeling all weird inside my stomach, and my dick is harder than a rock for some stupid crazy reason.
“Yes, I am,” he says with a sick smile. He's having loads of fun with that, I can see it. It's disgusting how hot I find it. “You’re behaving like a little boy that doesn’t know better, so I’ll punish you like one.”
“No way!” I exclaim, blushing even harder at the ‘little boy’ part. That guy is a kink fucker. I fucking love it. He just waits, patiently, not even hiding his smirk.
“Come on, I don’t have all day, pet,” he says, patting his thigh again, and I almost faint when I hear him using that fucking pet name. What the fuck!
"I can't believe you're doing this to me," I grumble and go, slowly, standing in front of his legs. He flips me over his knees easily. Ethan chuckles then, and I can feel the vibrations against my cheek.
"You've earned this. Yesterday you really fucked up."
I can't deny that, even if I don't like the consequences. Or maybe, the worst part is admitting that I do. I do like the fucking consequences.
As he places his hands on my waist, his fingers digging into my flesh, I prepare myself.
And I’m not even mad anymore at him. I’m just so happy to be close to his body again.