The lights in Ms. Hartley's office flicker, casting an eerie glow on the stack of papers before her. I shift uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair, my eyes darting between her furrowed brow and the garish "Boy Power" poster behind her desk.
"Jason," Ms. Hartley sighs, tapping her manicured nails on my transcript. "I'm concerned."
I force a smile, trying to ignore the inherent anxiety I feel without Erica's presence. "About what, Ms. Hartley?"
She leans forward, her eyes boring into mine. "Your grades, Jason. They've taken quite a nosedive this year."
I shrug. "C's get degrees, right?"
Ms. Hartley's lips thin into a disapproving line. "That's not funny, Jason. You were a straight-A student for three years. What happened?"
'Not me though, I was a straight B student in the other world.' I cant help but wonder how the other Jason is doing in my world. 'Is he thriving? Is he floundering. Does he miss his pretty privilege? I hope to never find out.'
"I guess I've just been... distracted," I offer, thinking about an excuse.
She raises an eyebrow. "Distracted by what, exactly?"
'Erica's tight, yet possessive, pussy, Rape, and eggs probably.'
"Just... life stuff," I say, distracted as I pick at a loose thread on my jeans.
Ms. Hartley leans back in her chair, her expression softening slightly. "Jason, I know senior year can be stressful, especially for young men. But you can't let your academics suffer like this. Is there anything you want to talk about?" she probes gently. "Any... changes at home or in your personal life?"
"No." I lie, plastering on my best fake smile. "I'll try to do better, Ms. Hartley. I promise."
Ms. Hartley's eyes narrow, clearly not buying my act. She taps her manicured nails on the desk, and the sound is sharp in the quiet office.
"Jason, have you applied to any colleges yet?" she asks, her tone shifting to one of concern.
I feel irritated. This is the conversation I've been dreading because she's definitely going to be annoying about it. "Actually, Ms. Hartley... I'm not going to college."
Her eyes widen in shock, and I can almost see the gears turning in her head. "What do you mean you're not going to college? Jason, it's nearly too late to apply as it is!"
I sit up straight and meet her gaze head-on. "It's not the right path for me." I speak my practiced line.
'Mom only finally stopped asking me about my future once the sixty million cleared into my account. Now, I just sit on it with no idea what to do with it.'
Ms. Hartley's face contorts in a mix of confusion and frustration. "But Jason, this isn't like you at all! Don't you remember last year? You came into my office, all fired up, telling me about your plans to become a He-EO Boy-boss type!"
'Jesus Christ, other Jason, who are you?'
I can't help but let out a small, bitter laugh. "Yeah, well... I've moved on from that era."
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable reaction to my next statement. "Actually, Ms. Hartley, there's something else you should know. I'm... engaged. To Erica Knight."
Ms. Hartley's jaw drops, her eyes widening in disbelief. For a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft hum of the ancient air conditioning unit.
"Engaged?" she finally sputters. "But... I thought I heard you were just dating her. When did this happen?"
I fidget with the loose thread on my jeans, avoiding her gaze. "A couple months ago."
Ms. Hartley's brow furrows, her lips pursing into a thin line. "Jason, is this why your grades have fallen so dramatically? Because you started dating Erica Knight?"
"No, Absolutely not." I lie expertly. 'Even the United States officials who use 'enhanced interrogation techniques' wouldn't be able to through such an elite level lie.'
"You're lying." she says flatly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.
'Fuck.'
I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up a hand, silencing me.
"Jason, I've seen this before. Too many times." Her voice is tinged with a mixture of disappointment and resignation. "You're the type of boy who falls in love with the bad girl, aren't you? And then you let her ruin your life."
The accusation hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. I can feel my face flushing, a mix of anger and embarrassment coursing through me.
"That's not fair," I protest. "You don't know Erica. You don't know us."
Ms. Hartley sighs, running a hand through her graying hair. "I know her type, Jason. The rebellious girl who smokes behind the gym skips class and treats rules like suggestions. And I know your type, too. The good boy who thinks he can change her, who throws away his future for a thrill."
I laugh hard. 'Save her? No, God, no!. I want her to destroy me.'
"What's so funny, Jason?" she demands, her voice sharp as she sees me laughing.
I shake my head, still chuckling. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Ms. Hartley. Not even close."
Her eyes narrow. "Then enlighten me."
I lean back in the uncomfortable chair, feeling a surge of confidence. "Erica's going to take care of me. College isn't necessary for me anymore."
