Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
His random choice was right.
“H-Hello?” called out Kyle, then pushed his way inside.
The gym was dark, save for the exit sign above his head. It gave no clue as to the contents therein. Kyle took a step inside, and the door shut behind him. He slowly crossed the long, wide expanse of gym flooring. His ears drank in any little sound they could find, desperate for answers, prickling with fear.
He noticed the door to the locker room was ajar.
Light spilled out from it.
He poked his head in. “Hello …?” He took a step inside. In the air hung a musky, terrible odor, more so than usual. There was nothing but perfect silence, punctured by each soft footstep of his sneakers, and his own jagged breaths.
Then he reached the center aisle.
Bound to the lockers by rope somehow, side by side, hands over their heads, were eight members of the football team, five on one side, three on the other. All of them in nothing but their jockstraps. All of them with eyes shut, motionless, silent.
Seated on a long bench in the center of the aisle, Tristan, his legs crossed, inspecting his fingernails patiently. He looked up upon Kyle’s arrival. Ah, finally.
Kyle froze. “What is this …?”
A gift. A jock menagerie, if you will. Tristan gestured at them. Isn’t it artful, what I did?
“What happened? What the fuck happened?”
They had a plan for me. Something to do with staking me out on the grass outside, naked, letting the sun have its way with me. Or they just wanted to humiliate me and have no idea what I am. Foolish idea, totally juvenile. I decided to have a plan for them, too. A much more fun one. No harm, no violence—just fun. Oh, unless Mr. Reed comes by for more jockstraps, he’ll find himself a goldmine of desires.
Kyle slowly walked down the aisle, sickened. “Tristan …”
Hey, it’s like a sample of the college hazing they will experience when they join their silly fraternities. Isn’t it thoughtful? A reflection of themselves. Honestly, this is really more of a gift for them.
“How did you even—?”
Barely lifted a finger, I swear, the boys practically tied themselves up and fell right to sleep. It’ll be rather tricky to explain to the coach when he finds them in the morning. You will have to tell me how that plays out. I don’t plan to be here. I have a history project due.
It seemed so unreal, like a dream, a really perverse dream, some other reality. “I don’t see Brock. Where’s—?”
His foot kicked into something.
Kyle gazed down.
Brock lay on the floor, limbs akimbo—with a thin streak of blood across his chest.
Kyle stepped back at once with a gasp. “What the fuck??”
He’s asleep, too, don’t worry, minor incident. Tristan wiped his own mouth with the back of his wrist, then smirked. Had to … clean him up a little. Sorry, yes, I had a little taste, couldn’t be helped, it might be a consequence of our chat at lunch earlier today, I couldn’t get my mind off the idea of blood. Won’t happen again, promise.
Kyle wasn’t sure he was following everything Tristan said. Or trusting it. His head whirled as he dropped down onto the nearest bench, dazed. “Tristan … we … we can’t …”
Do you know how cats drop a dead thing on your doorstep to show respect? Like, “Here, a gift.” That’s what this is, Kyle. This is my dead thing, my gift. Why aren’t you celebrating? No one was hurt. I’m okay. Do you believe I’m well capable of protecting myself yet?
The next instant, Tristan was seated at Kyle’s side.
Kyle turned to him, stunned by his sudden appearance.
The excitement makes me horny. Sorry, can’t be romantic when I’m like this, but I’m still a gentleman, even if my mouth tastes like blood right now, Brock’s blood, and I will ask for your consent first.
“My … My consent?”
To kiss you, Kyle Amos. Can I please kiss you?
Half the football team surrounded them, hanging by their wrists from the lockers. Whether they were asleep or not, they were there. Kyle felt like they were all watching him, watching the traitor, as he considered whether to let Tristan kiss him.
Then his eyes found Brock on the floor, asleep, helpless and foolish, who could not let his inflated ego go undefended, who insisted on plotting to hurt Tristan with the team, who wouldn’t listen to reason, who brought this on himself.
He deserved this humiliation, didn’t he?
“I don’t know,” said Kyle, and he wasn’t sure whether he was answering his own question or Tristan’s.
Whether here or at your house, wherever, we can go there, far away from this scene, even to the graveyard, but I want to kiss you. I want to show you I’m more than just my affliction.
Did he want to prove that to Kyle?