Blackmailed
by Victor Thomas
Chapter 4
Javier
I yawned. Something was pounding my temples with a sledgehammer, and I was sweaty after rolling in my bed all night. I looked out the bedroom window, squinting my eyes, which felt like they were full of sand and dust. Kenny's car was there, waiting peacefully on the side of the road.
Soft snoring came from behind my back. He appeared to be sleeping pretty deeply, nestled somewhere half underneath all the pillows and blankets. He looked so fucking cute that I wanted to jump back into bed. I didn't, however. Instead, I took my phone and read the message from Jorge.
'Time's running out, porn star.'
It was already Thursday, and since Kenny had brought his car here, the chanced of him agreeing with his mother were small. Actually, they were zero, if not negative. She was such a bitch, as I had expected, which meant I had two days left to meet Jorge's demand.
I was pretty sure my boyfriend would freak out if he knew such a video existed, so telling him wasn't at the top of my priorities. Furthermore, the football team seeing the video would be beyond embarrassing.
I need to handle this somehow. And quickly.
Breaking up with Kenny was the last thing I wanted to do, so I had to figure out something. There were two more days, two fucking days. I was painfully aware that nothing even remotely clever had come into my mind ever since my brother had given me the ultimatum on Monday.
"Babe," came a sleepy voice from the bed. "Everything okay?"
He had the sweetest smile on his face, and when he pulled the blanket aside, there was a giant boner inside his boxers. He turned on his back and I couldn't take my eyes off of it. The front of my boxer briefs began to grow. The look in his eyes made it clear that had been his intention.
"Come here, big boy," he said softly.
I pushed my hand inside my underwear to adjust myself and realized that I was hard as a rock. His eyes were zoomed in on my crotch, and the grin on his face grew broader. I knew what I wanted, and I wanted it so badly. I took a step toward the bed, but when Jorge's voice came from the kitchen, I froze. At the same time, the alarm on Kenny's phone went off.
"I think you need to take a shower, or you'll be late for school," I said.
He protested, but rose from the bed. He wrapped a big white towel around his slim waist, kissed me, and squeezed my erection through my underwear.
"I've got an idea what we should do when we get back home," he whispered.
I smiled and watched him disappear into the bathroom. Then my face grew severe, and I wished I could share his good mood and eagerness. My first class started two hours later than his, and I could have slept, but I didn't. I just stood there, staring at the clock on the wall. With every tick, the weekend was closer, and it sucked big time.
When he emerged from the bathroom, clean and fresh, I gave him a sad lingering look before I shuffled into the steamy bathroom. My erection had died, and I had zero interest in trying to wake it up. I stood under the shower and let the water run down my chest. It warmed my body, but not my soul.
There has to be a way to fix this.
My eyes closed, I entertained the idea of finding a stuffy dungeon in some rathole and locking my brother inside. The dickhead could rot there until doomsday and no one would miss him. It was so fucking hard to understand what he got from treating me like this.
Five minutes later, the two of us entered the kitchen. Ten minutes later, Jorge had used his available vocabulary to provoke us, like most mornings. And, twenty minutes later, Kenny had left for school, and my parents for work, so it was just me and him in the house.
I entered the living room and looked through the sheer curtains. The front yard was empty except for his and my cars.
"The fag is still here."
He came from the kitchen, holding a can of beer and took the box of cheap cigarettes from the table.
"We need to talk," I said.
I glared at my brother right in the eyes.
"Not interested."
He took a swig of his beer and belched. Ignoring my stare, he lit a cigarette and walked to the front porch. I followed him there and got a puff of smoke in my face, certainly on purpose. I used my hand to shoo it away and sat on the handrail. He sat on the chair and acted like I wasn't there.
"Can we agree on something else," I said. "Kenny has nowhere else to go."
"Not my problem," he said.
"Seriously, man. Can't you just delete the video?"
His big belly jerked when he laughed.
"Send your boy toy home or you know what happens," he said.
