Pretending nothing is wrong is surprisingly easy.
After all, I've been an expert at it for nearly seventeen years.
The weekend has been uneventful, but still rather nice. You know, compared to the ones I usually have cleaning and physical training and the like. Mr. Spencer doesn't yell, not at me anyways. Seaton is another story, another book, another library entirely.
Although Seaton only drops by for a few minutes once a day, Mr. Spencer still finds something to scream at him about. Calling me 'brat' –although Seaton I both have constantly told him I don't mind –seems to be a pet peeve for him. I guess he just doesn't understand it. That it's Seaton's word.
Almost... and I'd hate to compare them to each other but...
Almost like Charlie's 'Kiddo'. Only this is Seaton and he won't hurt me. Right? Or is that all I have to look forward to? Because now that he's kissed me...God, it's completely stupid but I wish he'd never kissed me. I don't feel all that happy that I got to do it that once because now I have a taste and I know what I'm missing.
Mr. Spencer's guest bed is comfortable. I guess.
But for some reason, it's not as comfortable as Seaton's couch.
-
It feels good. His hands are warm and gentle. I'm not small, I'm my present age and this isn't Charlie, but Seaton. He's kissing the back of my neck and –and touching me there. He's got rough, firm hands that contrast sharply to my smooth flesh and it –god.
"...ngh..." I whimper, squirming against you. It's too much. I've got to get away –but I've got to stay too. I can't leave now because it's –"Ah...!"
"It's okay, Jayden," Seaton whispers, his deep baritone making the giant knot of pleasure in the pit of my stomach tighten even more.
I won't be able to hold back more. It's too wonderful, so intensely amazing that I can't stop writhing, What is it about feeling like this that makes me not be able to keep still? Shouldn't I want to keep still, if only to get more? "Hahhh....S-Seaton...I –I can't..."
"Oh?" I can feel his smirk against my neck, his lips curling in the midst of a kiss, "I think you can."
"N-Nghh....!" I won't –I can't –I –I –
And suddenly his hand gets bigger, the fingers thicker and stubbier and the grip on me tightens until it's painful. I cry out again for a completely different reason. I don't have to turn to know who's behind me now.
"Cheating on me, are you, Kiddo?"
His voice is icy and unkind. I can feel myself shrinking until I'm eleven or twelve again, and the surroundings change from Seaton's den to Charlie's car. I naked, and he's shoving his fingers –well, places fingers usually aren't. It hurts –it's hurts! I screaming a struggle but he's so much bigger.
"Please, Charlie, stop it hurts!"'
"It's okay, Kiddo, I'll....I'll love you forever..."
"No, please! Please!"
"Jay...Jayden..."
"Aaaaahhhhh!!!"
"Jayden...Jayden...Jayden!"
Wha...?
"Jayden! Jayden, it's okay, Charlie isn't here! It's a dream."
I open my eyes slowly, scared to see it's really not a dream. Mr. Spencer is leaning over me. His face is etched in concern and his hands are on my shoulders. I gulp, my mouth is dry, so I keep it closed. But seeing that it's not Charlie, but instead Mr. Spencer, I relax a bit, sinking deeper into the mattress.
I look at the clock.
3:27
"I'm sorry," I look back at Mr. Spencer, "I woke you up."
"What? No! I was already awake!" He laughs nervously, "Couldn't sleep! Not your doing at all, Jayden."
He's lying, I can tell, but it's a nice thought.
When I sit up, I notice something rather disturbing. Something wet is sticking to the pajama bottoms. No. No fucking way. The first part of the dream...oh god. And Mr. Spencer's in the room. I can't help it, my face heats up and I instinctively tug the blankets over my lap.
"Something wrong, Jayden?" Mr. Spencer asks, his words laced with worry. I keep my head down and don't answer. "Jayden? Do you need something?"
"N-no, sir," I reply, shifting uncomfortably. It's a bit hard to 'pretend like nothing's wrong' when the wrongness is sticking to the front of your pants.
