All the usual disclaimers apply. This is a work of fiction and any similarities to real people or circumstances are a coincidence. This series will contain sexual acts between minors, which you shouldn't read if such material is offensive to you or illegal in your jurisdiction.

I'm sorry I've been away from this story for so long - you can pretty much count on any updates being sporadic, but I hope you all enjoy them as they do happen.

I welcome feedback. Send any comments to broadstead-academy@mail.com.

Thanks for reading.

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3. The Seventh Circle of Heaven

The hot shower might be the best invention in the entire history of the universe. Or it might as well have been, for the transcendent pleasure I felt, utter godliness running down my sore, exhausted body, and cascading through the unruly mess of my hair. The water roared out of the fire hose they must have installed instead of a shower head, and I turned to lean against the wall, letting the stream massage the tense muscles of my back. This, I conceded, I could probably get used to.

More than anything, it was nice to be clean. I'd felt as much of a mess when I'd gotten up as I'd been when I'd nodded off. The ugly cry will do that to you. And then there were my clothes; between the misadventure of the night before leaving the stench of cigarettes all over them, and the fact that I really hadn't changed in the last couple of days, my shirt and sweater stank, which meant my own body stink was worse. And Yuri had snuggled right up to it.

I leaned my head against the tiled wall, once again reliving the moments leading up to Yuri spending the night in my bed. It was surreal, and if I was being honest, I still didn't know how I felt about it. Well, other than the adventure of getting up without waking him, trying to delicately shift from under his arm. Turned out he was the granddaddy of heavy sleepers. Not the slightest interruption to his light snores when I extracted myself. From the look of him, he'd sleep right through lunch. Thank God it was Saturday.

But as for the cuddle fest... I decided to just pretend it didn't happen, and not over-think it. At least, I wanted to not over-think it, for all the good that ever did. Meanwhile, I had other problems to deal with. My damn suitcase, for one.

I forced myself to stand upright again in the tub, realizing I'd been in there for what felt like months. I turned, let the stream run along my collarbone for a moment, and then reluctantly shut it off. I lingered there, enjoying that brief, blissful time between turning off the water and opening the curtain, where the steam hangs around you like a warm, wispy blanket. Then I steeled myself for the chill of the bathroom and pulled open the curtain.

I really wasn't expecting to see someone standing at the mirror, looking right back at me. I'm guessing he wasn't either, because we both had the exact same reaction.

"G-aahhhh!!"

Out of pure reflex I hauled the curtain closed again, but my reflexes also decided I should jump backward, and the slippery tub didn't approve of such nonsense. I had that awful, stopped-time moment when I realized I was going down, and as I clung to the curtain I could hear the pop! pop! pop! sound of the plastic rings breaking loose. I brought half the thing down with me as I collapsed to the tub, banging my shoulder painfully against the lip and hitting the bottom with an almighty THUD.

I lay there motionless, my shoulder throbbing, my heart pounding, and the curtain clutched around me like a soggy, plastic blanket. Half of it was still hanging from the rod, so I couldn't see why there were things falling to the floor on the other side, but I could hear them clatter as they landed.

I could hear a painful groan from the other side, and since I didn't seem to be dying at the moment, I said, "uh, are you okay?"

Another groan, and then a thick accent responded. "Euhh... y-yes, eet goes."

It goes. Good enough for me. I made my unsteady way back to my feet, and then remembered to be annoyed as I peered around the curtain. "You know, the polite thing would be to knock before walking in on someone in the shower."

The unexpected visitor was sitting on the right-hand toilet and looking respectfully away, toward the open door to the other room - his room, I guessed. From this angle his hair - long, blonde, and irritatingly perfect - obscured most of his face. He wore dark jeans, sock feet, and a blue t-shirt with one of those generic "artsy" skater punk designs on it. He had a hand pressed to the left side of his forehead. "I deed not mean to, euh... Yuri 'as told us 'ee eez not bozzered."