I fisted my hands as a wave of rage rushed through my body. I managed to keep calm and not hit the asshole, but just barely. He would have probably beaten my badly, but he wouldn't care. This whole thing was so fucked up, and it had to stop now.
"Don't you think that…"
"Tick, tock, tick, tock," he said. "You're wasting your time."
"And you're a fucking asshole!"
I sat on the bed later that afternoon, slouching over my history book and a blank piece of notebook paper, but I wasn't devoting any attention to studying. I glanced at Kenny, who had his math homework lying on the other side of the bed. He didn't notice that or the other half dozen glances I had stolen.
I need to get him out of here.
I closed my eyes and took a calming breath, not that it helped much. The empty feeling in my stomach kept growing when I cleared my throat. Now, he turned to look at me, raising his eyebrows.
"Have you talked to your mom?" I asked tentatively.
"There's nothing to talk about," he snapped.
"But I was thinking that…"
"Seriously! Can we drop this already?"
I tried to make eye contact with my boyfriend, but he turned his back to me. With a heavy sigh, I shook my head in disbelief and returned my focus back to the history book. He was probably as stubborn as his mother, which didn't help the situation at all.
Fifteen minutes passed, and I was still staring at the empty paper, wondering how to start the essay. Kenny's pen rasped on the paper faster and faster, and it was only interrupted when he turned the page. Before I left, the noise stopped and there was a knock on my back.
"Can I have a kiss?'
He had a soft, apologetic expression on his face.
"I'm studying."
"Just a small one? Please?"
It was his turn to sigh when I stayed quiet and pretended to be reading the book, the same page I had been reading for nearly half an hour. From the corner of my eyes, I saw him moving farther away on the bed.
I left for the kitchen to get a coke. I opened the refrigerator and took two cans, but put the other back. If he wanted one, he could get it himself. When I returned to our bedroom, he didn't even bother to turn his head, so I made sure the can let out as loud of a pop as possible when I opened it. Unfortunately, it triggered no reaction on the other end of the bed.
A few minutes later, my phone beeped. The message was from Jorge. Seemingly, the dickhead didn't want to raise his lazy ass from the couch. Walking barely fifteen feet from the living room to talk to me would have been too big a chore. When I read the message, I was happy my brother hadn't said it aloud.
'Premier tomorrow, minuteman.'
"Who was it?"
He moved closer and his hand touched my shoulder.
"Nobody."
I put the phone back into my pocket before he saw the message.
He got up and walked in front of me, where I was still sitting at the corner of the bed. He kneeled down and rested his hands on my knees. There was a small smile on his face when he studied my face, trying to make eye contact with me.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just not in the mood to talk about my mom."
"But can't you still try?"
He snorted.
"Why do you keep asking that?"
There wasn't an appropriate answer to that. At first, I couldn't find any answer. I just stared at my knees, where his hands had been. They weren't anymore. My boyfriend was now standing by the window and looked upset, probably for a very good reason.
"Well, she's your mother, and I was thinking…" I tried to say.
"You keep saying that," he snapped.
"Well, it's true."
"That makes me think you don't want me to live here," he said.
I ran my hand through my hair and tried to think straight. Technically, he was right, but he wasn't supposed to be the one to tell me that. This was one big fucking strategy game I hated more and more every day.
"That's not true," I said.
"Why don't you even want to kiss me then?" he shouted.
"Please lower your voice."
I gestured toward the door.
"You really think they don't know what we're doing in here? Even your dumbass brother must've guessed it already."
My breathing got heavier, and my shirt was wet around my armpits. I took it off and tossed it to the corner. Looking straight into his eyes, I opened my belt and began unbuttoning my jeans.
"Let's kiss then, and I can fuck you as well," I said bitterly. "I hope it makes you believe I don't want you to leave.
He covered his eyes with his palms, exhaled heavily, and said, "idiot."
"Can't help it. It runs in the family."
I wasn't sure if I was more angry or embarrassed when I fastened my belt and stood up. I turned my back to him and kicked the books on the floor. It didn't matter if they were mine or his. Probably they were his, at least based on his reaction.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
He rushed to save the book that hit the wall.
