In the car park, I scan my surroundings, searching for Dominic. Eventually, I spot him leaning casually against the side of his sleek, black car. Despite the crowded environment, he sticks out with his impeccable style and confident demeanour.
As I make my way towards him, I notice how engrossed in his phone he is, occasionally looking up to survey the area. I see his gaze bouncing around over a bunch of people and it quickly flickers passed me, but when he realises that I am the person his gaze is looking for it saunters back onto me and then finally lingers there.
He rolls his eyes to convey infliction and beckons me over impatiently.
Anxiously burying my hands into the crevices at the back of my jeans, I heave a heavy sigh from my chest and reluctantly stroll over towards him.
"Hey," I greet him with a stiff smile inching onto my lips, "Wassup?"
"You're late, that's wassup," he says bluntly and turns around to get in his car, slamming his door shut.
Under my breath, I sarcastically murmur, "Great. I'm also good, thanks for asking," nodding to myself.
Standing beside his car, feeling completely lost and unsure of what to do next, I watch him as he glances at me through the window. After rolling his eyes impatiently, he rolls down the window with a sense of expectation, his eyebrows raised as if that in itself is explanation enough.
What the hell does the flick of his eyebrow up even mean? Is it a signal that we can now part ways after this chance encounter, or is he planning to keep my sketchbook forever, using it as a makeshift toilet paper despite the discomfort it would cause him?
"What are you waiting for?" Before I can respond, he demands, "Get in the car."
"No," I immediately dispute, even gesturing my disapproval with my hand.
"What?"
Then I tug a stiff grin onto my face to still appear polite even though all I want to do at this very moment is bash his face in. "No, I don't think you understand. I have to get back home soon, so I'd truly appreciate it if you could be a darling and just give me my sketchbook back so I can leave."
"I don't think you're in any position to call the shots. If you want your sketchbook, you'll get in the car."
My face falls and the pretentious shit-eating smile which was previously occupying my face evaporates instantaneously.
"Prick," I mutter, but nevertheless go around to get in the passenger seat. I slam the door behind me and huff into my seat.
Guess I was wrong to think that he would've turned over a new leaf. What was I expecting?
I mean, during one of our junior years in school, the guy decided to spread a vicious rumour around about Mia. Something along the lines of her sleeping with Onyx and contracting herpes from him. We later found out that this was a way for him to seek revenge on her for she had caused him to fail a project.
The consequences for Mia were severe—the rumour almost got her expelled from school. Her parents caught wind of the supposed activities their daughter was involved in, and they immediately made the decision to move her to another school. Luckily, Mia managed to convince her parents otherwise.
"Put your seatbelt on," he commands blandly.
I slowly look over at him with a confused frown. "What?"
"Seatbelt on. I don't particularly feel up to getting charged with attempted murder if we happen to get into a car crash that would be entirely accidental since I have no intention of getting my revenge on you for running me over so," I definitely don't miss the sarcasm in his last few words and he ends with, "put your seatbelt on."
"Can you say that a little more demandingly? I don't think I heard you."
He merely stares back at me dully, almost like he could care less about what I have to say to him.
To be honest, I think he holds himself in high regard and I'm an annoying, little peasant who spends their time predominately tugging onto his brand new, expensive Armani trousers. Or more like I'm a dirty, homeless boy begging on the streets and he's the rich snob who's pulled up in his fancy, new-smelling car and scrunches his nose in revolt at the unpleasant sight of me.
I roll my eyes but comply with his instructions nonetheless. Not because he told me to do it, but because I'm not particularly feeling up to getting murdered if we do happen to get into an intended accident so… seatbelt.
He soon starts the car and drives out of the school leisurely and effortlessly, almost like he doesn't even have to think about it. Like it's second nature.
I scowl at him in irk, jealous of the fact that he has it so easy while some of us still get so pressured behind the wheel. And no, it has nothing to do with my race as insinuated by him when I ran him over. Besides the relaxing hum of the car, we travel in absolute silence for a while until I decide to break it by making conversation.
"So… where are we going?" I ask him, gazing at his side profile. His hood is down again. I don't know if I should like seeing him in this light or if I should train my eyes not to get so used to seeing his messily styled, black hair and liking it. "Are you gonna find another closet that you can drag me into?"
"Don't be ridiculous," he throws that idea away like it's the most idiotic thing he has heard.
I stare at him in question, waiting for him to answer my enquiry.
"We're obviously heading over to my place. You're gonna have to blow me if you want that sketchbook."
"What?" I exclaim softly.
Shocked would be an understatement to describe how I'm feeling from his words. Widened eyes, heat staining my cheeks, I shrink away from him fearfully. Is he being serious right now? Why would he demand me to… blow him just to get my sketchbook back? Just to get a sketchbook. Does he think the book is worth that much? That I'd go to such lengths just to get it back? What sort of monster subjects innocent, little boys to that kind of behaviour?
"That's what Michael would've said," he replies.
I don't miss the little smirk edging onto his lips.