His eyes narrow and he gets a strange look on his face that I've never seen directed at me before. My eyes shift back down to my hands and then back up to him. After a moment of thinking, I think something dawns on him.
"You...?" He clears his throat, "Do you need my me to change the sheets?"
I feel my face burn in shame, "I... can do it, sir."
"Nonsense," Mr. Spencer waves it off, apparently his moment of discomfort is gone. Lucky him. "I used to change the sheets for Bryan all the..."
He pauses, looks at me and gives a shaky smile.
"Sorry if that sounded like complete gibberish to you." He scratches his head, mussing up his already messy head of brown hair, " Bryan was my son. Anyways, up you go."
He grabs the blanket amd throws it to the side, making me instinctively bring my knees to my chest. Hello, embarrassing. Gods, I'll never live this down. He holds out his hand and I take it, and he helps me to my feet.
"You can change in the bathroom," He said, leaving the room for a minute before returning to the guest room with a pair of clean pants and underwear.
There's something vaguely disturbing about wearing your teachers underwear.
I go to the bathroom, wash up and change, bundling the soiled clothes into a ball to the gross part is on the inside. When I exit the restroom, Mr. Spencer is carrying the great wad of sheets, his face not cringed in disgust as I thought it would be. In fact, he seems quite oblivious to the immense pile of grossness he's carrying.
He smiles at me and waves me the direction of a door I previously thought was a closet. It isn't much bigger than one, but it's big enough to fit a washing machine, and dryer, a bottle of laundry detergent and two people. He opens the washer, takes the sheet and stuffs it in and then takes my clothes from me and throws them in on top. The blue soapy detergent goes in next and then he shuts the lid and pressed the bottom to start it.
He turns to me with a grin, "See? No big deal. I'm used to it."
I'm actually really surprised he brought up his so to me. I mean, really. It's nice, you know, to know something about him that I found out by being a nosy jerk.
"He... wet the bed?" I ask quietly and Mr. Spencer nodded, looking at the dryer as though it were a precious memento.
"I take it you saw the picture, then," my teacher then adds, looking at me. I flush.
"I... yes, sir," I stammer, avoiding eye contact. "How...?"
"When I said I used to change the sheets for my son Bryan, I didn't mention an age," He answered calmly, his voice low, "Because of the situation, it would be natural to assume it was for the same reason as you –the wet dream –but instead you jumped to the conclusion that it was bed wetting because you knew he was too young for your problem."
Oh. Wow. Huh. He is smart.
"Yes, sir," I nod.
"Hey, Jayden,' He looks up at my, suddenly perkier, "I've got a great idea, do you like hot chocolate?"
"I..." I blink, "I've never had it."
"Ah –what?" He looked stricken, then sad, and then suddenly excited again, "That's fine. There's a first time for everything. Want some?"
"No, sir," I'm not really hungry or thirsty.
But he gets me some anyway.
-
For the rest of the weekend and most of Monday, I sip on his hot chocolate (which is, like, the best fucking thing I've ever tasted) and watch movies with Mr. Spencer. Every once and a while he grades papers while we watch something, but I don't take that as an insult. It's about four or so when the doorbell rings, and my heart jump into my throat, hoping it's Seaton.
It isn't.
Instead it's Corin, wearing some sort of gray expensive sweater and black slacks, dressing perfectly like he always does. He smiles at me from over Mr. Spencer's shoulder, says something to him and then Mr. Spencer nods.
"But only if Jayden agrees," I hear Mr. Spencer say, stepping aside so Corin can come in.
"Hey, Jayden," Corin smiles, "I'd like to talk to you. Want to take a walk?"
I can't see why not, so I nod and stand up and say bye to Mr. Spencer before walking out the door with Corin. It's pretty cold out here, because of the wind-chill, and I –who have spent the last four days inside –am really cold. Corin seems to have planned for this, because he takes a jacket that he'd apparently set on the porch railing and hands it to me.
I take it hesitantly and put it on. And then we start walking.
It takes a full minute before Corin really says anything, and even then it's just 'So how are you?', and in response I say my usual 'fine'. His platinum hair is flying in his face, whipping at his pale cheek and nipping at his neck. It's thin and fair, where mine is thicker and therefore doesn't move as much. His nose it tinged red from the cold.