"I'm going to go for a run," I muttered.
I left the room and slammed the door so hard the vases trembled on top of the shelf in the living room. It was a fucking pity they didn't drop. They were worn and ugly, like everything else in there, especially my brother slouching on the couch. It was no surprise the bastard had a big smirk on his face.
"Good start, bro," he said, giving me a thumbs up.
Unable to find words for how disgusted I was, I ran full speed ahead and straight out the door. I let the wind pulse in my ears so I couldn't hear myself think. It didn't help, though. The voice inside my head kept screaming. There was no way to fix this, and with every step, I believed it more and more.
A satisfied grin grew on my face when I parked my car in front of the house the following day. I had skipped my last class to be home before anyone else, especially before Jorge. Of course, my laze ass brother had no job to come home from, but luck seemed to be on my side; his car wasn't there.
"Anybody home?" I shouted as I stepped inside.
I quickly checked every room to make sure I was alone. I didn't find anyone, even in the bathroom. Humming the song the radio station had played on my way home, I approached the guest room, or perhaps I should call it Jorge's room. The asshole bunked there all the time and no guest should ever sleep in such a stink.
Okay, where's your laptop?
I scanned the room. The bed was unmade and looked like someone had arranged a wrestling match there. The linens were grimy, and half of the blanket was on the floor. The school books on the small wooden bookcase were surprisingly worn, considering how little he must have read them. I slid my finger on the shelf, leaving a track in the dust.
If he kept the computer in his room, there weren't too many hiding places. A pile of clothes in the corner and the bed were more or less the only ones. Apart from the text books and a few magazines, the bookcase was empty. There was an empty pizza box, a few plates, and half a dozen beer cans on the table.
One by one, I took the school books and looked inside. They were empty. No secret stock inside them to hide the phone where the bastard kept the recording of me and Kenny having sex. I set the books on the floor to see if there was something behind them. I found a worn black t-shirt full of white stains.
"Fuck!"
I winced and dropped the shirt on the floor like it had burned my fingers.
I was about to check the pile of clothes, when I heard the sound of a car. In a second, I rushed to my own room where I could see the front yard. A black van approached our house but drove past. I waited until I didn't hear it anymore before returning to Jorge's room.
I wished I had rubber gloves as I was rummaging through my brother's clothes. Not sure whether they were clean or dirty, I pushed the underwear aside. They were too unlikely a hiding place, and the disgusting smell would have melted the computer even if it had a titanium cover. Instead, I searched under the jeans in the pile, but found nothing.
Where the fuck have you put it?
Desperation filling my mind, I kicked the clothes. I checked the bottom of the table, using my phone as a flashlight, before I approached the bed. It was my last hope. I raised the mattress carefully, half expecting an army of cockroaches lurking there, but found only a magazine, cheap girls in skimpy bikinis on the cover. So, Jorge. So pathetic.
Apparently, the dumbass wasn't aware of internet porn, or perhaps he was just too stupid to figure out google. A wicked smile grew on my face when I thought of him sitting in front of an old computer in his apartment, a place where I had never been invited to. Not that I was interested in learning what kind of rathole our parents had rented for my brother.
I spent another five minutes pacing around the room and looking at all possible and impossible places where the laptop could be. If he used any cloud storage, I might be able to delete the video remotely from my phone. Unfortunately, his computer wasn't in the room.
What if he didn't even have a laptop.
I slammed the table so hard the plates on it jumped. Had I skipped my last class for nothing? My blood boiling, the half empty beer can was already in my hand with the intention to empty it onto his bed, when I heard a car being parked in front of the house. This time I would have recognized the sound of the engine even in my sleep. Only my brother's car made such a rattling noise.
Fuck!
My hands moving faster than light, I stacked his clothes back in the corner of the room. I fluffed the pile a few times to make it look the way it had before. It didn't, but I hoped my brother wouldn't notice the difference. My heart missed a beat when I heard heavy footsteps on the front porch. A key was put in the keyhole and the lock crackled. I held my breath and stared at the floor full of textbooks.
