Blackmailed
by Victor Thomas
Chapter 9
Kenny
It was the heaviest piece of paper I had ever held, certainly heavier than all my chemistry books combined. I sat on the floor, my back against the bed, and stared at my signature on the dotted line at the bottom.
That was easy. The real pain was the empty line next to it, which was screaming for my mother's signature. She was in the kitchen, so close, but my muscles didn't make me move. Maybe the signature would appear there if I waited long enough.
Then minutes later, the line was still empty.
This was all Javier's fault. If I had never met that boy, if I had never driven him home after his car had been vandalized, if we had never kissed in the kitchen, I would still be with Hannah. And I would still be miserable, not that it would differ much from how I felt now.
I hit the bed with my fist. It didn't help, but it didn't hurt either, but perhaps it gave some satisfaction, not enough to wipe the dark clouds filling my mind though. Nothing could do that. At least I didn't believe in miracles, such as waking up after a nightmare and finding him next to me, petting my hair gently and running his fingers down my chest. Or him kissing me, his eyes and lips full of passion. Or him pushing his hand inside my pants and his eager fingers playing with my rapidly growing erection.
Damn, I need to stop thinking about that fucking idiot.
After another ten minutes, my erection had subsided, almost, but the line waiting for mom's signature was still empty. I got up and walked to the kitchen.
I wasn't sure which option was scarier; to show the paper to her or to tell Principal Haynes again that I hadn't got the signature yet. He probably wouldn't believe I had forgotten it for the third time, so I would have to come up with some other excuse. My dog ate the paper, or I accidently wiped my ass with it.
"Mom, I need you to sign this."
She stopped peeling the carrots, took her glasses, and read the first few sentences.
"Kenneth Sherman!"
"I can explain. It's because…"
"Sit down."
She shoveled mashed potatoes and a pork chop on a plate and shoved it on the table in front of me. The massive pile of grated carrots she always fixed with pork chops was missing, but I knew better that to ask about it. The detention paper had ruined the pork chop recipe. She had to be devastated.
"You skipped class?" They probably didn't teach such a disappointed voice in drama school. "Which one?"
"All of them."
I kept my gaze on the table.
"What's the matter with you?"
"Could you please just sign it?"
Her eyes glared a hole through my skull before she took the paper from the table and began reading it. After what felt like an eternity, she pushed the paper aside and held her glasses in her hand, staring at me. I hated it when she studied me like that because I knew she would soon say something I wouldn't like. She always did.
"I'm not going to sign it," she said. "Not before you explain to me why you did it."
I sighed.
"I had a bad day, okay?"
"Why?"
"I don't know. Am I not allowed to have a bad day?"
I waited, but so did she; her hand was not moving toward the pen. She even moved her hands to her lap, making it clear I wouldn't win this staring contest. Every tick of the grandfather clock in the living room amplified my misery. Why the hell was it so difficult to sign the fucking paper?
"Well, I skipped the classes…" I squeezed the fork in my hand. "I mean, Javier and I…"
"I knew this was about him." Her eyes sharpened, if that was even possible. "You should've believed me. That boy is nothing but trouble."
"No, he's not!"
"Listen to yourself. He pressured you into skipping an entire school day. Where did you even go? I'm sure his parents wouldn't care if you dawdle in their house."
I stood up and let my chair fall on the floor. I had listened to this bullshit enough to last for the rest of my life. One more word, and I would thrust my fork through the painting on the wall. Grandma had painted it, and I had always liked her more than the painting.
"He didn't lure me to do anything," I said. "I skipped. He didn't. I did it because we broke up."
"Oh, at least that is some good news."
I dropped the fork before I could do something I would regret later. Besides, if grandma was still alive, she would for sure support me. She had probably known I liked boys even before I realized it. She had been wise, and old, and grandma.
"I don't fucking care whether you sign the paper or not," I said, fire flashing from my eyes.
I marched into my room, ignoring her orders to watch my language. Apparently, she didn't care what she let out of her mouth either. When I got inside my room, I turned around and saw her following me.
"I'm gay whether you like it or not," I said. "Javier is the best thing that ever happened to me. And you're the worst. You ruined my fucking life."
