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A boy enters a college fraternity, but is coerced to follow the rules by the residents and his own family.
Author(s): mrsimple | 5 Warnings!
Content Keywords | Status: Completed | To Disqus!
MyReviews: 0

Chapter Seven : Changed for the Better?
Posted: 2018-11-01 19:08:07 | Updated: 2018-11-01 19:08:07
Words: 4108

I felt my head smack on something. Maybe the other way around? Did something hit me?

It is still dark and I see that I'm in a car. No, I hit the inside of the door when almost falling out. Someone opened it.

"You awake?" It is Henry. Fuck...

"Ye- Yeah," I return. My limbs, especially my fingers and toes, all feel this vibrating-tingle in them.

"Can you walk?" I'm not even sure yet if I can get out, but I don't voice that to Henry. I'm pretty sure he's pissed at me.

I pull my head away from the inside window and he slowly opens the door further away from me. I reach up, grabbing the door's frame and pull myself slowly out.

Yeah, my legs are shaking, but I can stand. What the Hell happened? Wait, I have an idea.

"Did... Did you put a roofie in my drink? Soup?" I ask Henry.

"Hell no, I was nowhere near that when it had been made," he replies.

"You paid them. I saw you pay them," I retort.

"Pain Killers, the good ones. I figured you still had quite a headache from going for the goal with your head," he puts that mildly.

I stay quiet and take one step away from the car. My legs don't feel like they are my own, but I can walk.

My hands feel over my worn-out green jacket, feeling for the phone I had, but I'm afraid that had been dropped back in the woods.

"Did you see my phone?" I ask.

"You kinda dropped it in a puddle of your- Ya'know," I get the picture. It is probably fried from both the rain, yuck, and muck.

"Could we not do that again... Please?" I ask Henry.

"Not a chance," he replies. "Today, I'm not even going there, you won't have to deal with me for awhile, I promise, but we have to keep an eye on you." He explains, but I'm a little confused. "When you feel like coming back to school, then we'll restart. Today, forget it."

Come back to school?

"... My mom?" I question this, saying it out to no one in particular, but I would like someone or something to give me an answer.

Henry is quiet, but he hands me his phone.

I look at it. I had been about to dial my mother's number, but then I read the text that is on his phone. I didn't read much. Skimming it, I gathered the jist of it.

I remember how heavy the rainfall had become. There was an accident. My mom was driven off the road and slammed into the bank of trees.

Only three letters told me enough to not read any further.


I lifted my chin up and stared out at nothing. Henry's phone was blindly given back and I walked. No direct aim, just walked.

My first thought was about the phone call. Then it moved onto all of those missed messages from her. Was she trying to get a hold of me before or after the accident? Did she try to call me for help? Was there something she wanted to tell me? How was she coping with the pain, the injuries, the knowledge she might be dying?

Did she want to hear my voice before going?

I began to stumble and whimper. Turning to gaze in different directions to find something. Anything. I don't know why. It would distract me? Maybe? Keep me from breaking apart?

I leaned over while walking for a split-second. Then I felt arms pull me up by the shoulders.

Henry was directing me. He took me into someplace. I think it was the house? It had that horrible red door.

Inside, I am directed to the couch. He tries to get me to turn and sit, but I end up just flopping down on it like a dead fish. I bury my face into the arm and hug it tightly.

My shoulders are jumping up into the arm of the couch and I reposition myself. I am breathing more rapidly. Pushing my face deeper, I try calming myself down, slowing my breathes, by filtering it through the cushion.

When I reposition again, I could feel the cold wet marks on the cushion. I must be crying. Right now, I think that is fine. I know it helps.

Later, I know I won't know what to do with myself. My mom is all I had left. No dad. He's not dead or anything, but I don't know who he is or where at. Like I mentioned, I'm a true Bastard.

My mom's family. Who existed? Overseas, in England someplace, there is a cousin. Not sure where her parents are. Someplace around the world.

Grand-parents? Six-feet under.

Technically, yes, I am an adult. I might not need any next of kin to greet and care for me, but I've never done that for myself. My mom was my crutch as much I tried to be her's.

"Hey Adrian?" I hear Henry call down to me and I peek up a glance at him. "You might be getting company here. It might be best if you showered and get ready."

He is right. I threw up on myself, last I recall. Not to mention all the things I've been slipping in on my escape. Also, who knows what was raining down on top of my head or crawling on me while I laid comatose.

I sit up and straighten out.

I glance over at the bathroom and nod my head. I don't want to speak right now. Not even sure if I can without knowing how broken it might sound.

