Chapter 11
Eleven
Rook
How the hell am I supposed to teach my first class with that picture burned in my mind? I’m usually so good at compartmentalizing, but I’ve been unfocused since I met Briana. My firm grip on everything in my universe is slipping.
She’s the cause. It’s unnerving. I’m not sleeping as well.
I’m forgetting to do things that are part of my routine.
I’m so obsessed that I spend hours watching her in her room.
Now I’m also following her every move. I keep the app open on my phone at all times so I can glance at it and see where she is.
Her first class is at the same time as mine. She’s in the same building as me this morning. So it’s five minutes before class starts that I finally get her text.
Briana: I arrived safely, Sir.
Rook: Do I hear a hint of sass in your voice?
Briana: No, Sir.
Rook: Let’s hope not. If so, you need to adjust your attitude before I see you again. I won’t tolerate sass. It’s disrespectful.
Briana: Yes, Sir.
Rook: Yes, Daddy.
Briana: Yes, Daddy.
Rook: Good girl. Have a nice class.
The day drags on. I manage to teach my classes because computer science is something I could do in my sleep when I was six. I don’t have to think to attempt to educate these students, who mostly don’t want to be here.
I can tell the difference. I know which ones love math and which ones are fulfilling a course requirement.
I try to treat them all the same, but it’s hard.
I have to constantly remind myself that not everyone loves numbers and programming as much as I do.
I don’t care for language, so I can’t blame an English major for their disinterest in numbers.
I text Briana three more times between classes to make sure she’s arrived at her next two classes. It’s not necessary. My app tells me where she is. But I want her to get used to expecting my constant authoritative ways. I expect unquestioning obedience, and she needs to learn that immediately.
She will let me know every time she moves. I’ll train her to do it without thinking. Gradually, she will accept that she needs my permission to so much as pee. It will become as natural to her as breathing.
Check in with Daddy. Let him know where I am. Let him know when I’m leaving one spot for another.
I want Briana to keep her phone close at all times. I want to own her every fucking move. She will crave the routine until she doesn’t dare question me.
Dependence… That’s what I want from her. I didn’t realize that when I started stalking her. I didn’t know half the things I know now. I’m learning what I need while discovering what she craves at the same time.
In the end, it all comes down to finding your “person.” That certain someone who fulfills your desires while you fulfill theirs.
It’s feeling more and more like Briana and I can mesh together.
The more I learn about her, the more I learn about myself, and the more I believe we are destined for each other.
I never in my life imagined finding someone I could connect with, someone I could call a life partner. It’s always seemed inconceivable to me. I don’t get along well with anyone enough to spend all my time with them. People tend to annoy me.
I can share a house with the guys because we have a mutual understanding. We get each other. We have a shared history that no one else can comprehend. But sharing my room? My bed? Out of the question.
Until Briana.
Fuck, I’d love to move her into my room. Keep her. But we’re a long way from that possibility. I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t really know that we’re as compatible as I’m hoping yet. The signs all keep pointing to that being a possibility.
Even if I knew for certain I could share my space with her, we still have hurdles. For one, she doesn’t know who I am. I haven’t let her see my face. For two, her brother has no idea I freshman-pranked his sister.
That part is fucked up.
I’m sure everything seems strange to her today.
She’s surely doubting herself over and over.
Tonight, I will take her out of her body again, though.
This time with pleasure. Tomorrow, she will know another type of obedience.
I will train her body to crave my touch and to earn it through good behavior.
Tomorrow, she will fucking text me for permission to stretch her legs out because every time she moves, she’ll be reminded of how fucking good it feels to let me touch her.
My cock is hard all day as I plot my precise plans for tonight.
Tomorrow, she will be tired but so alive. She will float through her classes.
I don’t want her to have time to ponder what’s happening, so I text her a list of things to do when she gets home.
Simple things. Homework for one. And she has to text me pictures of her work every half hour.
A snack. I want to see that apple with bites out of it.
A nap. She’s going to be grateful for it later.
I watch her in her room, of course, but she doesn’t know that. Fuck, she’s pretty when she curls up on her side to take a nap. I tell her to set the phone on her pillow and leave the volume on so I can wake her in thirty minutes.
After that, I keep a running list going.
Clean her bathroom thoroughly. A load of laundry.
Dinner. And I want pictures of her plate before and after.
She needs to find a way to discreetly take those photos without explaining herself to her roommates.
She has a reading assignment due for her English class, so I instruct her to walk around her room while she reads.
It will help her focus. Then she texts me a summary of the chapters.
By the time I tell her to go to bed, she’s nearly bouncing. She’s smiling. I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s happy about being so organized or about pleasing me. Either way, I’m glad. I like to see her smiling.