What does he mean that's what Michael would have said? Has he shared the details of my sketchbook with him? Does this mean that James has also been told too? He couldn't have, he wouldn't do that.
Does he not know that James has a girlfriend? What if he goes on to tell her about this and she gets jealous? What if she decides to attack me at school? What if she wants to fight me? I can't fight… a girl. No, honestly I can't fight at all; I've never fought before. I don't think kicking someone in the groin counts as fighting.
Why would Dominic do this to me?
When he takes a quick look at me through the corner of his eye and sees the blood draining from my face at his words, he quickly adds, "Relax. I'm not gonna make you do anything sexual. The thought alone makes me want to vomit."
"Oh, thanks. Appreciate that." I smile sarcastically.
"You should be grateful that Michael or… who was it again? James?"
I don't answer him, too busy glaring at his side profile.
"Yeah, you should be glad they weren't the ones who found these," he says to me, watching me for a few seconds. "Who knows what they would have made you do to get them back?"
My stare at him hardens angrily for mentioning the other boys whom I had feelings for, for making fun of me, teasing me with his eyes.
That is until it strikes me that I never spoke of either of them in my sketchbook. It was only ever Edward; I have never written anything about Michael or James in my book. Not even he makes an appearance in it solely because I bought that sketchbook last year. The last time Dominic was even on my mind was too long ago to even recall.
The only time I ever spoke of the three of them was in my vlogs. Nowhere else will you see or hear about them, definitely not in my sketchbook.
"Wait, how do you know about that?" Even through my panic, I ask him, "About Michael and James? I never spoke of them… in the sketchbook."
"Oh, yeah." A sound of agreement stays inside his throat as he nods at my observation. "I almost forgot about that."
He rises on his side, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out an item from said back pocket.
What I feared becomes a reality when he holds the black chip up, dangling the tiny item in my face like an owner would his dog with a bone. With my eyes enlarging in astonishment, I immediately go to snatch it from his grasp except he is too quick for me. My heart beats loudly within my chest and I have to stop myself from screaming in frustration.
How does he have that? Did I not put that back in my camera? Dammit! That librarian shouldn't have distracted me. Then maybe I would still have my stuff.
"That does not belong to you," I grit out through clenched teeth.
"It's in my hand, isn't it?"
"I can't believe you. That's an invasion of privacy," I exclaim in anger.
He doesn't answer and once we have stopped at a red light, he puts my memory card back in his pocket and tugs his seatbelt across his front, allowing it to click shut. Then he glances over at me with those freaking, unfeeling, brown eyes of his and my stomach sinks into a dark pit.
Dread overcomes me when I see the cold, calculative glimmer in those eyes. They make him look dead. They make him look unsympathetic. They make him look inhumane.
Should I really be grateful that Dominic found my sketchbook and now apparently, memory card too? That it wasn't Michael or James or anyone else, because as he said, who knows what they would have made me do?
The answer comes just as quickly as I ask the question and it's a decisive no, because who knows what Dominic could make me do? He's the devil in reincarnation. Michael or James would probably be too stupid to do anything drastic, but Dominic, I'm not so sure. He's unpredictable like that.
He proves me right by saying something I've never dreamt of hearing coming out of his mouth. "I need a favour."
"A favour?" I muse, letting my brows rise into my hairline. "From me?"
"No, from the person whose secrets I hold in the palm of my hand, that's who," he snaps, allowing quip to accomplice his tone.
I scowl at the fact that his tone suggests that I'm below the average when it comes to intellectual capacity.
"Do you know why I want a favour from you?" He doesn't even give me the chance to reply. "Because I have not only something that could destroy your social life but also something that could end most, if not all, your friendships and I know you'll do anything to prevent that from happening. Especially after what happened before with you and Savannah."
My face sets into a curious scowl. "What happened between me and Savannah?"
He arches a brow. "Do you think I'm oblivious to what happens at our school?"
I avert my gaze to stare outside the window, trying not to grit my teeth in anger.
In the car beside us sits a lady who is worriedly gazing back at her baby in the backseat. The infant is waving around a rattle, smiling a gummy smile which inadvertently brings a relieved smile on her face.
The action makes me remember when we were driving back home from the hospital after the twins were born. Amma slept soundly in the passenger seat, Yang Jin and I in the back and our newborn brother and sister in his arms as Appa peeked between the two seats to check on us. He would pinch his face mockingly to make me giggle.
As much as I hate to admit it, he is right about my doing anything to make sure that I prevent losing all my friends. Social embarrassment is something I can deal with. I have gone through it before, but not having my three best friends with me, the friends I laugh with, confide in, have cried with… I don't even want to imagine what that would do to me.
"We both know how much they weigh," he voices my thoughts.
I turn around to stare at him blankly. "So, what I'm hearing is you're blackmailing me."
"You say poh-tay-toe; I say poh-tah-toh."
"Literally nobody says poh-tah-toh," I reply irritably, giving him a blunt look.
