Chapter Eight - The Aftermath
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Aftermath
If there was any consolation, it was the fact that Taylor had come too, a few seconds after I did, painting my tummy with white ropes.
It didn’t matter, though. It didn’t change the fact that I’d lost.
I expected him to gloat, but instead he seemed dazed— bleary eyed, hands slow as he wiped himself up with his shirt.
Neither of us said anything. I felt exhausted, grimy, and an unmistakable sense of dread.
I’d lost. How could I have lost? I’d been so confident. More than that, I’d been so close to winning…
I waited for Taylor to humiliate me, but he didn’t say anything. His gaze fell on me, but it was as if he was looking right through me, like I was transparent. Then he furrowed his brows, as if he were confused.
I don’t know what he could possibly be confused about. He won.
If I were him, I’d be rubbing it in his face. But he was silent. It was unsettling, to be honest.
I got up and left, and he didn’t try to stop me. I showered, scrubbing hard at my skin as I tried to forget everything that had happened. Taylor’s naked body. His cock against mine. That kiss.
That night, it was impossible to sleep. Hours passed by. Soon it was midnight. One o’clock. Two o’clock. Three o’clock.
The strangest thing was, I didn’t feel devastated.
Not like the way I had felt when I found out Taylor had been made soccer captain, or when he’d been elected student council president, or when he was awarded valedictorian.
All those times, it was like my body had ripped apart to reveal a bottomless void inside myself, a small voice in my mind whispering you’re not good enough.
No, that night I just felt…numb.
Shellshocked.
Eventually I did fall asleep, and the last thing I thought of was not the void, or the nasty voices that lived in my head, but the memory of Taylor’s soft lips against mine.
The next morning, I slept in until midday. I woke up groggy and panicked, afraid I’d missed class, until I remembered it was Saturday.
Before I left my bedroom, I pressed an ear against the door, listening for Taylor. I wasn’t trying to hide from him, exactly, I just wanted to be prepared in case I ran into him.
But I heard no movement, and when I stepped into the living room, there was no sign of him either. No sounds came from his bedroom door. He must’ve gone out already.
I didn’t see him all day, and I should’ve been relieved, but instead I felt uneasy. I lay in bed that night, listening for him to return: for the click of his key in the lock, for the dorm door to swing open, for his footsteps.
Nothing.
On Sunday, I didn’t run into him either.
I kept busy: I did laundry, bought groceries, caught up with a few friends I’d met at parties, and spent the evening preparing for the upcoming week of classes.
As I was sitting at my desk in my bedroom, writing notes with my headphones in, I heard a rush of water over the classical music I was listening to.
I paused Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.23 (I’d started listening to classical music in high school because I hoped it would give me an advantage over Taylor. Obviously, it didn’t work, but the habit remained).
Yep, there was no doubt about it. The shower was running. Taylor was home.
What should I do? I could hide in my room. Turn off the lights, pretend to go to sleep.
But it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet, and I wasn’t a coward. I wouldn’t allow myself to hide from him.
In fact, the more I thought about it, the more annoyed I became. What was Taylor playing at, avoiding me for the past two days? Was he purposely trying to drive me insane with the dread, the anticipation?
The shower stopped running, and I remained at my desk, my hands curling into fists.
I hated sitting around. If I had to deal with something bad, I’d rather get it over with immediately.
A secret fear of mine — one that I’d never reveal to Taylor, because he’d probably use it against me — was needles and blood tests.
Even the thought of them made me queasy.
The last time I’d gotten a vaccination though, one sleeve rolled up as I sat in the nurse’s office, I realised the worst part wasn’t the needle prick pain itself.
It was the waiting.
So, when I heard Taylor’s footsteps recede as he moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, I stood up, gave myself a pep talk, and marched over to his room.
There, I knocked on the door. “Taylor,” I yelled.
There was some noises of movement from inside, and then he swung the door open wearing an irritated expression.
I blinked a few times. Right, he’d just finished his shower.
That’s why a fluffy white towel was slung low around his waist, revealing a faint trail of hair on his lower belly that led downwards.
A drop of water fell from his chin, landed on his chest, and trickled south, over perfect skin and firm muscle…
I flushed.
Fuck, what was wrong with me? I’d literally touched his cock the night before, so why did the sight of some bare skin and water droplets make me feel like I was on fire?
“What do you want?” Taylor asked.
I glared at him. “Where have you been all day?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because, in case you don’t remember, we had a competition on Friday night.”
“Of course, I remember,” he cut in. “And I remember that I won.”
“Yes. Which means I’m…your slave,” I finished with a mutter.