My jacket is removed and I roll it up. Henry reaches down and takes it from me to place it in a garbage bag. I cringe, knowing that could be dangerous, but for now, don't care. I'll just remember to retrieve it later.

I stand up, unbuttoning my flanel and turning to face the bathroom. I get down to around my waist when I feel that tingling sensation irritate my bruise. My hand passes along it. Really hurts now and I can feel a small knot there.

"You okay?" Henry asks.

I turn to face him, damn my voice, and tell him in my broken tone, "No thanks to you," while holding my side.

He takes a look down my front and nods. His gaze lingers on me before I turn back around for the bathroom. I get the rest of the flannel off and toss it over the door.

I flip on the bathroom light and walk in, turn around, catch Henry looking at me silently, and shut the door. My shirt acts as a jam so he wouldn't easily come in this time.

I walk over to the mirror there and take a look at my waist. Yeah, it had a nice knot there. It is not a pleasant feeling at all.

My eyes stray from the injury to my waist. It looked... Off? Did I throw up that much? I looked a bit thinner. My stomach was flattened, if I stretched up, but it was certainly not pudgy anymore.

I'll still diet. I'm not at my ideal weight yet.

I'm actually surprised my head isn't splitting open from the pain in my jaw. It feels slightly numb.

I open my mouth up to take a peek at the hole that is supposed to be in there.

It isn't a hole. There is a tooth where the hole was!?

I blink and take a closer look. There is a tooth there. My molar is back where I lost it.

I put my finger in my mouth to touch it. The gum felt like it did before, sore, bleeding, and all very much like it had surgery. It also had a tingling sensation, like it just went through getting jack-hammered.

My finger pulls out and I stare at my lips. I'm not sure, but something also looks off about them.

It is then I notice my eyes.

My eyes had always been on the darker side of hazel. Being practically brown.

They were light and almost green.

I blinked a few times, rubbed to irritate and get my tear ducts to wash out whatever is in my eyes to give this illusion. Blinking some more, I look back, no change, and shake my head. I'm going to ignore it for now.

My hands reach around my torso, careful to remove the wrap since the cut is probably fused with it. Steadily, I take it off.

There is a nice red patch on several layers of the wrap. I lay it on the sink.

Looking back at the mirror, I turn to the side for me to see if I can catch a glimpse of the cut. I can see the smear of the wraps hold back there, but can't look at the origin of where I had been bleeding.

I stop for a moment to take note of something. I know that I was a little pudgy before, but that weight around my waist had vanished. There still seemed to be a bit around my chest though. It made a funny sight.

Again, I did mention I'm not at my ideal weight, but I'm not all too familiar how to lose weight from there. Fuck, this makes it look like I have small boobs. Maybe I should start taking hydration pills to convert the water?

I turn to the shower and kneel down to the knobs. I begin to twist one of them when I hear the door behind me give a little creak. Had it not been for the shirt jammed up there, it might have flown open.

I look over my shoulder in time to see Henry poking his head in asking, "You fall asleep or something?" His eyes stops on my bare back. "Ouch," he says. Yeah, you fucker, that is your doing.

"I'm turning the water on. I was inspecting my battle-scars, Henrick," I throw at him while standing back up. I go to the sink and begin to roll up the wrap. I look around me for the trash-can, toss it in, and go for the door to shut it.

Henry is staring at me. His eyes are trailing down me, then back up. I reach over and grab the door to push it close.

"You're a guy?" He asks me.

I pause, looking through the crack and I open the door a little more.

"Yeah, I'm a fucking dude," I tell him, nodding.

He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows when looking down at me.

"Androgyny is really not my thing, I can say that for certain now," Henry states.

"Why the Hell does it make it so special now?" I ask.

"Because, if you were a chick, I would be tempted," he states.

I freeze up and stare at him for a really long moment. He's saying that he finds me attractive? I look over at the mirror. For just the moment, I'm going to picture myself not as a guy.

Yes, I have breasts. They are not big. Hell, they are small, but that is probably no help due to my height being six feet. Then there is my build... I turn a little to face the mirror. My build?

Fuck, I really don't have a masculine build, do I? I never really took that into account. No wonder those professors and jerk-wads at the other colleges thought I'd be a pushover.

I glance back at Henry. He probably thinks the same. That I'm the equivalent of some tall chick who's got a bit of muscle.

He keeps looking at me. For the first time in my life, I raise my arm to bar my chest from somebody. I resume to shut the door until it is jammed closed again.

