True As It Can Be - 3. Chapter 3

I know it’s stupid to want to thank Brad, or the Beast personally. I know based on everything so far, he’s not going to be nice towards me. Francis, who appears to bear a lot of hatred towards the Beast, advises me to just leave after breakfast and ignore everything else. Despite my growing reservations, I ask for directions to his room. It turns out to be the room facing the Blue Rose Garden, which was how I entered this house last night. As I approach the room, the cook is leaving the room with a tray of empty dishes, bowls, and half a glass pitcher of orange juice. He gives me a wink and I enter the room. In the daytime, the room is still as dark and gloomy as it was at night. The tinted windows appear to dull the natural light of the sun, while the thick drapes further dampen the possibility of natural light from entering this room. The floors are still littered with scraps of clothing, beer cans, and what I can now identify as gay porn magazines with various partial images of naked men. Their arms, their legs, and their gorgeous looking faces are torn from several pages. There are some serious serial killer vibes here, like I might be stepping into Jeffrey Dahmer’s lair or something. The room’s aura of despair and gloom permeates deeper with the knowledge that I’ve gained.

In a corner of the large studio-type room, I could clearly see Brad’s face and body. He is almost naked, except for a pair of blue boxers. They were a darker shade of blue than the ones Chip gave me to wear. His darker boxers accentuated other features on his body, like the purple-colored scars. There were scars on his arms and legs, bruises covering his chest and abdomen, and his face is a grotesque mess of stitches and even exposed bone. There was blond hair growing wild not only on his head, but also throughout his chest, navel, and armpits that seemed to intersect to form a golden fur. He looks very feral.

Despite the noticeable damage to his body and lack of maintenance to his body hair, I did see signs of what he used to look like as well. There appears to be a firm set of abs, big bulging arm and leg muscle, and the outlines of a dick that could be comparable to my own. I know about gay body types like Bears, Twinks, Otters, Wolves, and so on, but none fit the description of what he is. If I were to classify Brad, I’d say he looks like a lion with his wild blond hair everywhere and his proud aggressive demeanor. I know that subtype of gay male doesn’t exist, but if it did, then he would be the epitome of a lion.

Beyond the physical features on his body, I notice a set of weights near his bed and a treadmill facing the window. Whatever he might be suffering due to his emotional issues, he is not letting his physique go to waste. The scent of sweat in the room would indicate that he does regularly exercise. I’m not into muscular or jock type guys, but I can appreciate this determination.

Brad notices my presence and snarls at me with his frightening voice, “This isn’t a fucking zoo. You’re not hurt anymore, you got a good night of sleep, so what else do you want?”

I might be worried, but I am not going to back down from what I wanted to do, “I want to thank you for saving me and letting me spend the night here.”

He growls at me, “You have nothing to thank me for, you owe me for the Blue Rose bush you destroyed last night. You said you would do whatever I want for as long as I want it.”

I should have remembered that before this conversation. Fuck, I really hope he’s not going to ask for sexual favors, because I do not want to be used by him like that, despite feeling grateful to him and being aroused by him. I need him to know he can’t demand sex from me. I’m happy to be useful to him in other ways.

“What do you want me to do? If it’s anything sexual, I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be used sexually by you. I have to tell you “No” to that stuff, right now.”

Brad looks at me with those piercing blue sapphire eyes, I saw a tear forming. I remember those same blue eyes staring at me last night with lust and arousal, his fingers pulling off my clothes, and I almost wanted to recant my answer as those memories generate a semi-hardon in my pants. Despite my reply, I know I find him attractive, at least in certain aspects of him.

How did I become attracted to a guy like him? He’s not my type, but the way he looks at me makes me want sex from him. It’s unrealistic desire, but I can’t help it. My mind has been focused on the mystery of the beast for the last few hours, it has only grown with my knowledge from the other residents and the purpose of Keller Hall. It’s an unhealthy obsession. In my reading of articles and books since I started college, I’ve come across a term that might apply to this feeling, limerence. It isn’t technically love or romantic interest, but a type of obsessive fascination with something or someone. Some psychologists use this concept to explain pop-culture items like fandoms over pop singers, actors, and chicken sandwich wars. Human beings get obsessed over very inane things. Maybe, it’s just limerence.

Before I could say a word, probably something I know I would regret later, Brad in his most dismissive voice cackles at me, “You…think…I would…want you like that. You look like you belong in classes with Chip in middle school. Outside of your dick, you have nothing about you that is remotely manly. That little twink slut act might get some guys hard, but it does nothing for me. All I want from you is for you to pay off your debt to me. I want you to stay here and tend to my garden. Make sure the flowers survive the winter. Then in your spare time, you can also clean my room, wash my clothes, and keep the others far away from me. I don’t want to deal with so many other people or their bitching, dealing with one person is a lot easier. You will do all that until I get kicked out of this shithole. You can do it completely naked with a butt-plug up your ass or whatever crap horny sluts like you prefer, but no fucking way am I going to want you to pay me in sex.”