"Kenneth, let's…"
"There's nothing more to say, mom. I'm leaving.
Having said that, I slammed the bedroom door and locked it. For the first time in my life, she didn't ask me to open it. She said absolutely nothing.
Two hours later I was still fuming on my bed; the bedroom door was locked, and mom hadn't said anything. She hadn't asked me to wash the dishes or clean the bathroom, which was great, but kind of scary. Housework meant the world was spinning as it should. It was what made us a family, the safe and familiar thing in my life and what I had always hated.
I had heard the sound of water running in the kitchen, the vacuum cleaner in the living room, and the washing machine in the laundry room. All that she had done by herself, slamming the drawers more than normally.
Now the house was silent. I hadn't noticed her leaving, so she was probably sitting on the dowdy antique couch and reading some book. Maybe she was looking for a spell in the bible to bewitch me straight.
I can't put up with this shit anymore!
When I stood up, the front door was opened and closed. Sneaking closer to the bedroom door, I listened for sounds coming from the house but heard nothing. It was dead silent, even when I pushed my ear against the door. Had she gone somewhere?
Slowly, trying to avoid making any noise, I opened the door and tiptoed first to the living room and then to the kitchen. The house seemed empty. I was about to return to my room when a car started in front of the house. A look from the kitchen window confirmed my presumptions; she drove away.
If she went to the grocery store, I would have an hour, perhaps a bit more, before she would return. That should be enough time. Not wasting time, I rushed back to my bedroom and began packing my clothes into my big duffel bag, the same one I'd used to carry my clothes from Javier's house. If I had more time, I might have searched for another bag, but now wasn't the best time to be sentimental.
I hope Chris' parents let me crash there.
There weren't many options. I would never set foot anywhere near Javier's house, and if Chris' parents declined, I could still ask Hannah. My plan was as poor as it was reckless, but one thing was clear; I wouldn't spend another night in my mother's house. If needed, I would rather sleep on a bench at the park until I found a job and could rent some cheap apartment.
In fifteen minutes, everything was ready. I had enough clothes for a couple of weeks and my school books and laptop in my backpack. When I scanned my room for the last time, I focused my eyes on the warm and cozy bed with clean sheets. On my way to the hallway, I passed the bathroom with a shower and an endless stream of hot water. And when I grabbed a soda from the refrigerator, it was hard not to think about all the meals mom would cook.
I stared at the front door. As soon as I opened it, everything would change forever. What if I didn't find a place? Would there be anything more embarrassing than coming back and begging mom to take me back again? The few steps to the door were the heaviest I had ever taken, but finally, I pushed the handle and saw freedom in front of me.
Just them, her car pulled into the driveway. She stepped out of the car and saw me standing on the porch with my bags.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"I told you I was leaving."
The words were bitter, and blood boiled in my veins.
"Kenneth, I'm… sorry. Can we go inside and talk?"
"It won't make me straight."
She sighed and glanced at me as I followed her to the kitchen. Apparently, all big discussions happened around the kitchen table, where the court of law had repeatedly and unanimously convicted me. The head judge took her place and gestured for me to sit down, but then something unexpected happened.
"What's that?" I asked, staring at the box she pushed in front of me.
Her phone beeped, but she ignored it. Instead, she forced a smile on her face.
"I know it's your favorite."
I opened the box and found a piece of chocolate cake inside the white box. It looked delicious, unhealthy, and suspicious. It was hardly poisoned, but some hidden agenda had to be attached to it. Unable to decide what to do with it, I pushed it aside.
"You wanted to talk," I said.
"When I learned your father had cheated on me…" her gaze dropped down to the table, "… I skipped work."
"Um, okay."
She laughed shortly and nervously.
"I called the office and lied, saying I was sick."
This was the weirdest trial ever. Had she just compared her marriage to me dating Javier? There was peculiar softness in her eyes, and the weak, almost compassionate smile encouraged me to drop my shields, but I wasn't ready yet.
"Don't you like the cake?" she asked.
"You said you're sorry." I stared at her. "Why?"
"I don't understand why you can't date girls like other boys do."
I swiped my hand and the cake box flew against the wall. Whipped cream and soft chocolate splat on the floor. My breathing was heavy when I glared at her. She raised her hand in front of her mouth.