"Look," he says suddenly, after another long pause, "I don't know why but –I wanted to tell you –no, I felt like I needed to tell you –god, I don't even –"
He stopped himself, apparently gathering his wits.
"I guess –I mean when it was me, I –I wanted to make sure you knew it wasn't just you, you know?" He runs a shaky hand through his windblown hair and then shoves both his hands deep into the pockets of his pants, "I just –I mean I never ever had it as bad as you or anything –I mean compared to you –it's not even, I mean –"
I seriously have no idea what he's trying to say.
He sighs, closes his eyes and stays silent for another moment, apparently trying to prepare his words again.
"I told you my parents got me private tutors," He says, blue eyes set straight ahead, "Well, they did. And, at the end of each week, on Friday, I'd have a test."
He licks his lips and continues, "It would consist of fifty questions... uh... It'd be about the material I'd learned. Really hard stuff too, dates and names... I mean, and it was ever since I was five and – I mean god I was a kid when it started."
His eyes flash angrily, but he calms and then keeps on.
"I... Well, for every question I got wrong, I'd gain an hour in..." He seems to choke on his words, as though the word was completely foreign to his mouth. Or like it was a word he'd been forbidden to say since he was born, "...In the closet."
The closet? What –no. That –that's not –no. Fifty questions?
But that –if he bombed a test he'd –that'd be over two days.
"I –" usually, when I don't talk it's because I don't want to. It's what I've been taught; to shut up. But right now, it's because I don't know what to say. I look at Corin and what I see there is anger –fury even. At what his parents did.
"It was always over the weekend," Corin keeps on, his lips frowning and his brow furrowing. "You know, so I wouldn't miss classes. When I was in the closet, no one would talk to me, or even walk near the closet. There was a bucket inside where I –you know –went to the restroom."
"But what about –"
"They didn't feed me," He answers quickly, reading my mind, "They put one water bottle in it when they knew I was going in but –but yeah. Two days without food won't hurt you."
I can't –Corin? He always seemed so...flawless. So unlike me.
"See, it's not as bad as you," Corin defends, "They never hit me, or molested me or did any physical harm. I guess they just wanted the perfect child, and whenever I wasn't perfect, I was punished."
I swallow a lump in my throat.
"I just... you know, I know how your feeling," Corin says, his hands shifting in his pockets. The world around us seems to have muted, only the sound of our voices and the leaves crunching under our feet reach my ears, "It seems like it's no one else. Why me? What did I do wrong? I must have done something..."
He stops walking, and so then so do I. He turns to me and I look up at him, almost shyly. He's...like me...sort of.
"But it's not you," Corin tells me firmly, "We didn't do anything wrong. It's the fuckers who hurt us that are the twisted ones. People shouldn't do things like that to other people. Especially not people who are suppose to care about you. They're ones who do the wrong thing. And they'll tell you that that's not true, but I know better know. And I know it's probably been programmed into you to think you're worthless, but I hope –"
He takes a deep, shuddering breath and looks me in the eye.
"I hope me telling you this will help," Corin breathes, "I really hope I haven't wasted this big huge confession. I'd like to think I did something, you know, to help you like Linda helped me. And –"
"...and that's all I really wanted to say," He turned in the opposite direction and inhales a large amount of crisp air, "We can walk back now."
The walk back is long and cold. The world is no longer soundless, but instead I can hear every leaf hit the ground, the sound of twigs snapping under the tires of passing cars...It's like it's all been multiplied. I hear birds and a cat and an old married couple arguing about bills in one of the houses we pass. And yet now all I see is the ground as I stare at it because I don't know what I should say or do.
At Mr. Spencer's house, I give Corin his jacket back and he starts to head back to his truck, but before he crossed the street, I turn around.
"Corin," I call and he stops and turns back to look at me. I flick my tongue out to wet my chapped lips before speaking again.
"It helped."
He looked really happy.
