33. Player
PLAYER
Time seems to flow differently in this hellhole, and I'm thinking that by comparison, OMU is truly paradise on Earth. I'm even longing for economics classes, if that tells you anything.
"Move it, it's time to eat!"
The guard's voice grates on my nerves, but I contain myself. The last thing I need is to be kept here longer than planned.
Meals are served in a large cafeteria where the noise level rivals that of a stadium when the Jaguars score a touchdown .
I pick up a tray under the curious stares of some inmates.
I'm on high alert, because I know that newcomers get ‘special treatment’, at least that's what I gathered from the deranged ramblings of my cellmate.
Everyone calls him Johnson, and he seems a bit unhinged.
What's certain is that he's not playing with a full deck.
I've heard him talking to himself in our cell.
He was telling stories that made no sense whatsoever and only made me want to punch him just to shut him up.
"So, buddy, how's the integration going?"
The voice makes me look up, and I meet the dark gaze of a man who has sat down across from me. Two other guys take seats beside me, and I clench my teeth. Tension builds inside me, but I'm careful not to show anything. The slightest weakness would be an invitation for these guys.
After a moment, I receive a jab in the ribs. "Cat got your tongue?"
I shoot a dark look at the one who just spoke before turning my attention back to their leader. At least, that's the impression I get.
"It's going," I reply.
The guy stares at me like he's trying to read my mind, and I remain motionless. His strategy is clear: he's trying to intimidate me. Talking too much would be a sign of nervousness, so I keep quiet.
"Heard you're bunking with old Johnson."
It's not a question but a statement. Again, I don't respond.
"He's my little bitch, so you better not touch him."
I do my best not to show my surprise, but another elbow jab, from my left this time, draws my attention.
"You understand the boss's message?" the guy asks me.
"Of course," I reply. "I'm not stupid."
The leader gives me another killer look, and I sincerely pity poor Johnson who must serve as his... I can't even bring myself to think about it. No, better not to imagine the nature of their relationship.
"If you mess up, I won't miss," the man adds.
He seems to be waiting for a response from me, so I articulate, "Crystal clear."
That must be the right reaction because the three men leave my table as quickly as they sat down.
I look at the contents of my plate—some vegetables and a piece of something pretending to be meat—without much enthusiasm, but I decide to eat a little.
This is what my life would be like if I had been convicted for vandalizing my father's offices.
He pulled strings, and I got into OMU. Which, I see now, was the easy way out.
But if I got off easy, the same can't be said for Baxter and his dealer.
My friend went to rehab, while his buddy went to jail.
But even though I haven't actually lost my freedom, it feels like I have. This stupid incident was all Bolton needed to take control of my life, and he didn't hesitate to do so.
I can still see his satisfied look when I found myself at his mercy... You'll do what I tell you, or I'll press charges against you, and you'll be convicted.
His little blackmail scheme works perfectly. he managed to get me into OMU without me being able to object. And even now, when I've strayed from the straight and narrow, he still finds a way to punish me.
Damn it! I feel like I've been sentenced to life, and there's nothing I can do to escape.
When I walk out the steel doors of the prison, nothing extraordinary has happened. My father must have made sure I learned my lesson in complete safety. I bitterly think that he has all the necessary connections to turn my life into hell.
A car is waiting for me at the exit, but Bolton isn't there this time. The driver takes me to town in silence. He doesn't speak to me. On my father's orders? I'd bet my life on it. Bolton is perfectly capable of this kind of scheme. Not content with ignoring me, he ensures his servants do the same.
When I return to the penthouse , I find a welcoming committee presided over by his excellency Bolton Boardman himself. I mock him inwardly, but I'm careful not to show my contempt. I don't want to suffer more than necessary.
"Sit down," he orders me as soon as I set foot in the main living room.
My attention turns to the different people present: two men and a woman.
"For the coming weeks, you'll have a physical trainer," Bolton begins.
One of the men steps forward, and gives me a stern smile. "I'm Earl Bentley. I'll be responsible for keeping you in good physical shape for when you return to the field."
He stands straight as an arrow, in an almost military posture, at my father's command.
Bolton continues, "You'll take classes to keep up with your studies with Miss Cade here. I’ve already arranged with the dean for your assignments to be turned in remotely.
Finally, you'll catch up on the subjects you managed to miss with Lee Gaspen. "
The second man is older, and his gaze is gentler when it meets mine.