Jesus, he was even doing that thing with the letter R where it sounded like he was clearing his throat. Still, once I figured out what he said, his answer was reasonable enough. Sort of. "I guess you guys didn't know he had a new roommate," I ventured, reaching for my towel.

What's-his-name shook his head. "I am sorry. I just need a meenute, I am a leetle deezy."

Towel in hand, I tentatively let go of the curtain and stepped out by the door on my side, starting to hastily dry myself off. "It's all right, just don't turn around. Uh... are you okay?"

"I heet my head. Eet eez not bad."

I wasn't sure, seeing as he was feeling "deezy" and all, but I didn't push it, and instead started towelling off my hair. "Well, if you say so. Would you mind shutting the doo--AAGHK!!"

An exact double of the blonde boy had just appeared in his doorway, blood trickling down from a cut on his own forehead. That was all I really had the chance to notice before my efforts to frantically cover myself with the towel demanded my full attention. "Jesus fucking Christ, does privacy mean nothing to you people?!"

The new arrival blushed a little and shielded his eyes. "I am sorry, I 'eard ze screams." He quickly knelt by his mother fucking clone I swear to God, and then spoke some French that sounded like "t'va biah? Tay blessay?"

"Say riah, ed mwa ay allay tuh play," came the gobbledegook response, which must have made some sense to the other kid because he was suddenly helping him to his feet, probably. I didn't really notice because I was still struggling with the towel.

It was, of course, the perfect time for the door behind me to come flying open and send me sprawling. "See, I heard yelling, are you--oooh..."

Yuri's "ooooh" was the kind of thing you hear in a crowd when someone careens headlong into a tree. The kind that usually comes with a cringe or a wince, like, "oooooh, that's gotta hurt." Not that I could see the cringe, personally, seeing as my bare-ass-naked self was now face-down on the floor, contemplating whether murdering my roommate would be a better use of my time than clawing through the floor to find the remains of my dignity.

There was a brief moment of stunned silence before everyone around me returned to their senses. I saw the feet belonging to the two French replicants disappear unsteadily back into their room, closing the door behind them, and then Yuri was beside me. "A-are you okay? I-I'm sorry, I didn't, I mean I wasn't--"

"It's fine. I'm fine. Go away."

"A-are you sure? I can, uh, help--"

"I am lying on the floor of the bathroom and I am naked," I grunted through clenched teeth, making no move to change those conditions. "If there was ever a time to get the fuck out, this would be it."

Yuri took the hint and scampered away, and I shortly heard the door click shut behind me. The bathroom tile felt kind of pleasantly cool on my stomach, I decided before heaving a sigh and pushing myself up to my knees. I looked around, from the cup, toothbrush and assorted bathroom paraphernalia scattered along the floor, to the half of the curtain rings still hanging, which valiantly held up the rest of the dangling mess. The movie of my life, I decided, was some kind of sadistic cross between a slapstick comedy, psychological horror, and depressing teen drama.

I had salvaged a bit of my fractured ego by the time I finished drying off, got my boxers back on and headed back into the room - ours, not 'ze tweens' on the other side. I found Yuri sitting on his bed, facing away, and I could hear a bit of heavy breathing. Great. "Look, Yuri, I'm--"

"One sec," he said, holding up a hand. His voice was calm, even peaceful. Not the warbly, trembly Yuri voice I was expecting. I wasn't quite sure what I should do, so I did nothing. I stood and waited for him to say something else.

He presently let out a deep, final breath and turned around, crossing his legs. "Sorry, I was, uh... meditating."

I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you say yesterday you don't meditate?"

He shrugged, a bit of a bashful grin on him. "Yeah, but I was thinking about it, and Mom does it a lot. She said it helps her when she's agitated or stressed out, so I tried it and... yeah."

"Ah." I retrieved last night's jeans and went to rummage in my backpack for another shirt. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"I'm sorry I hit you in the butt with the door," he replied. "I, uh... I see you met the twins."

