Despised And Devoured By My Step Father

Artistic Obsessions

Danny's POV

"Don't"

The silence that followed was terrifying. No slamming. No engine revving. Just the sound of my own frantic breathing and the crunch of my sneakers on the dirt.

I started walking.

I had no idea how many miles I was away from campus. Maybe five? Ten? It didn't matter to me. I just wanted to stay away from that man.

I am a person, I thought, my vision blurring with hot, angry tears. He can't just push and pull me whenever he wants. I am not a cunt. I am definitely not his.

I had been walking for maybe ten minutes when I heard it.

A low, mechanical hum. The sound of rubber rolling slowly over the gravel.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn't turn around. I stiffened my spine and kept my eyes fixed on the darkness ahead. Suddenly, a pale yellow light began to wash over the surrounding road, stretching my shadow into a long distorted monster that danced across the trees.

Chadwick wasn't speeding past me. He wasn't stopping to apologize.

He was trailing me.

His Bentley crawled behind me at five miles per hour, the engine purring like a cat that had cornered a mouse. The headlights stayed pinned on my back, matching my pace with terrifying precision.

It was a psychological war. Chadwick was letting me know that even out here, in the middle of nowhere, there was no such thing as an escape for me.

After a mile of suffocating crawl, the passenger window glided down. "It's a long walk, Danny," Chadwick's voice drifted out of the car. It was calm. Terrifyingly calm. "You will be lucky if security patrol doesn't pick you up before thugs do."

I didn't answer. I kept walking, my knuckles gripped the straps of my backpack.

"I wonder," Chadwick continued, the car drifting closer until the side mirror was just inches from my elbow. "What would your mother think if she saw her son's little artistic obsessions? You know, the ones you keep hidden so carefully.

I stopped dead. The air left my lungs as if I had been punched. How did I forget about my sketchbook? My Stepdad knew about them.

I turned, squinting against the headlights. Chadwick was leaning in his seat, his face half hidden in the shadows of the cabin.

"Are you threatening me?" I whispered, though a cold, sickening dread was already climbing up my throat.

"Maybe, Danny. You don't want your mum seeing that, do you?"

Chadwick reached into the back seat and pulled out a worn, black leather book. My heart stopped. Of course, Chadwick had my sketchbook of a naked fantasy I had of him.

"You wouldn't," I choked out. "You wouldn't do that to your own stepson."

"I have every right to ensure my stepson isn't harboring... unhealthy obsessions," Chadwick hissed, his voice dropping to a jagged, intimate whisper.

"You are an evil man," I breathed, my voice blurring with hot, angry tears. If my mum saw those drawings, she would know I was gay and worse, she would discover I had been all over her husband, I thought.

"I am a man who protects his interests," he said, his lips curling into a thin, bloodless smile. "Sometimes a monster could have a pure heart. You want to date that boy? You want him to keep f*****g you? Good. But anytime he touches you, your sketchbook would be one inch closer to your mum.

Chadwick tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "I will see you in my office tomorrow, 10:00AM. We have lots of biology topics to catch up on. If you aren't there...well, I hope your mum likes the art."

The window slid back up. The engine roared to life, and the SUV peeled away, leaving me standing in a cloud of exhaust and dust.

The next morning, the sun felt like an insult. I had wished the world would end the previous night. Well, here we were.

I sat in the back of the lecture hall resting my hand on my hand, my eyes burning. I hadn't slept. I spent the whole night staring at the ceiling of my dorm. I didn't want my mum to see my sketchbook. I certainly didn't. But I hated Chadwick with all I had.

Beside me, Leo was talking, but the words were just static.

"Danny? Helloooo?" Leo nudged me, looking concerned. "You okay, man? You look like a ghost today."

"I am fine," I lied, my voice sounding hollow. "Just didn't sleep well."

I felt a pair of eyes on me. I looked down at the podium. Chadwick was standing there, looking refreshed and dominant in his charcoal suit. If somebody had told you this man was blackmailing his stepson last night, you would never have believed it.

When the boring lecture ended, I didn't wait for a text. I stood up and walked towards the stairs, my heart feeling like a lead weight. I followed Chadwick to the faculty wing, the hallway smelling of old paper and floor wax. When I reached the door labeled Dr Chadwick Blackwood, I hesitated.

I thought of my mum's face. I thought of my sketchbook.

I pushed the door open.

Chadwick was already sitting behind a mahogany desk. He didn't look up when I entered. He just kept writing with a fountain pen, the scratch of it the only sound in the room.

"Lock the door, boy," Chadwick said, lifting his head.

One second, I was reaching for the door knob, and the next Chadwick was there. He moved with a silent, terrifying speed, blurring the distance between us until there was no air left to breathe.

Before I could gasp, his large hands wrapped my waist, his fingers digging tightly into my skin through my shirt, and he hauled me against him. We both staggered, and he gently pinned me to the door.

I didn't say a word. He just lunged, catching my lips in a desperate, bruising kiss that tasted like coffee and pure hunger. I should have pushed him, I should have screamed but something about the way he held my waist tightly......