"Mom, I'm gay!" I shouted. "I don't like girls!"
"Kenneth, please calm down."
"No! I won't spend another minute in this fucking house. I'm done with you."
"Please, let me just say one more thing."
Unable to sit down, I rushed to the window and stood there, my back to her. If she really had to insult me one last time, at least I didn't have to watch her doing it. Biting my tongue, I stared at the car parked on the other side of the street. Whatever she had on her mind, I couldn't care less.
"You're still in high school," she said. "I don't want you to leave."
I stood still, not turning around, not saying a word.
"Could you please consider staying?" she asked.
"Is my boyfriend welcome here?"
I was painfully aware that I didn't have one, but I wanted the answer. Besides, twisting the knife in her flesh would give me some odd satisfaction. In the silence of the room, I could almost sense her brain working on the answer.
"I guess you won't leave me any other option," she finally said.
"That's not good enough."
"Does he make you happy?"
I was glad she couldn't see my reddening cheeks and how the coldness in my heart couldn't prevent my upper body from becoming hot. I pressed my lips together to fight against the smile that was forcing it's way to my face. All the memories of Javier rushed through my mind and filled me with undeniable happiness.
I missed him so much.
Her hand touched my shoulder, and I turned to look at her. I couldn't remember the last time we had hugged, and I wasn't ready for it quite yet, but the small touch was warm and caring, and motherly. My muscles relaxed and my face softened into a small smile that reached my eyes.
"Could you hand me the pen?" She signed the detention paper and handed it to me. "Promise my you won't do it again."
I nodded and, at the same time, we heard a car stopping in front of the house. I would have recognized the sound anywhere. Not the sound of a car engine, but the sound of that very car. Eager to learn why Javier had come over, I looked at her.
"Go and see your… friend," she said. "I'll check and see who sent me a message."
With a broad smile on my face, I rushed to the door.
I opened the door and saw Javier stepping out of his car. He was as handsome, hot, and sexy as always. The tight shirt made his muscles bulge as he walked, even though I was more interested in his jeans, almost too interested to notice that his trademark grin was missing.
"We need to talk," he whispered.
He was dancing from foot to foot, and only now I noticed his face was pale, like he was sick. The sky was dark, but in the light from inside the house, I saw sweat gleaming on his forehead.
"What is it?"
Without answering, he grabbed my arm and pulled me outside. At the last moment, my hand got hold of the rail to keep me from falling down the steps.
"Sorry, but this is urgent."
He kept pulling me around the corner of the house.
When we got there, he let go of my arm and took several deep breaths. His eyes moved from place to place until they finally found mine. He opened his mouth a few times but no words came out. Not sure if I should do so, I placed my hands on his shoulders.
"What has happened?" I asked.
"It's not my fault," he blurted out.
I raised an eyebrow and tried to ask for clarification, but he interrupted me.
"I swear I did nothing. This is all Jorge. He's blackmailing me."
"What? Slow down a bit."
Words started swooping from his mouth. It took a moment for him to recover his thoughts before he began to explain how Jorge had filmed us having sex and was now blackmailing him to break up with me, and help him rob stores. The more he told me, the stronger the pain in my stomach got.
"What do we do?" I asked.
I pressed my arms tightly against my chest to prevent them from shaking.
"You haven't heard the worst yet." His eyes were scared, and his voice was shaking. "He sent the video to… your mom."
"What!"
"Hasn't she seen it yet?"
Shaking my head, I collapsed on the moist ground. My breathing was rapid, and I felt like I would vomit at any moment. His arm wrapped around my shoulder and pulled me tightly against his lean body. I didn't even try to stop shaking. An outpouring of emotions took me to a rollercoaster that fell to a dark, never-ending tunnel full of monsters I couldn't see, but knew they were there.
"I'm so sorry," he said in a small voice.
The hand on my shoulder petted me gently. I was close to him, feeling the warmth radiating from him, and it comforted me, but not enough. Darkness in my mind took over, and I closed my eyes. Too soon my mother's voice broke the silence.
"Get your filthy hands off my son."
Her eyes were flaring.
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