I grimaced. "Yeah, that's one way to put it. One of them walked right in."

"Um, that's kinda my fault," I heard him reply through the black t-shirt I was yanking over my head. "They walked in on me once and I told them it was no big deal, so since then it's kinda, y'know... worked like that."

I stopped on my way to the window and gave him a funny look. "Wait. Do they... I mean, they don't actually, like... go to the bathroom when..."

"When I'm showering?" He shrugged. "Sometimes. Or vice versa when they're brushing their teeth or whatever."

I shook my head. "Okay, that is fucking weird."

"It isn't that weird..."

"It's weird. And pretty gay." I leaned on the windowsill, looking out at the trees, trying to pinpoint the spot where I'd met with 'Thor' the night before.

Yuri said something. I glanced back over my shoulder. "Huh? What was that?"

He was scowling. "I said, you're one to talk."

I had totally lost my train of thought, and I just stared blankly at him. "Calling me and the twins gay?" he prompted. "After last night?"

I felt a jolt of defensive anger. "Hey, don't even--you were the one who got in my bed!"

"Yeah, and you asked me to hold you." He crossed his arms. "Are you gay, See?"

"No! And shut up about--"

"Why don't you shut up?" He shifted angrily to his desk chair, opening his laptop.

I was about to fire back when some part of my brain woke up, forcing me to shut my mouth and think for a second. I delicately crossed to his bed, behind him, and sat down. "Uh... did I touch a nerve there, or something?"

He just shrugged, tapping a finger impatiently on his desk as he waited for his computer to boot up.

I cleared my throat. "I mean, you got mad really quick, and I... um, I didn't really mean what I said."

He snorted, and I felt sheepish. "Well, I mean, I guess I meant the part about it being weird, but I didn't--" I stopped myself, then sighed. "Okay, I guess I did mean what I said, but I didn't mean it was bad."

He was quiet for another long moment, but eventually said, "I guess."

I felt like I was still missing something. The smart thing would probably have been to drop it, but I didn't. "Are...um. Are you gay, Yuri?"

He leaned back in his chair. Even though his eyes were shut, I got the sense he was rolling them. "I mean, no? Maybe? I don't really know. That's not the point."

"It's not?"

"No." He turned sideways, leaning an arm on the back of the chair and fixing the deep brown of his eyes on me. "I just... I don't know. E-even if I am gay, that's not what it's about. Any of it. The--the bathroom thing. It's not a gay thing, the twins just aren't really shy at all, and I guess I'm not either 'cause it was like that at home, you know? We always left the bathroom door open and stuff. And last night--"

I held up a hand. "Can we... not talk about last night, for now?"

"Ughh, fine! Forget it!" He spun back to his computer. "God, this is exactly what I'm talking about."

"Jesus, Yuri!" I rubbed my eyes and spent a second wondering how the morning went from hot shower bliss to train wreck so quickly. "Look, I'm... I'm gonna go see if the clones are--the twins are okay."

"Whatever."

I really wanted to mockingly mouth the word whatever to his back, but I didn't. See? I can be mature.

The bathroom was still a mess when I meandered back through it, and we'd need to get the shower curtain fixed. I wondered who to ask about that. Did Broadstead have people for that sort of thing? Probably. Maybe there was an office somewhere. Or maybe you had to go online and fill out a form or something.

I eventually realized I'd stopped moving and was just staring at the shower curtain. Took me another moment to figure out that, as much as I didn't want to be in with Yuri right now, I wasn't particularly thrilled about paying the French twins a visit, either. And now I was stalling. Standing in the bathroom, considering the finer points of bathroom maintenance. Go me.

Sigh.

The bathroom door on the twins' side was still open a little bit. I knocked anyway. I'm really not sure why, seeing as they clearly didn't believe in knocking. I heard a weary voice from inside call out "come een," so I went een.