She changes into another white tank and panties and plugs her phone into the charger on her desk.
I watch as she sets her alarm and opens her nightstand drawer.
She stares into the space before shutting it.
I suspect she’s noticed the missing pills.
After a slight hesitation, she puts on the blindfold and crawls into bed.
I’m so fucking pleased with her that I’m smiling like a loon in my own bedroom. I can’t go over there for quite some time. Her roommates will be home tonight. I need them to be asleep before I slip into the house.
I busy myself doing tasks I should have done earlier, prepping for tomorrow’s classes, ironing my shirt, making sure my shoes are buffed.
I should rest for a while, too. So I set my alarm for two hours and stretch out on my bed. I’m normally pretty good about going to sleep, but my cycle is a mess right now. I need this nap before I go to her.
“Start over.”
“Sir, I—”
“Start. Over!” he shouts.
I’m fuming. I purse my lips because any response that might leak out will land me in more hot water. Instead, I turn around and pull the comforter and top sheet from my bed. I set them on my trunk before shaking out the sheet and fanning it through the air so it lands over the fitted sheet.
Flames are still coming out of my head. I feel like I’m going to self-combust. I want to turn around and punch Master Drill Sergeant Keagan in the face.
That’s the name my friends and I call him behind his back. The asshole.
But he’s bigger than me, and he controls my future. So instead, I remake my bed for the fifth time in thirty minutes.
I smooth out the fucking top sheet and tuck the corners in, like he has shown me. Meticulously, making sure every angle is just right. When I’m done, I put the comforter over the top and check that it’s even on all three sides.
If he makes me do this one more time, my head will blow off.
But that’s what he wants. He wants me to explode and go ape shit so he can report me to juvie.
He’d love nothing more than to turn all five of us in and wipe his hands of us.
He has the power to destroy us, mentally and physically. Break us.
This boys’ home is the last stop for delinquents like me before juvie. I’ve been here two weeks. I learned quickly to either follow the rules without complaint or get written up for insubordination. Three times and we’re out.
The only thing that keeps me sane is that I’m sharing this room with four other guys. My brothers now. All of us are in the same boat. In numbers, there is strength. People I can commiserate with, complain to.
When I stand back, he says, “Better. Do it again.”
I grit my teeth, staring at the floor. It’s a fucking bed. The rest of the guys are in the dining room eating. Keagan grounded me for the evening and has forbidden me from having dinner to teach me a lesson.
He ordered me into the dorm the moment I got off the bus from school. I knew I was toast the second I saw his face. It was confirmed when he grabbed my shirt collar and dragged me down the hall.
At no point have I noticed a single difference between my bed and any other in the room.
The asshole simply chose to pick on me tonight.
He does that. It’s never rational. He likes to play with us.
His life mission is to get boys kicked out of this home and placed in a correctional facility under false pretenses.
I won’t let him get to me. All I need to do is make this bed over and over until he grows tired. It’s a game, though. I have to present myself as somewhat angry and bitter. If not, he doesn’t get his narcissistic fill.
I’ve tried the other way. Blind obedience without questioning.
Meekly doing whatever he asks as if I have no spine.
The results of that route are worse. He hates it when we’re too mild-mannered.
He wants us to be fuming. So we do it. Just enough to fill his fucking asshole tank and not enough to get actually kicked out.
Punching him in the face is going too far. Fuming is on the gray line.
Resigned, I pull the covers off the bed yet again, all my focus on maintaining my anger at the right level. It’s fucked up. I know it’s fucked up. But there’s nothing I can do. Not unless I want to be locked up.
The deck is stacked against me. It always has been. The only way out of this fucked-up situation is turning eighteen. I have four years left. But I have a plan. I’m going to get the fuck out of here. We all are. We’re going to play the game and come out as survivors.
We may be different from our peers, but we’re not stupid. We’re intelligent. Above average. We can outsmart this asshole, and we will. Fuck him.
I finish making the bed yet again without remembering doing it.
“Again!” Master Drill Sergeant Keagan yells.
It’s hard to maintain my composure, but I do. I’ve promised myself to never let this fucker see me sweat. I’ve promised my brothers, too. We have a pact. We’re going to get out of this hellhole together.
“Again!”
I flinch.
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.
Gasping, I bolt awake and sit upright on my bed. It takes me a moment to realize I’m no longer in that fucking home. I’m in Brimstone House. I’m safe. I survived. We all did. We’re making a life for ourselves. It’s unconventional. We’re unusual fuckers. But we did it. We got out.
I stand and glance at the clock. It’s time to go to my girl. I’m determined to help her understand my world. Yeah, I know I’m warped. I have idiosyncrasies and odd needs. But she does, too. The goal is to make them mesh.
If anyone can achieve that, I can.