Ms. Hartley's face contorts in disbelief, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then, her eyes harden, and she spits out, "So you're a gold digger, is that it?"
The accusation hangs in the air, and I feel a flash of anger. "Whoa, Ms. Hartley. Why are you being so volatile? It's not a good look for a school counselor."
Her cheeks flush red, and she slams her hand on the desk, making me jump. "Because I hate men like you!" she snarls. "Only interested in money, throwing away your potential for an easy life!"
I bite my tongue. The urge to reveal my own fortune is overwhelming, but I swallow it down along with my rising anger. Instead, I stand up abruptly, the cheap plastic chair scraping loudly against the linoleum floor.
"I think we're done here, Ms. Hartley." I say, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions roiling inside me. "Maybe you should focus on students who actually want your help."
Ms. Hartley's face is still flushed with anger, but I can see a flicker of regret in her eyes. She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it again, settling for a curt remark. "Whatever, Jason. Just go."
Stepping out into the corridor, I'm immediately struck by a figure hunched against the wall. Lyra. Her blonde hair falls in a curtain around her face, hiding her expression, but I can see her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her butler's uniform.
'Why the fuck is she still wearing that?' I wonder.
I try to walk past her, pretending I haven't noticed her presence, but her head snaps up at the sound of my footsteps. Her one visible eye widens, a mixture of hope and anxiety swirling in its blue depths.
"J-Jason," she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I was wondering..."
I stop, reluctantly turning to face her. The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows across her face, emphasizing the dark circle under her eye and the paleness of her skin. She looks terrible, and a small, vindictive part of me is glad.
"What is it, Lyra?" I ask, my tone flat and disinterested.
She swallows hard, her throat bobbing visibly. "I was just... I have an appointment with Ms. Hartley. Do you think... is it alright if I go in now?"
I stare at the door I just shut and shrug, annoyed. "I don't know, probably," I say, my voice dripping with disinterest.
Lyra's visible eye widens, a flicker of concern crossing her delicate features. "Why did I hear so much anger from the room?" she asks hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I turn back to her, a sardonic smirk playing on my lips. "Because Ms. Hartley is a bitch," I reply bluntly.
For a moment, silence hangs between us, thick and heavy. Then, without warning, Lyra begins to laugh. It starts as a soft giggle but quickly grows into something darker and more manic. Her shoulders shake with the force of it, her lone blue eye gleaming with an unsettling intensity.
'What a fucking freak.'
The sound echoes off the sterile hallway walls, transforming into something almost unrecognizable, a haunting melody of amusement and madness. It's as if she thinks I'm the funniest man in the world, but there's an edge to her laughter that sends a chill down my spine.
I take an involuntary step back, unnerved by her reaction. For a split second, I swear I see something else in her expression, a flash of the old Lyra, the one who raped me, lurking just beneath the surface of her apparent fragility.
Uncomfortable, I turn to leave, my footsteps echoing in the now-quiet hallway. As I reach the corner, Lyra's voice drifts to me, soft yet somehow filling the entire space.
"See you around, Jason," she says, her tone dripping with an ominous sweetness that makes my skin crawl.
I glance back over my shoulder, catching one last glimpse of her. She stands perfectly still, her butler's uniform crisp and immaculate, a stark contrast to the wild look in her eye. A small, knowing smile plays on her lips as if she's privy to some dark secret that I can't begin to fathom.
"What the fuck." I mutter as I head back to class.
*****
The gym air is thick with the scent of sweat and disinfectant, a pungent cocktail that assaults my nostrils as we push through the heavy glass doors. The cacophony of clanging weights and grunting women hits me like a wall of sound.
Erica said she got invited to go to the gym today. Which basically means she told me we were going to the gym today. But this is good because I want to get fucking jacked. However Erica told me I'm not allowed to touch the weights, so we are at an impasse.
Erica strides ahead, her ponytail swinging with each confident step. Nikki and Tara flank her sides, their eyes scanning the room like bodyguards. I trail behind, feeling small and out of place among the sea of muscular women pumping iron.
"Erica, can't I at least do some lightweight training? I'm tired of being so scrawny."
'I want to get cut.'
She turns, her blue eyes narrowing as she looks me up and down. "I've told you before, babe. You're perfect just the way you are." Her hand reaches out, fingers trailing along my arm. "Besides, I like you soft and squeezable."