Ever seen one of those furniture or lifestyle magazines, where everything in the house is totally spotless, like Mr. Clean had a few too many espressos and cut loose on the place? The room I walked into could have been a centrefold in Better Homes and Dormitories. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed these dorm rooms could look this perfect. The furniture was all the same as ours, obviously - same beds, desks, closet and godawful ceiling light - but it took me a minute to realize it. I mean, saying the beds were "made" isn't good enough. They looked like they'd never been slept in, ever. There was nothing just sitting around on the floor or desks, no crumbs or dust on the carpet, hell, the plain white paint on their walls looked brighter and whiter than ours.

And there were no posters crudely tacked on there like Yuri's. No, sir. Framed photos. Little ones, mostly, the kind you see on people's tables and shelves and stuff, but in the middle of the wall opposite the bathroom door was a big family portrait, from which beamed two nine-ish-year-old identical blonde boys and their supermodel parents. No, really. Blonde, blue-eyed, looked like they just stepped out of a celebrity magazine.

I looked down at my lanky arms and brown skin, suddenly feeling like I needed another shower. And new genes.

"Can we 'elp you?" one of the twins said, breaking me out of one trance and then throwing me right into another one as I added the two of them to the picture in front of me. They were probably a little shorter than me, but they probably looked taller. Like their parents, they were quickly turning supermodel-esque themselves, a few years older than they had been in the portrait on the wall. They had smooth, clear skin, and lithe bodies that were lean but not lanky like me. One of them was on a chair at the far desk, the other on the floor leaning against the foot of the nearest bed, and both of them were holding ice packs to their heads.

The twin who had spoken leaned forward a little, the way you do when you're not sure someone heard you. "...'Allo?"

Right. Words. I shook my head a bit. "I, uh... I was just coming to see if you guys were okay. Which I guess you are. So... I'll be going now." I turned to go.

"You are ze new roommate, no?"

Okay, I was staying. Grand. I turned again and leaned on the bathroom door frame, trying to look as casual and totally-not-awkward as possible. "Yeah, I am. My name is See."

The nearer twin shot the other one a look, and the other one shrugged. Which was about as easy as telling people my name ever went, so okay. The farther twin gave me a little wave with his free hand. "I am Alexis. My bruzzer is Georges. 'Ee was ze one 'oo walked een on you."

Georges frowned. "I was not!"

"'Ee liked what 'ee saw," Alexis added with a grin.

"Ta guhle, caw-nar!" shot his brother, throwing his ice pack at Alexis, who ducked.

(I looked it up later - Georges actually said "Ta gueule, connard," which translates roughly to "shut up, asshole." French is such a beautiful language.)

I couldn't help a little chuckle and a shrug. "I mean, it's fine... Yuri explained the whole bathroom thing to me."

They looked awkward. "Yes, we... 'erd a leetle of your argument," said Georges. "Ze door was open a beet."

"We deed not mean to over'ear anysing," Alexis added quickly.

Oh. I glanced back - Yuri was still on his computer and didn't seem to be listening - and then quietly shut the door. "Right. Uh... sorry about that. I guess we weren't really being quiet about it."

Alexis shrugged, reaching down to pick up Georges's ice pack. "Eet's fine. Ze walls are theen anyway."

I sighed again. "Well, the rate I'm going, you'll probably hear a lot more arguments."

"Zat one was not your fault," said Georges, reaching for his ice pack.

I snorted. "Could have fooled me."

Alexis shook his head. "Eet's true. Yuri eez..." He hesitated, glancing at his brother, who shrugged and said, "Zere are jokes. Some of ze keeds, zey make jokes about 'eem."

"What kind of--" jokes, I almost asked, but then my brain kicked in. "You mean gay jokes, don't you?"

"Zey tease 'eem about eet," Alexis confirmed. "We don't know eef 'ee's gay--"

"Not our beeziness," interrupted Georges.

"...but eet eez ze bond 'ee 'as, Yuri. 'Ee eez more, 'ow you say..."

"Senseeteeve," offered Georges.