I'm not sure if I am safe around that guy. He says he's not into guys, but if he gets drunk enough at one of those outings that I have to sit around, watching... What? He wouldn't. There are plenty of girl's there that would be more than happy to suck his cock.

The mirror. When I look at who is staring back, with the knowledge I've seen this person as another gender, I shudder. Do clinics test for things like this? Like, do I have I.S. or something?

The mirror fogging up reminds me of the water I've been running. I guess the knob was the hot one.

I go back to kneeling and turn the cooler one slightly over. My hand brushes along the faucet's stream until I can tolerate the temperature.

Over handling the water, I stare into it, remembering what happened at Sandy's. He came right when I was drinking the bisque. Did he do that to sicken me? He never once looked at one of the two girls. They wanted me to watch him and the whole time he had his eyes on me.

He really is getting under my skin.

I stand and tuck my hands down into the sides of my cargos, pushing them down and stepping out of them. My boxers slip off without me even trying to remove them.

My eyes are glued down there.

I'm not even panicking. I lay a hand down between my legs and can't find it.

I look back at the mirror. At my eyes. Almost green, rather than brown.

I picture my mother's eyes.

If she were alive, we'd be twins now. The thought brings a smile to my face. Those eyes, something scary grows in them as I feel the need to laugh.

I'm going nuts. Oh wait, I don't have those. Ha!

I plant my palm up to one of my eyes and hold it there. I lean forward, looking away from the mirror and stare at the water.

My gaze drifts up to the little shelf on the wall. There is shaving cream, some shampoo, and a regular razor. For a fleet moment, I wonder if that multi-layered razor could do the same thing as the old-fashion blade.

I pull my hand away and lower my gaze down my wrist. Not across the street, but down the lane. I remember.

My eyes begin to blur and I wipe at them. I'm trying to get them clear, but they just keep blurring on me. I turn around and sit on the side of the tub, rubbing my eyes out, fighting against the tears that are welling in them.

I swallow, now fighting a two-front war with tears and sobbing.

My feet kick off the pants the rest of the way, letting my shoes hit the floor in their tangled mess, and I reach down to yank off my socks.

I hold my ankle and lower my face down between my legs. I slide my feet up to the tub's base and bury my face into my knees, hugging them up, and I cry.

I don't care about what happened to me. I just want my mom back. I want to ask her what to do. What I should have done. If she knew someone I could go see. Whether she had any idea if this would cause problems enrolling at the college.

Anything. I wanted to talk to her about anything. I just want her back.

Wait, what am I thinking? She's right here.

I pull out from my legs and look over the sink at the mirror.

Those eyes and face. That is how she would have looked much younger, right? Am I supposed to depend on myself now?

Within, I'm my mother, but in public I'll still be who I really am. I can converse back and forth, find the answers, and figure out where to go from here. Hell, I know my own mom better than anyone. Why not?

"... Because she's not here," I whisper to myself. I am going crazy.

I pick myself up and walk into the ankle-deep water. Closing the curtains, I switch it to showering and clean up.

When I run the shampoo in my hair, I recite what my mother tells me about being clean, 'Cleanliness is next to Godliness.' I find that comforting. I guess, from now on, I'll be clean as I can be.

Otherwise, it will feel like I'm making my mom's dirty.

So, these things here are actual breasts? I should be able to wrap them up like before and keep them hidden.

My shampooed hand runs over them for a moment. I roll my thumb over the tip and find out it can stick out further and firmer. It is tender, that will mean when I remove the wrap it will be sensitive as fuck.

I continue to clean myself. It takes a little bit of effort to do so around my injuries, but I manage. I'm left a little confused why my tooth grew back, but the rest of my injuries didn't heal.

Actually, my tooth didn't heal. It just came back. My gum still feels like it had been through the extraction. I would not be surprised if I lose that tooth again by the mere cavity it is embedded in. It still bleeds, for crying out loud.

After washing up in the shower, I took notice that there were no towels out there in the dry open world of the bathroom. I could try to stand in here and wait to dry? I don't like that plan.

I walk out and sit down on the toilet, seat and lid down, and wait a moment before deciding.

I curl down to cover myself and call out, "Henry?" I hear feet landing down. I'm guessing he was laying on the couch?

Those feet come up to the door.

"Yeah?" Henry replies from the other side of the door.

"Towels?" I ask and hope we actually have some. If not, I have a couple in one of my bags upstairs.

"Hold on. Washing room," he tells me. I didn't know we had one. Well, that beats going to the laundromat.

I run my hands down the bare sides of my thighs. Reaching under my knees, I hug my chest down against my legs and wait there.

