I stared at the phone on my bed. I didn't know when it would ring, but it would. Ganondorf had been sending me texts every hour since I'd sprayed him in the face with my decrepit can of mace. Even though I didn't reply to any of them, he kept sending them, each sounding more and more threatening as they went.

If the phone rung, I wasn't sure I would be able to answer it, but it felt like I had to. It buzzed once, then fell silent. Another text.

[8:52pm] u there? im calling in 5 min

I laughed, voice trembling. He was giving me fair warning. What the hell was with this guy? First he tries to beat the crap out of me, then he negotiates blackmail, and now he gives me fair warning? I just didn't understand him.

My stomach did flip flops as I waited, counting the minutes, glad that I hadn't eaten all that much for dinner. At almost exactly five minutes past the time stamp, my phone lit up and did its happy jingle for an incoming call. I stared at the display, palms slick. I could just ignore it – but that would only make things worse ... Right?

I decided that I would suck it up and take the call, not wanting to risk having him out me at school the next day. Flipping it open, I hoped that he'd hang up before I got to answering. No such luck. Pressing the little green half-circle, I answered. "Hello?"

There was a lot of noise in the background. Dishes clanging, people talking and yelling over one another. It sounded almost like a restaurant kitchen. "Finally, an answer." There was a bit of a laugh in his voice. The noise dimmed and a door slammed in the background. "I was worried you broke your leg or something when you ran," he chuckled, and I couldn't tell if he was being serious or not.

Talking to him on the phone was much less intimidating. Maybe I could just deal with him like this for the rest of the year? "I'm fine." Guilt stabbed me in the gut. Weakly, I asked in return, "You?"

"Whatever you sprayed was pretty fuckin' weak," his voice cut off, and I heard muffled talking for a moment. When he returned, he sighed. "Still stung like a motherfucker. Look. I'm on a short break and I called to see if you were alright. Why don't you answer my texts, pipsqueak?"

I shrugged, not caring if he could see it or not. "A break?" Maybe I could distract him. My knuckles were white, I was gripping the phone so hard.

"Yeah, I'm working." He paused. When I didn't answer, he added, "So, about those favours."

"No."

"Shut up and listen, you ungrateful little bitch." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "I'm trying to be nice since you're new around here. You do what I want or I go tell everyone about you. Maybe even give them a little peekaboo, get it?" When I was stunned into silence, he said smugly, "Good. Now. I want you to tell me what you know about fairy-boy. Especially anything I can use against him."

"I don't ..." Would he really do that to someone? To me? "I've only talked to him twice." My voice was soft, squeaky, scared. I hated it. "I don't know anything about him."

"Bullshit."

"I'm not lying! I don't know anything about him!" Could he hear my panic? I seemed to be doing that a lot lately. One more thing to hate about myself.

He paused. The door in the background opened, sound flooding through momentarily, slamming shut and cutting off the noise once more. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time, girly. See you at school tomorrow." Then the line went dead.

I stared at my phone for a while. In an odd way, I felt needed. The thought repulsed me.

Why was I so fucked up?