"Oui, senseeteeve, zan most of ze boys."

Either I was going crazy, or it was getting easier to understand what they were saying. And what they were saying made a lot of sense. It explained why Yuri got so jumpy about the whole thing... I probably would, too. And now I felt like a world-class asshole for doing the same thing to him. Awesome job, See.

I noticed the twins were watching me, their ice packs lowered from their foreheads. It was hard to tell which one of them had fallen in the bathroom, because the cuts on both of their foreheads were roughly in the same place. Actually, they were in exactly the same place. And they were the same shape. And size. I felt my head unconsciously tilt a little.

The twins saw it, and Alexis grinned at Georges. "Juh crwa keel say remarkay," he said.

I jerked my head upright. "Uh, what?"

George turned his own grin my way. "'Ee says you 'ave noticed ze cuts on our 'eads."

"Uh..." I felt my cheeks redden a little. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare, it's just... they look exactly the same."

"Zey are," Alexis replied.

I let out a little laugh. "Right? I mean, what are the chances?"

Georges shook his head. "No, no, you do not understand. Zey are ze same cut."

And now I was confused again. "Huh?"

Alexis sighed. It was a kind of sigh I recognized, because it was the same noise I made whenever I had to introduce myself. That helping-your-grandma-with-her-new-computer kind of sigh. "I weel show you," he said as he reached up and yanked a few strands of hair from his head.

"Aiye!!" cried out Georges in pain, throwing his hand up to the same spot on his own head - and coming away with a few long, blonde hairs.

He sullenly shot a few choice words at his brother in French, but I was too busy staring at the hair in his hand to follow along. "Is that... I mean, did you just...?"

Georges gave Alexis a withering glare - and got an angelic smile in return - before bringing his attention back to me and nodding. "Eet eez our bond. We are, 'ow you say... connected."

"Connected?" My brain was finally catching up, and I looked from one to the other. "You mean, whichever one of you was in the bathroom and hit your head, the other one got the exact same cut at the exact same time?"

"Putain, Georges. I theenk 'ee 'as got eet," Alexis said with a chuckle.

"Ta gueule," Georges replied, though he was grinning too.

I leaned back on the wall and gave my head a shake. "Je-e-esus. Let me get this straight: anything that happens to one of you, also happens to the other?"

"Preety much," said Alexis as he pushed himself up from the floor. "Eet eez more compleecated zan zat, but you 'ave ze idea."

"I have never heard of a bond like that. The chances of that must be, like..." I paused, as a random flash of insight hit me. "Is that why there are two toilets in our bathroom?"

Alexis, who had been collecting the other ice pack, blushed. And so did Georges, naturally, before nodding. "Zat eez one of ze more embarrassing effects, oui."

"Damn. That'll teach me not to bitch so much about my--" That train of thought slapped me with an uncomfortable reminder, and I patted my pockets. No phone. "Uh... either of you know what time it is?"

Their heads swivelled in perfect sync to the standard-issue wall clock - duh, See, you fucking genius - and then they both said, in unison, "Eleven-thirty."

Clones. Yep. I breathed a slight sigh of relief that it wasn't quite noon yet, and fumbled for the door handle. "Sorry, it's just, I... uh, I have something I need to take care of."

Dad hadn't done much drinking last night, if any, but he'd sleep till at least one o'clock anyway, which ought to give me until about two or three until he really got into the bottle. Gave me a couple of usable hours, but only that. I said my goodbyes to the twins and closed both bathroom doors on my way back into our room because, I don't know, old habits die hard. In my dad's house, you keep the bathroom door closed because it's about the only privacy you're going to get.

Yuri wasn't in the room. Guilt, guilt, nag, nag. I tried to shove off the unwelcome inner torment and focus on the immediate problem: my suitcase, and wherever the hell it might have been at that moment. The only information I had to work with was that it was probably in the possession of a guy who called himself "Thor." Great. All I needed were a few more ways to make an ass of myself.