-
The police station looks exactly how I remember it. Except last time I wasn't entering it with Seaton, but instead with Jacobs, before I know who he was. And I had handcuffs on. Last time, I was the criminal, whereas now I'm the 'victim' and an important component of the operation their going to try to compose.
They bring me into an interrogation room with a phone sitting on it and seated in one of the chairs is the policewoman from before who was pretty rude to me. This time he stands up and smiles warmly at me.
"Hello, Jayden, I'm Detective May Cleary," she says softly, like her voice might hurt my ears, "I'm helping with the sting. How're you today?"
"Fine, ma'am," I reply and Seaton pushes me down into a seat and then sits in the one across from me so that we're facing each other. Ms. Cleary is to my left and Jacobs to my right.
"Okay, Jayden, we've got the two cameras set up, one in the living room and on in the hallway in case he tries to... lead you somewhere," bedroom, I fill in silently, and May goes on, "You dad's abandoned the apartment. We'll take care of finding him, we just need you to set up an appointment with him at your apartment."
"Yes, ma'am," I nod.
"Say anything you want, you'll be using my cell," Seaton pulls it out of his pocket, "You can tell him it's mine. Tell him anything to get him at the apartment tomorrow night."
I swallow and nod again, taking the phone.
"The number was in the phonebook, so just say you looked it up," Jacobs added, handing me the paper with seven digits scribbled onto it. I press the buttons and wait.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ri -
"Hello?"
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
"Hello?"
"I –It's Jayden," I say so lowly it's almost a whisper. "K-Kiddo."
"Kiddo..." He seems to mull it over, "How'd you get this number?"
"Phonebook...I-I wanted to say I'm sorry about...about Wednesday," I stutter, the small phone sliding in my sweaty hands.
"Well, go on then," He responds, and I hear the smile in his voice. I keep my eyes on the table. I don't want to know what Seaton's reaction to this is.
"I'm really sorry!" I gush shakily, "I didn't mean to hurt you, really. Is your nose okay? Is it broken? Oh god, and your hand -? I –I –I'm so sorry, Charlie. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, they're broken. You really hurt me, Kiddo," He says deeply, "And not just my nose and hand. You said you didn't love me, and instead that you loved some other guy. That man next door to you."
"I –I know, and I'm so sorry," I rasp, "I do love you, Charlie. I do. And I want to see you, please. Let me –Let me make it up to you."
"Hm...."
"Please, Charlie, forgive me," I plead, "I'm so sorry, please...I...I'm so sorry..."
I find myself meaning it. For hurting him. For running from him. For falling in love with Seaton. For turning him into the cops. For setting him up. For making this phone call. Oh god, I'm so sorry, Charlie. I almost wish, when he asked me if I loved him, that I could have really just said yes.
"...I'm sorry..."
"All right, Kiddo," Charlie says finally, "I'll let you make it up to me."
"Th-Thank you, Charlie," I retort weakly. "Tomorrow? My apartment? I'll...is that okay?"
"Sure, around five?" Charlie asks.
"Yes. Okay."
"Good, I'll see you then," I was almost ready to hang up the phone, when he adds, "I love you, Kiddo."
"...I love you too, Charlie," I reply monotonously and he give a small laugh of triumph before hanging up the phone. I press the 'end' button and put the phone on the table in front of me.
I still don't look up.
"What an effing idiot," Jacobs spits, "Didn't even ask where your calling from, or why your apartment or anything. He's just asking to be caught, the bastard."
There's a silence, and when I finally look up, I look right at Seaton, who's smirking in a way that's... amused. When he catches my eye he smiles wider and laughs.
"You always leave the best fucking part out, brat," Seaton chuckles, "You broke his nose?"
Yeah. Ha. I guess I did.
I know I should be glad that Charlie's going to be caught soon, but I'm really not. I really do care about Charlie, even if I shouldn't. But that's not the only reason why I'm dreading tomorrow. I also have this feeling...that something bad is going to happen.
But maybe that's just me.
~~
That's all folks! Well, for tonight anyway.
I'll update soon so don't worry!
Enjoy the rest of the night! ^^