He gazes away when the light turns green and begins to drive yet again.
I stare at his closed-off face, trying to figure out what's going on in that head of his, but it's obviously too difficult to do. Maybe voicing out my enquiries will clear the air a bit. "Why me?"
"Well, I'm not exactly choosing you, because I want to—" he cuts himself off when he sees the deathly stare I have on him. He clears his throat and focuses his gaze back onto the road, thinking his words over before he says them to me. "Well, as I said, I have leverage over you so… why not you?"
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" I ask, giving him a look of both perplex and revolt.
I see him looking at me questioningly through the corner of his eyes.
I elaborate on my enquiry by adding, "Reading someone else's personal letters, all their secrets and privacy? Stealing my memory card and watching my very personal, private vlogs?"
A long hum of thought resounds behind his throat before he answers with a blunt, decisive no.
Astonished by his answer, I stare at him open-mouthed, wondering if he's even human to begin with. When he doesn't look remotely guilty, I lean back into the comfortable seat, crossing my arms over my stomach in an irked manner.
"Then you should have a talk with your Dominic 2.0… if you even have one."
"Dominic 2.0?"
"Yeah, your conscience," I reply in a snarky manner, smiling at him sardonically. "You know that voice inside your head that speaks to you constantly, causing you to waver when you're about to do something vile and immoral? The sort of vile and immoral act like perhaps stealing someone else's stuff and using it against them. Ring a bell, Dominic?"
"You hear a voice in your head?" he asks, brushing my snide comment aside.
I frown. "I hate you."
"Is it?" he mutters and he sounds curious, but I have a feeling he really couldn't give two shits. "Anyway, are you gonna help me or not?"
"What if I refuse?"
"Then I'll print multiple copies of the love letter that you've written to that guy, Edward and paste them all around the school for everyone to see who you really are. That the quiet little, innocent, gay best friend isn't so innocent after all. Even that friend of yours, Tracey—"
"Taylor."
"Yes, her," he replies dismissively, and I catch him rolling his eyes at my ratification of my best friend's name which only causes a mean stare to burn into his thick head. "She'll also come to know that her best friend is a backstabbing prick who is in love with her boyfriend."
"Okay, first of all, Dominic, fuck you for labelling me a gay best friend. Second of all, I'm not in love with Edward," I dispute.
"That's not what the love letter says."
"The journal entry says that I like him and that's where it ends and will always end. Nobody said anything about loving anyone."
I am unable to control the way my eyes harden angrily at his words. They're not true. I know that they're not true. I don't love Edward and I'll never let myself fall that deep into the shallow end of the pool. It will only result in drowning myself in unrequited emotions and jealousy and self-hatred as if I haven't been feeling that enough this entire year.
"How do I know that you won't just do it in the end? How can I guarantee that you won't just out me in the end after getting what you want?" I ask.
"I give you my word."
"You give me your word?" I stare at him dryly. "What good does that guarantee me?"
"My word is my bond. I never break my word."
"Am I just supposed to trust you blindly?"
"I'm a man of my word, Starr. I wouldn't just out you like that after you've delivered on your promise. That's not who I am."
"No, of course not. You're just someone who takes people's sketchbooks and watches their private vlogs to blackmail them," I say sarcastically.
He takes a quick glance at me through his peripheral vision and now, I'm curious as to what the loner of our school wants me to help him with. What could the king of impassivity possibly need my assistance for?
And why me of all people? I get the blackmail, but why me? Why do I have to have such horrible luck? Why can't I just go through one year of high school without having something deterring me from focusing solely on my academics? I'm not like Christian. I can't bounce around a relationship, my supposed masochism and school work.
"What do you need help with?" I ask, voicing out my thoughts instead of trying to read them off of him. It'll never prevail. He's too good at being closed off. "A handy? A blowjob? Quick fuck maybe?"
"I believe I mentioned just a few minutes ago that the thought of anything sexual with you is nauseating," he says monotonously, but I don't miss the heat creeping up his neck.
I scowl, insulted by his words.
"I'm quite capable of getting that myself, Starr."
"Really? Do you even have a girlfriend?"
"Are you gonna help me or not?" he diverts my question.
"Depends. What am I doing?"
He takes in a breath and I see us pulling into an unfamiliar restaurant. The outside already tells me how prim and pristine the inside is.
Once we have found a parking space to park the car, he turns the engine off and stares at the steering wheel for a few seconds. I frown at him in confusion, but nevertheless, give him time to gather up the courage he needs to get this off his chest, but once my patience has run thin, I repeat the question.
"What am I doing, Dominic?"
He releases a harsh breath and finally looks over at me with pursed lips. Pushing some hair behind my ear, I wait for him to answer my question instead of just sitting there and staring at me. He doesn't seem committed to opening his mouth and responding so I arch my eyebrows up into my hairline expectantly.
Does he really need so much time to think about it? Because I don't think I can wait until the second coming of Jesus to hear what favour he requires from me.
"I need your help… with someone I like."