The one detail I had, at least, was that I'd find his room on the ground floor. Didn't do much to narrow it down, but maybe I could... knock on doors? I shuddered, and I had a sudden craving for a drink to steel my nerves. Goddamnit. I haphazardly shoved my feet into my worn old sneakers and yanked open the door.

Have you ever felt like the universe is playing tricks on you, and everyone's in on the joke except your own dumb ass?

Standing there, right outside the door to my room, was my suitcase, with a little bit of grass still clinging to it from its journey back to the building.

My first instinct was to look left and right down the hallway - you know, because he'd obviously still be there just waiting for me to pop out the door - but no. He was long gone, having somehow managed to suss out what room I was in and deliver my suitcase right to the goddamn door.

"What the fuck, dude," I said out loud. Then I hauled my poor, neglected suitcase back into the room, shut the door, and hefted the thing up onto my bed. I stared at it for a moment, and then realized I was feeling a little bit deflated. Going off to try and find Thor's room was going to be a little adventure, a reason to get out of this Godforsaken room and all the shitty things I was feeling. Now I didn't really have any way to avoid either.

I sat down on my bed next to the suitcase and wondered what I was going to say to Yuri.

Then I got sick of wondering and decided to finally open my suitcase. If I was going to be stuck here, I should probably put my stuff somewhere. I never did like living out of a suitcase. Not sure why. You'd think after years of it I'd have adjusted.

So I opened the thing up. Zip, zi-i-ip, zip, thunk. The lid hung over the side of the bed, and the torn corner of the inner nylon lining flopped on top of a couple of my shirts. I really didn't have that much, it's just the things I did have took up a pretty good amount of space. Couple of sweaters, couple of t-shirts I liked plus a bunch of ugly ones. One other pair of jeans. Underwear. Socks. A plastic bag with my toothbrush and other toiletries, a bunch of loose change, and a key. I had no idea anymore what it opened, I just had it. A faded pair of PJs with no top. A towel, used to be one of my dad's, which had basically a Corona ad on it. Three books, two of them mismatched Harry Potter novels and one vampire story by Anne Rice - one of my foster brothers, pretty much the only one I actually liked, had given it to me second-hand, because he thought I'd like it. It was really the only thing out of all my stuff I actually cared about keeping, except for my--

"Fuck," I heard myself say out loud. Then I dug some more through the suitcase, and then I repeated myself. "Fuck!"

My journal was missing.

I stubbornly went back into my stuff again and again - maybe it got rolled up in one of my sweaters? Double nope. Maybe it's in this pocket over here? Nope. Maybe I took it out already without realizing? Triple nope. Nope, nope, nope.

My suitcase was now empty, the contents spread out along the surface of my bed, and my journal was not there. The stupid fucking journal I hadn't even wanted in the first place but my stupid fucking therapist had insisted I write in a stupid fucking journal and now the stupid fucking journal was missing and I still didn't even want the stupid fucking journal but there was some stuff I didn't want anyone else to see in the stupid mother fucking journal.

"Fucking FUCK!" I said.

I am super eloquent in times of high stress.

Somewhere around that last "Fuck" I noticed a folded slip of paper. I'd picked it up twice while I was looking for my journal and hadn't even looked at it because it was probably just a scrap paper or something from the last time I packed, but now that I was paying attention, I didn't recognize it at all. I picked it up and unfolded it.

Come get it. Room 119.
- Thor

It feels really weird when your heart is thudding right up between your ears, but for a moment I was aware of nothing else. My face must have been beet red. I felt my hands clench, and the paper of the note tore. I was angry, but the anger was totally overwhelmed by the gut-punch of terror. There was shit in that journal that literally nobody had ever heard from my lips, not my therapist, not Deanna, nobody. And now fucking Thor had it.