OK, so here's the fine team in charge of my success and eventual reintegration on campus. I bite my tongue while trying to control the anger simmering inside me.
Bolton thinks he's found the ultimate solution to make me follow the path he's laid out for me.
And I hate to admit it, but for now, I have no escape.
Besides, he's made sure I don't forget where disobedience could lead me: straight to prison.
After the two days I spent there, I don't plan to set foot in there again. Ever! I'd rather die.
If I want any chance of getting out of this someday, I need to pretend to bend to Bolton's will for now. I'm beginning to understand that there will be only one way to win my freedom… beating him at his own game.
This man is changing me, and I hate that he has this power over me.
In the weeks that follow, I numb myself with studying and physical exercise. Fourteen hours a day combined, with the rest of my time being sleeping and eating. During all this time, my thoughts focus on revenge, and when I'm not thinking about a plan, I think about Dixie.
Without even knowing it, she helps soothe my torment.
And there's nothing sexual about it. I don't even jerk off.
It's not for lack of wanting her desperately, I’m just too tired to get a hard-on.
My dreams revolve around her and all the scenarios my unconscious mind can elaborate.
In each of them, I make love to her as if it were the last time.
It's killing me not being able to talk to her or touch her. But all I can do is endure and comply with Bolton's orders. At least on the surface, because in my head, I'm constantly devising plans to escape him.
Every time I see him, my hatred grows, sometimes to the point of suffocation.
Since I've been back, I've walled myself in sullen silence.
I systematically refuse Emery's calls, claiming I'm too busy surfing on the West Coast. I barely answer questions from Gaspen and Miss Cade during the lessons they give me.
I feel like a damn lab rat placed under Bolton's perverse observation, just waiting for me to make one false move so he can unleash his violence.
Sometimes, when he thinks I don't see him, I catch the malevolence in his gaze. And as the days pass, the fear I felt toward him turns into contained rage. A sick joy fills me at the thought that one day I'll have my revenge. I don't know when or how, but I'm sticking to my course.
As the month of suspension comes to an end, Bolton hasn't had a single opportunity to raise a hand against me. I can sense his anger simmering, ready to explode.
And since I'm out of his reach in the presence of the team he hired, he directs his hatred toward my stepmother. Pamela, although scatterbrained and fairly superficial, doesn't deserve his violence. She’s an innocent who thought she’d found a Prince Charming, only to realize that he was anything but.
On the last evening, as I head to my room after a final training session in the penthouse gym, I'm alerted by screams.
My blood runs cold. This kind of screaming isn't unfamiliar to me, my mother made the same sounds when I was younger.
A shiver of fear and disgust runs through me, and without thinking further, I climb the stairs leading to the floor occupied by Bolton and his wife.
I head toward the room where the screams are coming from, and I freeze at the threshold.
The door is ajar, and the scene I witness makes me sick to my stomach.
Pamela is lying face down on their bed, hands tied behind her back, completely naked.
Her surgically enhanced chest is pressed against the bedspread while her buttocks are raised toward Bolton.
The latter, also naked, holds a leather belt in his hand.
When it comes down on Pamela's rear, the young woman lets out another scream.
I can't tell if she's enjoying what's happening to her or not, but at least she's not asking him to stop.
The scene turns my stomach, and I back away to leave, but Bolton's voice follows me into the hallway. "You should stay, son. I'm sure I could teach you a thing or two."
He punctuates his sentence with another belt strike. I don't hear the rest because I start running toward my room where I lock myself in.
It's more than time for me to get back to campus.
I never thought I'd be happy to return to OMU one day, but that's the case.
I don't sleep all night. Not because I can hear Pamela and Bolton, from where my room is located, he could kill her without me hearing a sound.
What keeps me awake is Dixie's image floating before my eyes. I can't wait to see her again.
But when I finally get back to our dorm , I realize I'd forgotten something important.
In two days, the whole country is going to celebrate Thanksgiving, and Dixie has gone back to Alabama to be with her family for the long weekend.
Only the football and basketball teams will still be on campus because of athletics, and a few ‘scraps’ who have nowhere else to go.
That's what Keri tells me, at least. She won't be going anywhere.
"We can celebrate together if you want," she offers. "But I'm warning you, I can't cook."
I frown and shake my head.
Damn! Now that I'm here, I'm dying to see Dixie.
Suddenly, an idea forms in my head. There is a way to see her.