“What was that?” Taylor said with an innocent smile, gesturing to his ear, like he hadn’t heard me.
“Your slave!” I yelled. “Your fucking slave, okay? Unlike you, I’m not a sore loser. If you lost, I bet you’d have pulled some technically-this-doesn’t-count bullshit out of your ass.”
“I wouldn’t have,” he said. “Why are you here, anyway? I would’ve thought you’d hide in your room, hoping I’d forget about this whole thing.”
“I’m not a coward,” I said.
He raised his brows. “Tell me the truth. You want this, don’t you?”
Once again, I glared at him. I glared at him so frequently, it was probably going to give me wrinkles. You know how there’s smile lines and frown lines? I would have glare lines.
“Fuck off. I just want to get this over with. Tonight.”
He reached out and grazed his fingertips against my chin. “Eager, aren’t you?” he murmured.
I slapped his hand away.
Should I punch him?
I really wanted to punch him.
“No,” I snapped. “I’m busy this week, and I don’t want this hanging over me. But if you’ve changed your mind…”
He barked a laugh. “Definitely not. In fact, I was out today, preparing.”
My stomach dropped. “Preparing?” I repeated.
“Wait here a second,” he said, disappearing into his bedroom. I expected him to close the door behind himself, but he didn’t, which meant I had about fifteen seconds to look around.
I don’t care about Taylor and his dumb life, but it’s useful to know thy enemy, or whatever it was that Sun Tzu said. So I glanced around Taylor’s jail cell bedroom and was surprised to see that…
It was a total mess.
There were clothes on the floor, the bed unmade, and a stack of books on his desk that looked precariously close to tipping over.
His bedside table was covered with dirty mugs and a tangle of chargers and cables, and shoved into the corner of his room were running shoes, a plastic container of protein powder, and a random bottle of air freshener.
Sure, I’d never seen Taylor’s bedroom while we were in high school.
I mean, of course I hadn’t — we weren’t friends, not even close.
I didn’t even know which neighbourhood he lived in.
But from what I had seen of him in high school, he’d always seemed put together: his notes were neat, his locker was organised, and his soccer jersey was always ironed.
I’d never expect him to have such a chaotic room.
Then Taylor returned from what he was digging out, and all of my thoughts about his bedroom went out the window. Because he was holding a…
“You can’t be serious.”
“I warned you,” Taylor said, smiling as he lazily swung the collar from his index finger.
It was definitely made for humans — I doubted dogs had necks that were as big.
It was made of a simple plain leather, with a little gold loop at the front, and connected to that loop was a long, thin leash.
“I said that if I won, I’d make you wear a collar that designates you as my property.
Because you are my property.” His eyes glinted.
“Only for tonight,” I said.
He shrugged one shoulder. “Only for tonight,” he agreed. “Who knows. You might love it so much, you’ll willingly agree to be my slave forever.”
“Keep dreaming.” I snatched the collar from his hand. Now that I was holding it, I could inspect it better, and I saw there was a hidden latch to open it. “Is this all? I just put this on and then we’re done?”
“Done?” Taylor echoed, looking at me like I was an idiot. To be fair, he looked at me like that all the time. “We’re just getting started.”
He moved forward, forcing me to stumbled backwards, and he backed me through the living room until we arrived at my door, my shoulder blades hitting the solid wood with a thud. Taylor was in front of me, so close, that all I could see was him.
I squeezed my eyes shut, just so I wouldn’t have to look at his stupid face and his stupid body.
“Archie,” he said in a sing-song voice. His face was so close to mine, I could feel his breath against my cheek. “Let’s go into your bedroom.”
“N-no.”
His thumb grazed my chin, but I still didn’t open my eyes. “I think you’ve forgotten,” he said softly, “that slaves don’t say ‘no’.”
That made me snap my eyes open. “You’re not going to do something actually heinous, are you?” I demanded. “I know I’m your slave, but you can’t make me jump out the window, for example.”
“What’s wrong with you? Why would I make you jump out the window?” His fingertips stroked my jaw. What was up with him and touching my face? “I won’t do anything dangerous or illegal. I just want us to go into your room.”
“But why?” I demanded. My bedroom was my sacred place. Yes, it was a lot cleaner than Taylor’s, but letting him inside would be like inviting the enemy general into your army’s camp.
“Because,” he said, voice low, “I want us to get in your bed.”
I could have protested. I should have protested. Maybe Taylor stroking my jaw wasn’t random after all, but a type of hypnosis, because suddenly I felt weak-kneed and…
“Alright,” I whispered, and with a hand on the door handle behind me, I opened the door.