I was shaking, and my nerves were threatening to send me over the edge. I clenched my fists tighter and tried to calm myself down. I took deep breaths. It didn't work at first, and then it did, slowly. I was panicking and I knew it. There was no option. I had to go and get it. The fucker had gone through my suitcase and plucked out my journal, and he'd probably read the whole damn thing by now, so he knew exactly why I had to go and get it.

So go fucking get it, See. This is your own damn fault anyway.

The journey down to the first floor is kind of hazy to look back on, because it was one of those episodes where time seems to both speed up and slow down, where you're too stuck in your own head to really think about putting one foot in front of the other. I ended up on the ground floor, wandering along the halls of the dormitory, blankly passing 113... 115... 117... and finally reaching 119.

I knocked. Twice.

After a few agonizing moments, the door opened and there was Thor. I hadn't been able to tell much about his body in the darkness of the night before, but now that he was standing there (topless, for some reason, just some gym shorts and nothing else), I could see that he was lean, a little muscular, but it was the kind of muscle you get by a lucky accident of genetics, not working out. He had tiny little bits of chest hair starting to poke up, as if he normally shaved it off but hadn't bothered for a few days. And he had a few stray hairs just at the top of the waistband of his shorts, and why the fuck was I looking there? I brought my eyes up to his. They were crinkled in amusement, though there were slight, dark bags underneath from lack of sleep. He was a bit taller than me. His big, pouty lips were pushed upward into a smirk.

"Well, well," he said in a tone of voice that pissed me off. "There y'are, Punjab."

"Give me my journal," I said through clenched teeth. My face felt hot.

"Whoa now, boy. I lugged that fucker suitcase all up here, then right to your door, and that's how you thank me?" He leaned smugly - infuriatingly - on the door frame and crossed his arms. "Y'all can do better 'n that."

I was pretty sure people the next building over could hear my breath going in and out of my nostrils. My fists were clenched. I spoke slowly. "Thank you. Give me my journal."

"Mmm..." He stroked his chin, then leaned toward me and grinned. "What if I don't want to?"

I don't remember hitting him. I honestly don't. I mean, I know I did, I know I punched him right in the face, but I don't have any memory of actually doing it. I just know I must have, because after the blur of the next couple of moments, I remember that I was pinned underneath him on the floor of his room, he was holding both of my wrists down with one of his hands, and his other hand was wiping a little bit of blood off his lip.

(I know, you're probably thinking "what the fuck just happened there?" because I sure was. For the sake of clarity, I think what happened was that I punched him in the mouth, then I tried again, he caught my arm, hauled me to the floor, and then grabbed my other arm when I tried to hit him again.)

When the world made sense again, he was saying something like, "take it easy there, tiger. You ain't goin' nowhere right now, stop strugglin'."

And you know what? I did. Maybe it was the sheer reversal of fortune, or the fact that I was totally unable to move, or that I hadn't really gone in looking for a fight in the first place, but I stopped and just lay there, limp. And scared. I was definitely more scared than angry, now.

Which, apparently, he could tell. That maddening smirk returned to his face. "There, now. That's better. Now let's try this again, a'ight? What was it you wanted?"

I swallowed. "M-my journal. I w-want my journal."

He raised an eyebrow. "Y'all gonna ask nicely? Got any manners up in that thick skull o' yours?"

It was humiliating. But - and maybe this is just me - when you're totally not in control, and you don't know what's going to happen, and you're being asked to humiliate yourself, you do it, because maybe it'll get you out of the situation you're in. Fear is a pretty good motivator. "Please," I said. "Please give me my journal back."

Of course, the really humiliating stuff was still coming. Christ, I feel naïve looking back on it.

For the moment, he looked satisfied. "Much better," he said. But I was uncomfortably aware that he still hadn't let me up. He considered me for another moment or two, and then he took his dick out.

No, really. It was that sudden. He just took it out and let it flop on my chest, over the waistband of his shorts. It wasn't hard or anything, but from my angle, it was big, and cut, and black, and most importantly, lying there on my chest. I was too shocked to even start struggling again.