"Hey, fagster," Jorge shouted from the hallway. "You here?"
I leaned against the wall and stayed quiet. He took off his jacket, and let out a noisy fart. The floor creaked under his weight, and I smelled the scent of cigarettes. Carefully, I peeked through the open door and saw my brother walking to the kitchen.
The refrigerator was open, and one didn't have to be a mediocre prophet to know the next sound would come from a beer can being opened. My prophecy was right, but I didn't have time to congratulate myself before the footsteps approached me. I pushed my back harder against the wall, painfully aware the book shelf would not give me much of a cover.
A sigh of relief came out of my mouth when the television was turned on and he fell onto the couch. Without making a single sound, I crouched and began collecting the books from the floor. I took the cum rag, grimaced, and stuffed it behind the books on the shelf. Once all the books were in place, I scanned the room one last time. Not quite right, but it had to do.
There was still one more problem. As long as that dumbass was watching TV in the living room, I couldn't sneak out of his room without him noticing it, and I was not in the mood to explain what I had done in there. For a moment, I considered opening the window, but abandoned the idea as it would probably make too much noise.
Finally, there was no other option than to crawl on the floor. Wishing I could just disappear, I began creeping slowly out of the bedroom. My shirt collected all the dust on the floor when I moved my body inch by inch. The muscles on my arms and legs pushed me forward, and I managed to keep my breathing under control. A small satisfaction filled my mind when my fingers touched my own bedroom door and pushed it open. The hinges made a small squeaking noise.
"What on earth are you doing there?" he said with a fair amount of amusement in his voice.
I tensed.
"I… um… I'm doing some exercises. Besides, it's none of your fucking business."
"Whatever. Doesn't look stupid to me."
My cheeks burning, I stood up and wiped the dust off my clothes. I felt his eyes on my back when I closed my bedroom door behind me. I sat on the bed and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans. Definitely not the most glorious moment of my life, even though it seemed that he hadn't realized that I had examined his room. If he had, he would have probably hit me, and would have ridiculed me for the stupid plan for the rest of my life.
"Today's the day, minuteman," he shouted from the living room.
Like I don't know.
I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, so hard my gaze could have drilled through it. My face was tight as anger churned inside me. When I heard the sound of Kenny's car in the front yard, I knew it was all over. I curled my arm over my head and prepared to confront the inevitable like a convict on the way to the gallows.
"Get him out of here today," Jorge said, opening the door and waving his phone, "or this goes live."
"Okay, okay. Jesus!"
I didn't bother to hide the annoyance in my voice. I focused all my energy on his phone and how I would grab it and flush it down the toilet.
He noticed it.
"Do you really think I don't have another copy of your performance?' he said. "I'm going to go buy some cigarettes. I'll trust the gaytard will be gone before I get back.
A deep groan was all that came out of my mouth. I had done all I could, and there was no point in continuing this conversation. This asshole wouldn't change his mind. He had won and there was nothing I could do.
He went to the hallway, and at the same time he walked out the front door, Kenny came in. Kenny greeted him politely, but got no reply. Soon, he came to our bedroom, but stopped when he saw me lying on the bed.
"Is everything okay?" he asked. "Jason said you skipped your last class."
I nodded, my eyes still staring at the ceiling.
"Why?"
He sat on the corner of the bed.
"I've been thinking."
He stiffened.
"About what?" he asked.
I rose to a sitting position. There was no simple way to say it, especially with him sitting there. Those beautiful blue eyes, his cute face, and perfect lips, would all be gone as soon as I opened my mouth. I kept it shut as long as possible, but when he rested his hand on my shoulder, I couldn't stay quiet any longer. I had to say it before my last bit of courage vanished.
"I think it would be best if you move back home now," I said.
I said it as fast as I could, and my voice was just a whisper.
He removed his hand from my shoulder and said nothing. Somehow, our silence echoed off the walls. Finally, he stood up and took his back pack.
"You mean…" he stumbled over his words. "I should move right now?"
I nodded, but couldn't look him in the eye.
"Does this mean you're breaking up with me?"
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
