Well, it,s a minute past midnight, and I'm working on my story for Kendalls Logiebear's challenge at the same time as this, lol. Am I the only one entering? Other people should too! XD
10 YEARS AGO
"Keep your left hand still," Will instructed, standing by the piano. "Now, play the next two chords with your right hand."
Kendall did as he said, and the clear notes rang out in the living room, echoing slightly off the walls. "Come on," Jennifer said impatiently from the hallway. "We have to get to school."
"In a second!" Will called to her, before turning back to the nine-year-old boy sitting on the black leather stool. "Ok, now play the last line again."
Kendall did, biting his lip in concentration. When he was finished, his dad grinned and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You're on your way, blondie. Practice that later when you get home, ok? And remember you're taking the bus today!"
Kendall nodded and hopped off the stool, picking up his backpack and running to the front door. He didn't mind school so much. Sometimes the classes were hard, but it was fine most of the time. And Kendall liked his teacher; Mr Roberts was nice and always helped him when he didn't understand something.
Today he just sitting in class, bored, when a shadow fell over his desk. Kendall looked up to see the teacher standing there. "Kendall, I need you to stay for a few minutes after school, if you don't mind," Mr Roberts said kindly, closing his book. "Just a second or two, just to talk."
"What about, Mr Roberts?" Kendall asked innocently.
There was a brief pause before the teacher quickly replied with, "Just about your progress with the math. You know you were struggling with it a month or two ago."
"Oh. Yeah, ok." Kendall went back to scribbling little pictures of trees and mountains on his notebook, thinking happy thoughts to himself.
After school, Kendall sat at his desk while the other kids dashed out of the classroom, laughing and chatting happily. Kendall drummed his fingers lightly on the wooden surface as he watched Mr Roberts walk over and shut the door after the last child. He heard the little click of a lock and gave a puzzled frown. "Why did you lock the door?"
"I don't want anyone interrupting," the man said quickly, pushing his round, glinting glass back up to the bridge of his nose. "This is a serious discussion."
"Oh." Kendall squirmed uncomfortably under Mr Roberts' hard and eager stare. "Um . . . ok."
Mr Roberts went over and half sat on his desk, looking down at him with dark eyes. "Tell you what, Kendall. If you're good, I'll give you no homework for the rest of the week."
Kendall's heart skipped a beat. No homework? But something was strange, and it put him off. And the way Mr Roberts was looking at him was starting to frighten him. "Why do I have to be good if we're just talking, Mr Roberts?" Kendall asked quietly, fearing the answer.
Mr Roberts sighed, not answering. Then he reached a hand out and ran it through Kendall's hair. "You're beautiful, baby," he said softly, lips curving into a smile.
Kendall's mind instantly screamed 'Danger!',that something was really wrong here. He shrank away in his seat, but Mr Roberts just leaned closer to him. "It won't hurt so much," the teacher said, smiling and reaching towards him again.
Kendall leaped up and ran towards the door, grabbing the handle and twisted it frantically, before remembering the door was locked. Before he could move again an arm grabbed him around the waist and lifted him off his feet. Kendall kicked at him, but his short legs didn't do any damage. "No need to be scared, we're just gonna play a little game . . ." he heard the man say.
"I don't want to! N-no, let go!" Kendall squealed, but he didn't.
Mr Roberts pushed him down onto his desk, before climbing on top of him. Kendall opened his mouth to scream for help, but the man's hand slammed over his mouth, effectively gagging him. "Shh," Mr Roberts whispered in his ear. "Just relax."
"No!" Kendall screamed, but it only came out as "Mmfff!" He struggled violently, but his teacher just held him down tightly with one arm and started unbuttoning his jeans. Kendall started to cry, sobbing and screaming as Mr Roberts dragged his jeans and underwear down his legs. Kendall's arms flew out and he tried to push the man off.
But he was bigger and a lot stronger. Kendall really didn't stand a chance. Mr Roberts starting taking his own pants off, Kendall watching with terrified eyes. He could see a bulge in the man's underwear, and he ended up lying still for a second just to stare at it in horror.
Mr Roberts leaned down and bit his shoulder, making him squeak in pain for a second, then he was finishing stripping off. And suddenly he was pushing Kendall's legs apart and scooting forward on his knees. "Please stop," Kendall cried, but it went unheard. Then there was only pure agony.