I am seething with anger at being called a slut again, “For your information, I am not a slut.”

Brad barks at me, “Who goes out in the middle of November wearing what you did last night? It took me just a minute to take all your clothes off. Gay porn stars have more layers than you did.”

My feeling of embarrassment over the Pokémon T-shirt I am wearing right now disappears completely, “You son of a bitch, not all of us are born into a life of privilege with parents who love them. Not everyone can buy new clothes, a private crash pad, and a bunch of friends-for-pay. After I came out, my parents didn’t care enough to get me new clothes, so I got what I needed with whatever little money I had. My parents kicked me out completely after I turned 18 with only the things I could carry out. You don’t have a right to call me a slut, because of how I dress. You don’t know me.”

Brad’s brow furrows and his blue sapphire eyes appears to show shock, but it disappears as he continues, “Boo-Hoo, we all have sob stories in this house. It doesn’t change the fact that you still owe me.”

He’s right, but I still want to resist this asshole, “So, what if I refuse to live in the same house as you? You can’t force me to do anything. I’ll pay you back for the blue roses someday, but you can’t force me to stay here or serve you.”

He snorts, “I doubt you can ever pay me back fully, based on your current condition and the crosshairs of Gary on your ass. My offer will at least give me something back and mitigate my losses. That’s how the world works, you make do with what you got and what you lost. It’s all shit, but I’ll get something out of it at least. In the end, you’ll probably still end up being his bitch before Christmas.”

That bastard has some nerve. I left his room in anger and went to my economics classroom in a rush to get as far away as I could. Due to my angry departure, I only grabbed my book bag and laptop, but forgot to take my light jacket with me. Many students noticed my blue Squirtle T-shirt with the caption on the back and many people snickered at me from behind. The professor for his part tried to ignore my childish fashion and taught the class as normal. Throughout the class as I took notes, my emotion bounced between embarrassment for forgetting my jacket and anger with the Beast’s words. I’ll start calling him the Beast, like everyone else. He doesn’t view me or anyone else as human beings, why should I call him by his name?

After class, I went back to my dorm room. Morris isn’t there as he had a full load of classes on Friday, but I write him a note explaining what happened last night and changed out of the T-shirt. I hesitated leaving my dorm room, when I heard Gary’s voice out in the hallway. I had almost forgotten that he lived only a few rooms away from me. I know the asshole could try again; I didn’t need the Beast’s crude reminder. I had decided to go to Campus Police today after my class, but I had to delay the journey until I changed out of Chip’s T-shirt. If Campus Police were to take my report seriously, I needed to dress like a normal college kid, not a 12-year-old pretending to be a college kid.

After 15 minutes or so, the hallway went quiet. I waited another 15 minutes on top just in case, then went to Campus Police in the first circle of the campus. The reception area of campus police is shared with the administrative wing of the university staff. Student Billing, Housing, Alumni relations, President’s Office, and Food services offices were also located in this one large granite building. I filed a report of sexual assault and requested an interview with a campus police officer. The secretary for Campus Police was compassionate and calm, asking about how I was feeling and offering polite words. However, her entire demeanor changed, when she saw the report and quickly made a call in a hush tone with her cell phone, instead of her landline.

Instead of being escorted to an office within the wing of Campus Police, I am led by the secretary to a conference room adjacent the President’s office. She pats me down, taking my meager wallet and a blue pen from my pockets. She forces me to give up my jacket and shoes. Then, runs a hand held metal detector across my body. I sat there waiting for several minutes in a T-shirt and shoeless, sweat beginning to pool as I considered what all this stuff meant. At some point, the University’s President, the head of Campus Police, and our Dean of Student Affairs appears in the room, they all sat opposite me with my recently filed campus police incident report in front of the President. I haven’t seen all three of them in one place since the opening convocation for our freshman class 2 months ago. The room was silent for an unknown period of time, I dared not speak until these men speak to me. I was taught at a young age to respect authority by my parents and teachers. Despite what has happened in my life, there’s still that lingering aspect to what I learned growing up that I can’t avoid in how I respond to certain people.

Our President ends the silence in the room, clearing his voice to speak, “Mr. Cocteau, you bring serious allegations about a fellow student, Mr. Gaston. We are here to ask if you truly wish to continue with your report.”

I nod my head, “Mr. President, I do not make this accusation lightly. I also have witnesses to the assault from last night.”

The Dean responds to me without any emotion, “Nurse Potters notes have been taken into account, but she did not witness the altercation. There was no official student witness to the event. As there’s only your testimony, limited medical evidence of a physical altercation, and a denial with alibis from Mr. Gaston along with several other students, the Dean and I have made a summary judgment to dismiss this report.”

I am stunned, “Sir, with all due respect, this event happened. I didn’t injure myself. How can you be so certain as to dismiss my claim so readily?”