My face feels like it has dried up. I don't mean from the shower, either.

The wall opposite from me is stared at for a little bit. Then I lay my cheek down onto my knee, watching the bathroom door, waiting.

Henry does come back, struggles a little, but opens the door.

He had the towel held out, at first. After seeing me, he pulled it back to himself and stared at my curled figure.

I stared back up at him and raised a hand to reach out for the towel.

Henry kneels down. He looks me over and keeps the towel longer.

"Since you're a guy, I've got a new rule for you to get comfy with," he says.

"When?" I ask, remembering he is letting me off the hook for now.

"When we start getting to know one another again," he replies.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask, tired. He remains quiet for a little bit, but hands me the towel after that.

"In the house, you don't wear a shirt, got it?" He states.

I look up at him, "It will get cold."

"There are blankets. Just no shirts," he compromises.

I just nod my head. The towel is pulled over my shoulders a moment, then I let it slide down my back, having it secured around my waist loose, but snug, and drape across my lap before getting up.

I hold it to keep anything below the belt concealed.

Still, he is knelt and look up at me.

I stare at down at him. My hand raises up under my jaw, stroking the swollen patch of purpling skin there, recalling how savage he can be.

I walk around him.

I make my way up the stairs to where my room is. The door, I have to yank the knob out of the wall before testing to see if it even worked. No. The fucker broke it too. That's why it swings the way it does.

There is no privacy in this house.

Maybe that is why there are only two guys here.

Wait... Where is Mitch? I have not seen or heard him since I came back. Maybe the clubs are a nightly thing too? Might explain why I'm under Henry's wing.

Tomorrow, I'm going to see if I can get a ride to where they have my mom. I know they were going to have a squad car come for me, but I don't think anyone but us knew about...

How did Henry find out? His phone.

I look at my bags and quickly dig in them. I grab a pair of boxers with a drawstring, strap it up and on, and fetch for another bag to get some pants on. Let's see.

Cargos. I enjoy the pockets. Beige it is.

Throwing that on, I am about to find a shirt, but hesitate.

Henry said when I come back or when we start again. Maybe I should just get this damn business done and get used to it? I think it is best. If I do wait, I'm going to deal with him asking when, what time, and even making more proposed rules to enforce the first one.

I don't like the potential that he could have consequences behind those rules.

Although, my wet hair is freezing my back and shoulders. I really don't like the idea of it getting fused with my scarring cut either.

Going back to where I laid the towel, I scrub the wet Hell out of my hair before throwing the soaked towel out of my sight. One more dig in my bag and I grab a hold of one elastic loop black tie.

Reaching behind me, I scoop my hair up, thin it in my fist, send the loop through once, twice, and a third time to keep it secure. I pull it forward, letting it drape over my shoulder to dangle between my arm and ribs.

I walk out of the room to find Henry.

Downstairs, I call out, "Henry?"

Again, I hear his feet hit the floor. Am I waking him from the couch? Doesn't he have a room? He's rubbing an eye, I am waking him.

"Who texted you about my mom?" I ask him as I walked down.

He watches me. Sleepily, he walks over to the couch and digs into a packet. Inside, he pulls out his phone and looks at it. His hand wipes down his face again, getting whatever sleep was there out, at least for now.

"Dad, I guess your mom made him an emergency contact?" He shakes his head, shrugging, not knowing.

I nod and could probably see that. They spoke for a long time together. I know, I fell asleep and woke up with them still not done.

Henry is again unable to stop looking me over.

"You're not wearing a shirt," he observes.

"Your rules," I say and turn to head back upstairs.

"After tomorrow?" He asks. I pause and look over my shoulder.

"What about it?" I sincerely ask.

"Start back up," he suggests this to me.

I don't reply right away, thinking it over, but I know that my mom was my escape. I don't have that luxury anymore and staying here would be the better alternative. I'll get what I have been aiming for if I succeed.

"You promise to vouch for me with your dad?" I ask him.

"It is a part of the job, but we will see how you pass," he states.

"That isn't exactly comforting," is my reply.

"That's why we are doing this. You need to get comfortable around me if you want my judgement to be a good one," he lays the line for me and I can't really find the fault in it.

"After tomorrow," I say and start back up the stairs.

I walk in my room and work myself down into the bed there. Sleeping in my pants and boxers I'm used to. It is the shirtless feeling I'm not.

I wrap my torso up in sheets and lay back down. That's better. Now my long hair isn't feeling like something is crawling over my skin.

I shut my eyes and wait for the sweet oblivion to take me...

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