Kendall screamed in pain, his mouth still gagged, tears pouring down his cheeks. He found he couldn't struggle anymore, he could only lie there as Mr Roberts grunted in pleasure and lust, continuing to cause him such unbearable pain. Kendall wasn't even sure what was happening, all he knew was that it hurt, it hurt so bad, and the teacher liked it.
Suddenly Mr Roberts stopped his movements, as Kendall felt something warm and wet trickling down his legs as the man pulled away from him, pulling up his pants. Kendall looked down to see that he was bleeding, along with the little splashes of white liquid on his thighs. He was still crying as Mr Roberts pulled his underwear and jeans, buttoning them for him while he just lay there. "I'm glad we had this talk," Mr Roberts said with a smile, licking his lips and getting off the desk, he went over to the door and unlocked, walking out and leaving it hanging open.
Kendall lay there for another second before struggling off the desk and onto the floor. It hurt to move. But he did anyway, running as fast as his little legs could carry him out into the hallway and towards the front door.
Kendall stumbled out into the schoolyard, tears still pouring down his cheeks. It hurt to try and walk; it hurt to do anything. He looked around, instantly paranoid about someone jumping out and attacking him. Then he realised he would have to somehow find his way home.
"Kendall, are you alright, honey?" Kendall looked up to see his friend Buddy's mom sitting in her car, looking at him with concern.
"I hurt myself," was all Kendall managed to reply quietly. "And I-I missed the bus, I think."
"You poor thing," she said sympathetically. "Would you like me to drive you home, sweetheart? I don't want you walking."
Kendall swallowed. It was Buddy's mom, he trusted her, didn't he? "Ok. Thank you." Kendall slowly walked over and opened the car door, climbing painfully into the backseat.
"What happened to you, sweetie?" she asked him as she started driving again.
"I fell," Kendall lied, starting to dry his eyes hurriedly.
"Oh." She didn't ask any more questions. She didn't speak again until they pulled up outside Kendall's house. "Here you go, Kendall. Tell your mom I said hi. And," She paused. "Feel better soon, ok?"
"Thank you," Kendall said quickly, before leaving the car and limping to the front door. He knew it would be left unlocked, since his mother wasn't working today. So he walked in, shutting it after him quietly and leaving his bag on the floor by the wall.
His mother immediately came storming into the hallway. "Kendall Donald Knight, you'd better have a good explanation for this!" she said angrily. "Why are you home so late?"
Just the thought if why he was home late brought it all back. His teacher's hands on him, bruising him, that unbearable pain . . .
Kendall didn't realise he was crying again until is mother was on her knees in front of him, suddenly looking worried. "Honey, what happened?"
"M-Mr Roberts," Kendall wailed, crying so hard he was trembling and had to sit on the floor; his legs wouldn't support him. "H-he hurt me, he t-touched me, here," Kendall swallowed, trying and failing to control the sobs. "Everywhere, and h-he said really bad things . . ." Kendall had to stop and catch his breath. "I hurt all over, Mom," he whispered at last, before dissolving into hysterical sobs again.
Jennifer stared at him in absolute horror. No, please no . . . "It's ok, sweetie." She put her arms around him, letting him bawl into her shoulder. "Everything's gonna be fine . . ." But she knew. She knew it wouldn't be.
She sat with Kendall and Katie and waited for her husband to get home. When he did, she left the children with a cartoon on TV (though she knew only Katie would watch it) and went to speak to him in the hallway.
"You need to watch the kids for a while," Jennifer said immediately, grabbing her bag and her jacket. "I have to go."
"Go where?" Will asked her curiously.
"The police station," Jennifer replied shortly. She took a deep breath, voice shaking as she added, "I think Mr Roberts from the school . . . he raped our son."
Harry Roberts was taken from his home by two police officers. Then he was taken to the station in a squad car, where he sat through a long interrogation with a judge on the sidelines. He was found guilty, and sentenced to a life in prison for sexual assault on a child below fourteen. The judge's face had turned hard and cold when she discovered the victim was only nine, and a student too. The odds wouldn't have been in Mr Roberts' favour either way.
The neighbours spoke about it for months afterwards, sympathising with the family. "That poor child," and "The cruelty of it all,", it was the number one gossip topic. Kendall heard a lot of it. He cried himself to sleep most nights; sometimes his dad heard him, and came into his room and sat with him for a while, singing him to sleep. The relaxation still never lasted long.