The Dean glances at the Head of Campus Police, who sighs and hands him a sheet of paper, “Mr. Gaston’s student ID card was registered to have entered the dining hall at 10 PM, several of his friends were also in the dining hall, and his meal plan was accessed for an order of Pizza. There are no surveillance cameras in the dining hall, but electronic and eyewitness testimony appears to contradict your story.”

In an instant, I realize they are trying to stonewall me, but I have a witness even if he’s a jerk, “The Beast…Brad from Keller Hall saw what happen, he can attest to everything I wrote.”

The Dean coldly dismisses my assertion, “The university does not recognize any place called Keller Hall. The building designated lot 24601 is a temporary housing facility for disabled students, which Nurse Potter resides as medical caregiver. As far as I recall, there is no student attending our university named Brad, who resides in that building.”

I frown, “He and Keller Hall exists, why are you acting like this? Gary Gaston is a serial predator, I’ve heard the rumors and so has everyone else, despite how many praises are laid at his feet, why are you trying to cover this up for him? I am not going to take this…”

The head of Campus Police, an older balding black man, who looked like he was well past retirement age breaks up my train of indignant speech, “You will take it, because boy, you are not the first nor will you be the last,” he stares at his 2 other colleagues with contempt, “We’re in this room right now because none of it will be on the record, so let’s just cut the crap with the polite shit. We’ve already checked you for recording devices, so no one would believe what I am saying right now even if you told them. We know what happened to you and what happened to others, but Gary Gaston is untouchable. His family owns one of the oldest and largest shipping companies in the US. They have been going to this university for generations and put in a lot of money. Even if you can put this in front of town or state police, his family has connections to everyone from local police commissioners to District Attorney to federal judges. It doesn’t matter if he wants pussy or if he wants a queer boy like you for kicks. We got no beef with the girls or boys who sat where you sit, but the plain truth is you’re not going to get anywhere. You get me.”

The scope of the truth scares me, I can’t believe it, “It can’t be true, he’s a monster and you let him do whatever he wants, because he’s rich and his family is well-connected. What about all the other kids who attend the school? Don’t we matter?”

The university president scowls at his head of Campus Police, but resign in agreement with my words, “Yes, he’s untouchable, because it’s the real world we live in. We can make accommodation for you by switching you to another dorm building, switch any classes you might have with him, and try to prevent interaction as much as possible. We do care about our students, but prosecution is impossible. Not all the rules work equally for everyone.”

I could not reply to the grim choices I am given, but to add insult onto injury, the cold Dean adds, “If you pursue this matter through public channels or social media, I must advise that Mr. Gaston’s family hold considerable weight on scholarship and grant access for students like yourself, being members of oversight and executive boards at our university. As it’s their right to designate who receives funding and who does not, your scholarship awards may be rescinded along with your work-study program.”

I am confronted by 2 distinct monsters in my life. A monster like Gary Gaston, who uses his privilege and influence to operate with immunity to all rules and laws. I shouldn’t be surprise men like him exist in the world. Men like him will one day become corporate leaders, congressman, presidents, and Supreme Court justices, because they have the right background. It makes me sick to know that it’s true what a certain billionaire US President once said, a person like him can shoot someone at Time Square in New York city with thousands of witnesses and still be innocent. Everyone knows our society is unfair and unequal with privilege given to those with more resources than others. However today, I realize we crossed another line into lawlessness, we’ve let the axiom “Too Big to Fail” apply to those in society with resource so great they cannot be asked to follow any rules or laws at all. That’s a despairing truth, no one can avoid, if men like Gary Gaston continue to rise.

On the other hand, I have a monster named Brad, who is a mystery of contradictions. He said hurtful things about me, but he treats me kindly with care. He’s from a background probably on par with Gary Gaston, but the university seems hellbent to hide his existence or his family’s contributions unlike Gary Gaston. He wants to use me as a personal servant or so he says, while Gary wants me for his personal lust. Was Brad’s offer of residency just his way of trying to protect me? Did he care about me? This could all just be the stupid limerence in my brain trying to create a fantasy, when the cruel reality is Brad is just a slightly better asshole than Gary. I’d be better off with Brad, but even he can’t promise me protection. I know my choice is bleak, but I can’t stay where I am. I hate admitting Brad was right. I hate feeling like I should refer to him as the Beast, but still thinking of him by his real name.

I sigh, “Can you switch my dorm arrangement to Keller Hall? Or, the lot 24601 building?”

The President looks over at the Dean before replying, “That building has special requirements, you cannot be assigned there without permission.”

I nod, “Brad, or the boy you can’t mention, told me I could move in there, today. I know his family is paying you guys. I don’t know the details and I don’t know why you are keeping things so secret. However, if there are no good choices, I’d rather choose an ill-tempered beast than a pure narcissistic monster to live near.”

A round of shock follows my revelation, but I ignore the questions from everyone. I chose the lesser of two evils, I think. Maybe, Brad isn’t evil really, but he’s frightening to look at and his words are bittersweet. I hope my attraction to him doesn’t become a problem.