I can't help but pout. "But what if I want to be swole as fuck? So I can, you know..." I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively, "Fuck stronger?"
Tara snorts, nearly dropping the weight she's curling. Nikki just rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smirk on her lips.
Erica's expression darkens slightly. "Jason," she says, her voice low and firm. "We've talked about this. I want you, good and weak. It's for your own protection."
"Protection?" I scoff, frustration bubbling up inside me. "How is being weak protecting me? What if... what if something like what happened with Lindsey happens again?"
Erica's eyes flash dangerously, and I immediately regret my words. "That," she hisses, stepping closer until I can feel her breath on my face, "is exactly why you're not allowed to leave my side. Ever."
"But... but I had to go to the counselor alone today," I stammer, trying to regain some ground.
Erica's expression softens slightly, but there's still a hard edge to her voice. "And look how well that turned out. Ms. Hartley giving you shit about your grades, about us." She cups my face in her hands, her touch surprisingly gentle. "You told me not to go because you didn't want me to skip class, remember."
I lean into her touch, conflicted emotions swirling inside me. "I can handle Ms. Hartley." I mutter.
Erica looks at me, her eyes narrowing in annoyance. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, a voice cuts through the tension.
"What about maybe getting him a gun?" The voice of the coolest boy i know in this world rings out.
We all turn to see Louis lounging against a nearby weight rack, his blonde hair tousled and a mischievous glint in his green eyes. He's wearing a tight-fitting tank top that shows off his lean muscles, a stark contrast to my baggy t-shirt.
The reaction is immediate and visceral. Erica's face contorts in horror, her blue eyes widening to the point where I can see the whites all around her irises. Tara lets out a strangled gasp, nearly dropping the dumbbell she's holding while Nikki's jaw clenches so hard I can almost hear her teeth grinding.
The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the distant clanging of weights and the hum of treadmills. The air feels thick with tension like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point.
I can't help but let out a small laugh, the sound echoing strangely in the sudden quiet. "Louis," I say, shaking my head, "it's illegal for men to own guns."
Louis sits there, his expression morphing from confusion to disbelief. His brow furrows, creating little creases across his forehead, and his mouth hangs open slightly. "What the fuck?" he finally sputters, his voice cracking slightly. "Why not?"
I shrug, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on me. "Because they think we're too emotional," I explain, my tone matter-of-fact despite the absurdity of the situation.
Louis's face goes through a kaleidoscope of emotions - shock, anger, confusion, and finally, a sort of resigned disbelief. He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more. "That's... that's fucked up, man." he says, his voice low and tinged with a mixture of frustration and bewilderment.
Nikki steps forward, her athletic frame casting a shadow over Louis. Her eyes narrow as she speaks, her voice low and authoritative. "Gun crimes went down overnight when they made it illegal for men to have them. It's just facts, Louis."
Louis's brow furrows deeper, his green eyes flickering with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Was it like a school shooting thing?"
I wince at the word, a chill running down my spine. It hits me suddenly. I've never heard anyone here talk about school shootings. The concept seems alien in this world, like a nightmare from another reality.
Nikki's face contorts in bewilderment, her sharp features softening with genuine confusion. "School shootings? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Louis and I exchange baffled glances, the weight of our shared knowledge from another world hanging heavy between us.
"You know," Louis starts, his voice hesitant, "when someone brings a gun to school and... and..." He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.
Nikki's eyes widen, a mix of horror and disbelief etched across her face. "That's not a thing," she says firmly, shaking her head. "Who the fuck would do that."
She pauses. "Look, most gun crimes back in the day were men shooting their wives for cheating or their wives' lovers. Once they took the guns away from men, that stuff pretty much disappeared overnight."
The air feels thick and tense as we process this information. Erica watches the exchange silently, her blue eyes darting between us, calculating. Tara shifts uncomfortably, the dumbbell in her hand forgotten.
"So... no mass shootings at all?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Nikki shakes her head, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. "Nothing like what you're describing. Sure, there's still crime, but... Jesus, bringing guns to school? That's some fucked up shit."
Louis lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the weight rack. "Man, this world is wild," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.
I nod in agreement, feeling a strange mix of relief and disorientation. The absence of such a horrific phenomenon is comforting, but it also serves as a stark reminder of how different this world is from the one we left behind.