PRESENT
Yes, he was following him. It was a walk of ten or eleven blocks to his uncle's neighbourhood, and by the fourth block he was sure. What he'd been naive enough to hope wouldn't happen was happening now.
Or . . . maybe he was ok, like the man with the shopping cart. But still, the man with the shopping cart hadn't been following him. What should he do? Knock on someone's door? This was a residential neighbourhood, but all the houses were dark. Should he run? Kendall was a good runner; he could probably outdistance the man if he wasn't in good shape.
But he couldn't make himself do anything. He just kept walking mechanically down the street, while shivers ran up his spine at the thought of that man behind him. It was like he was stuck in a dream, where the monsters wouldn't get him as long as he didn't show he was afraid.
When he turned a corner he glanced back at him. He could see his red hair when he walked under a streetlight. His clothes were ragged but he looked strong and athletic. Like somebody who could easily overtake a nineteen-year-old boy running. From what he could see, already alarms were going off in his head. BAD. This man was dangerous, he wanted to do something bad to him.
He almost felt as though he were nine years old again. Bad things. Everything seemed to go clear and cold. Kendall's brain was whirring furiously, but no matter which way he turned the situation looked the same. Very bad. Dangerous. And underneath all these thoughts was a sickening litany. I should've known I couldn't get away with this. Wandering around at night on my own . . . I should've known. Think of something, idiot! If you can't run, you need to find shelter. Fast.
All the houses around him looked asleep, locked up. He had a horrible certainty that no one would let him in . . . but he had to do something. Kendall felt a sort of wrenching in his guts—and then he was heading towards the nearest house, taking the single porch step in a jump and landing on the welcome mat. Something inside him cringed from banging on the door, even in this extremity, but he clamped down the cringe and did it. Hollow bangs echoed—not loud enough, to Kendall's ears. He saw a doorbell and pushed on it frantically. He kept pounding, using the side of his fist because it hurt less than using his knuckles.
Inside, he could hear only silence. No reaction to his noisy intrusion. No footsteps hurrying to the door. Oh God, answer! Come here and answer your door, you idiots!
Kendall looked around and his heart nearly jumped out of his body. Because the redhead man was there; he was standing on the walkway of the house. Looking at him. And he was reallyreallyreally bad. All these thoughts Kendall received when looking at him were jumbled up and confusing, but put together just made one long scream. He'd done horrible things to other kids, and he wanted to do them to him.
No sound from the house. No help. And he was cornered prey there on the porch. He made his decision in an instant, and was off the porch and running, running in the rug direction before the man could even take a step. He heard his own pounding footsteps on the street—and pounding feet behind him. His breath began to come out in sobs.
And it was dark and he was confused. He didn't know which way his uncle's house was anymore. Somewhere around here he turned left—but where? That street there looked familiar. He couldn't even see the signs right now, so he just turned down the street, trying to push his legs into going faster.
Then he realised almost instantly the mistake he'd made.
A cul-de-sac. When he reached the end, he'd be caught. He glanced behind him. He was there, running, overcoat flapping like the wings of a bird of prey. He was ungainly but very fast. Kendall would even make it to the end of the cul-de-sac. If he ran to a house, he'd grab him as he stood on a porch. If he slowed down, he'd tackle him from behind. And if he tried to double back, he'd cut him off. Though it terrified him, the only thing to do was stand and fight.
Right, then. He pulled up short, staggering a little, and whirled around. He was standing in the widest part of the cul-de-sac, surrounded by parked cars. The man saw him and stumbled, slowing down, hesitating. Then, in a sort of half-run again, he started towards him. Kendall stood his ground. He was glad he hadn't dropped his duffel bag. Maybe he could use it as a weapon. Or maybe there was something inside . . . no, everything was too soft.
Then I'll use my fingers to stab his eyes out, he thought savagely. And my knees and my feet and my fists. Adrenaline was stinging in his veins; he was almost glad of the chance to fight back for once. "Come on, you creep," he whispered, knowing he probably hadn't been heard. He didn't care. What did he really care about anymore anyway?
The man did come. He was grinning, a crazy-happy grin. His eyes were crazy too. Kendall tensed his muscles, waiting for it. Just waiting for someone else to come and try to hurt him . . .