He cocked his head at me. "What 'cha think, Punjab? Nice?"

Something about the way he said it knocked some sense back into me, and I shot him a disgusted grimace. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Come on, See. Be honest, now. Tell me my cock's nice."

I squirmed. "Fuck off, you freak!"

He took it in his hand and shook it a little. "So you don't think it's nice, huh? I got you. I know why." He leaned down toward me. "You like 'em little, don't you? Younger? And you don't like 'em bein' just given to you, do you? You like to take."

For the first time since I saw the note he left in my suitcase, I felt my face go pale. "I-I don't--w-what are you talking about?"

I was never the best liar, and Thor didn't even bother answering me. He just stared down at me, eye to eye, waiting for me. In that moment, I knew he'd read my journal. Probably all of it.

I twisted my head to the side, unable to keep looking him in the eyes, and goddamnit, I could feel tears in my eyes again. "It... It wasn't me," I said, and I realized I was all but whispering. "I didn't write it."

"Bull. Shit." He leaned in closer, still grinning. "Come on, Punjab. Tell Daddy Thor all yo' sins."

"It wasn't me," I insisted, my teeth clenched again.

"Then who was it, bro?"

I didn't say anything for a long time, but Thor was patient. Weirdly so, for someone with his dick out. Eventually, I just shut my eyes and gave up. "...Him."

"Him?"

I finally met his eyes. "Him."

A little light clicked on somewhere behind his eyes. "Your bond," he said quietly.

I nodded. "He writes. Not me."

"Huh." He leaned back a little bit, thinking. He was still holding my wrists, and his junk was still very few uncomfortable centimetres from my jaw. It was the most uncomfortable experience I'd had that day, although by a pretty small margin, all things considered.

"A'ight, See," he said after another moment. "Y'all can have your li'l diary back, if you do somethin' for me."

I frowned. "What do I have to do?"

"I'll let you pick. Option one, suck it, right now." He wiggled his dick suggestively near my chin.

I made a face and jerked away. "Dude, no. Fuck off."

He laughed. "Yeah, thought you might say that. So you got option 2." He leaned down, very close, and I could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. "I want to meet him."

I felt my tongue go dry. "Him? You... you want me to..."

"Next time you feel like puttin' an entry in your journal, you come see me. So I can meet him... get a good look at him." He rocked his hips a bit, and I could see him getting a little harder at the thought, which did more than anything so far to freak me out.

I felt a little sick. "Why? Why the hell would you want to...?"

"Mmmm..." He slid his hips - and by extension, his junk - down my body until he was lying chest-to-chest with me, taking his free hand and running a finger along my arm. "I read every page of that sick li'l journal o' yours. And I jacked off to it five times. A hot, dom daddy who takes what he wants, in the body of a hot boy like you. Too damn good to pass up."

UGH. I literally cringed. "You are fucked up."

"Yeah, that's old news, bro. But that's your options. Only way you gettin' that book back, is if you gimme an even hotter time."

I felt him grind his dick into me, and I tensed as I felt mine respond to the attention, as much as I was wishing it wouldn't. He smirked again and brought his hand down, lifting his hips and using his legs to trap my body in place as he felt me up through my jeans. He leaned his head down by my ear. "You think about it, bro," he whispered.

Then he got up, let go of my wrists, and casually strolled to the bathroom and shut the door behind him, his junk still waggling the whole way. I was suddenly alone on the floor of his room, and I hadn't moved a muscle.

It was a couple of moments before I found the wherewithal to get up. I felt sick. I was still hard, which was uncomfortable and confusing. I felt violated. I wondered if this was how I'd made them feel.

And, like it or not, I still needed my journal back. And I got the feeling that I couldn't go about it any other way... not if I wanted what was in my journal to stay private.

Which meant I'd be back.

I thought about what had just happened to me, and I thought about him. And I made up my mind.

As I left his room, I tried to ignore the part of me that was a little excited. It didn't work.

* * * * *