Tara, sensing the heavy atmosphere, decides to inject some levity into the conversation. She sets down her weights with a loud clang and saunters over, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Hey, you guys ever notice how all men are bi, but women are either straight or gay?" she says with a playful smirk, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.
The statement hits Louis and me like a bucket of ice water. We exchange wide-eyed glances, a mixture of shock and indignation coursing through us.
"What the fuck? No way!" I sputter, my voice cracking slightly. "I'm straight as an arrow!"
Louis nods vigorously, his blonde hair bouncing with the motion. "Yeah, me too! Totally, completely straight!"
We both pause for a beat, then I hastily add, "Not that there's anything wrong with being gay."
Louis amends my statement, "Yeah, uhhh, and also trans, or any part of the LGBTQIA+ community!"
Our words tumble out in a rushed, almost panicked stream as if we're trying to outrun some unseen threat. The gym's fluorescent lights seem to buzz louder, casting strange shadows across our faces as we stand there, breathing heavily.
Tara's eyebrows shoot up, her lips curling into an amused smile. "Whoa, chill out, boys. No need to go all woke on us. I was just making an observation."
But Louis and I aren't listening. Our eyes dart around the gym as if expecting an angry mob to materialize at any moment, ready to cancel us.
"Seriously, we support all identities and orientations," Louis says, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual. "Love is love, you know?"
I nod frantically, adding, "Yeah, and gender is a spectrum! We get that!"
Nikki stares at us, her blue eyes narrowing as she takes in our frantic declarations. A slow, strange smile spreads across her face, transforming her usually stoic expression into something almost predatory.
"Hey boys." she says, her voice low and teasing, "Do you know what Yaoi is?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy and loaded. Louis and I exchange confused glances, the tension in the room ratcheting up another notch. The distant clanging of weights and the hum of treadmills fade into background noise as we struggle to process Nikki's words.
Erica's face contorts in horror. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can utter a word, Tara interjects, her voice filled with mischievous glee.
"Oh my god, yes!" Tara exclaims, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Jason and Louis kissing would be super hot!"
The words seem to echo in the suddenly silent gym. Louis and I stand frozen, our faces a matching pair of shocked expressions. The air feels thick and heavy like we're trying to breathe underwater.
Erica's reaction is swift and fierce. She strides forward, her ponytail swinging like a pendulum, and grabs my arm with surprising strength. Her fingers dig into my skin as she pulls me away from Louis, her eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and possessiveness.
"That's enough," she growls, her voice low and dangerous. She turns to me, her gaze softening slightly but still tinged with anger. "Jason, I don't want you to be friends with Louis anymore."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I look at Louis, seeing my own shock and disappointment mirrored in his green eyes.
But then reality sets in. We both sigh, a sound of resignation and understanding. "Okay, Erica." I mumble, my eyes dropping to the floor.
Louis nods, his usual easy-going demeanor subdued. "I get it," he says softly, his voice barely audible over the resumed sounds of the gym.
Erica's grip on my arm tightens as she steers me toward the exit, her long strides eating up the distance across the gym floor. The air grows thicker as we approach the doors, the scent of sweat and disinfectant intensifying as if the gym itself is trying to hold onto us.
"We're never coming here again." Erica mutters, her voice low and tense. Her blue eyes are stormy, flashing with a mixture of anger and possessiveness.
As we burst through the doors into the cool evening air, I can't help but ask, "Why don't we just use the gym at your house? It's better equipped anyway."
Erica's pace slows, her grip on my arm loosening slightly. She turns to look at me, her expression softening into something wistful and almost sad. The setting sun paints her blonde hair in shades of gold and copper, creating a halo effect that takes my breath away.
"I used to love coming here with my friends." she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was our place, you know? Where we could just be ourselves, push each other to be stronger."
We stop at the edge of the parking lot, the asphalt still radiating heat from the day. Erica sighs deeply, her shoulders slumping slightly. "But now... now I prefer only your company, Jason." Her eyes meet mine, intense and filled with an emotion I can't quite name. "It's like the rest of the world fades away when I'm with you."
The words wash over me like a warm wave, melting away any lingering frustrations. I lean into her touch, feeling the strength in her arm as it wraps around my waist. The setting sun casts long shadows across the parking lot, our two figures merging into one elongated silhouette on the pavement.
"I prefer being alone with you too, Erica," I speak, my voice thick with emotion. The world around us seems to fade into the background, the distant sound of traffic and the rustling of leaves in the breeze becoming nothing more than white noise.