The man darted forward, grabbing hold of one of Kendall's wrists and in a split second twisting it and pulling him closer. Kendall's free hand flung out and slapped him across the face with his bag. The man grunted in pain, and his face twisted in anger as he grabbed Kendall again, by the arm this time. Kendall's knee flew up and struck him in the stomach, and they both stumbled backwards, the man clutching his stomach and snarling. Kendall felt nothing but the rush of adrenaline for a moment or two.
Then the man's eyes widened, and he started backing away. Kendall glared at him, wanting to scream at him to come back and just fight him! He wanted to hurt somebody; he wanted to make them feel just a fraction of the pain he did. The old Kendall would've been grateful that he was backing away. That soft Kendall, the Kendall that had something to care about. What did this Kendall have anymore? Nothing.
Then he felt a hand clamp over his mouth and an arm grabbing him from behind. He let out a muffled scream, arms immediately lashing out to try and push off his attacker. The redhead man turned and walked away, just like that. Kendall was trying to figure out why when he felt something whack the back of his head and everything faded away.
When Kendall woke up, at first he wasn't aware of it. Everything was dark around him, so for a second he couldn't see a thing. He was lying on his back, on something soft, he knew that much. He sat up and almost shrieked in pain when he felt his arm bend backwards rather painfully. He couldn't move his right arm at all, and when he tried to, he could feel something cutting into his wrist and a slightly metallic clattering sound.
He struggled frantically, then froze when he heard footsteps approaching. He half sat up, wincing when he still couldn't move his arm. Then, opposite him, a door opened, bright light filtering into the room. Kendall squinted at the sudden brightness as a shadow shaped like a tall, broad man appear at the door. The man walked in and moved his hand to the left of the doorframe, then he heard a click and suddenly the room was lit up by long lights on the ceiling.
Looking around he could see he was in a basement, or something; the room had no windows, and he could see a staircase outside the door. Except for what he was lying on, and an open door in the corner that led to a tiny bathroom, there was nothing in the room. Then his eyes fell on the man who had just shut the door behind him. He was quite tall, with a tangle of long dark brown hair tied in dreadlocks behind his head. He smiled at Kendall. "You're awake. Good." He pointed a little behind Kendall's head. "Sorry about that; had to make sure you didn't start wandering around."
Kendall looked and saw what prevented his arm moving; his wrist was handcuffed to the bedpost. He was lying on a bed. "Who the hell are you?" Kendall demanded fearfully, starting to struggle again. "Why did you bring me here?"
The man laughed. "Well, I'm Paul Gordon, sweetheart. But you can call me Daddy, or master, your choice." His smile widened. "And I know who you are." He nodded at Kendall's duffel bag lying in the corner, the messenger bag thrown on top of it. "You're Kendall Knight. Says so in your wallet."
"You still haven't told me why I'm here," Kendall said quietly, wishing his pounding heart would calm down a little.
"Oh." Paul laughed. "Well, you're my new bitch. Duh. I saw you, on the streets of LA, all alone. A body like yours." He chuckled fondly. "I'll be rich with you, babe."
"W-what?" Kendall felt as though he were suffocating. "No! You can't—"
"But I can." Paul seemed to enjoy watching Kendall squirm around, trying to break free. "But before you start working for me, I'm gonna have to . . . break you in." He winked and opened the door again. "We start tomorrow morning." Before he shut the door, he grinned and said, "You can cooperate with me and be a good whore. But if you're gonna be difficult, you should say a prayer tonight."
Kendall's reaction was a few seconds late; his shock only wore off slightly when the door slammed shut and the light was switched off. "No!" he screamed furiously, struggling with the restraints. "You can't do this! Let me go!"
After a while of screaming at the closed door, he gave up, exhausted tears sliding down his cheeks as he lay back down. How could this happen to him? Kidnap and prostitution? Seriously? He really did have such bad luck . . .
He lay there all night, shivering and crying. There was a blanket under him that he probably could've wrapped around himself, but most of the night he was too trapped in misery and fear to notice anything. What was going to happen to him? Breaking him in, what did Paul mean? He could only guess something horrible, painful.
He didn't know what time it was when the door opened again and the light turned on. "Hey, sweetheart," Paul greeted with a smile. "Waiting up for me?"
Kendall shut his eyes for a second, telling himself not to show how scared he was. Somehow, he'd just have to deal with it. Like he dealt with everything.
Please reivew! And anyone who likes Kogan or Kenlos should give the challenge a try, lol XD