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"I was asking, one last time, if you're very sure that you don't want to press charges against Mr. Nicks. We have his signed statement that he used intimidation and coercion to force you into a sexual relationship with him, that he used your scholarship standing as a threat against you. He has assured us that under no circumstances will he fight due process or draw attention to you or the school." She shifts in her seat, obviously uncomfortable. "The dean is asking us to pursue this with the most discretion possible, as to not draw scandal to the school. However, with these documents left by Mr. Nicks, and a statement from you, we can involve the appropriate authorities and take whatever measures necessary to ensure your safety and well-being. The college will pay for any necessary medical exams or mental health treatment–"
I stand up, cutting her speech short. "Look… ma'am," I say, because I’ve already forgotten her name. Although funnily enough, I remember she has a yappy dog named Pepper that would sometimes try to announce my visits when the little furball was in the backyard. "I don't need any of this. I don't want to press charges, and between you and me, I didn't feel at all coerced." I give her a very pointed look.
She purses her lips and tries to interject again. "Sometimes victims take a while to come around to the realization that–"
"I'll take your card, if that makes you feel better. And I'll sign whatever the dean wants that promises I won't go public with this, although I think he knows as well as I do that it's also in my best interest to stay quiet."
With a sigh, and a thinly veiled look of relief, she pulls out some paperwork for me to sign. I look it over carefully, knowing that the dean is a slippery bastard, but it's more or less a standard non-disclosure agreement from what I can tell. I sign it and push it back across the desk.
"May I leave now?"
"Yes, you may go. Here's my card. If you need anything, the offer for treatment remains for the remainder of the year, in case you change your mind."
"Thank you," I say, and make a beeline for the door.
"Oh, Mr. Perry?"
I hold back my sigh of frustration. "Ma'am?"
"Good luck. You have a big future ahead of you."
I dip my head in thanks and escape through the door. The sports complex is all the way across campus, and I still have my tutoring session that I need to get to in an hour. I decided it was probably smarter to keep going to class until I know what's going to happen next. In the event the NFL gets wind of what happened and decides not to draft me, I might transfer to another school. The "incident," as they are referring to it, won't affect my public record. With my killer stats and the grades I've made this year, I should be able to transfer anywhere I want.
But before I make any decisions, I need to talk to Bryant. I haven't seen him since we were busted in on, right before Bryant was about to suck me. He didn't even care that I was sweaty; he wanted to taste every part of me.
I shiver a little at the memory, still frustrated that the firing squad couldn't wait for five more minutes. Although I'd rather they’d never found out at all.
"Jack! Wait up!" A shrill voice pierces my ears and my legs move faster. "Jackie, Bae…" she whines
Halting my steps to let her catch up, I spin on my heel and stare at her with every ounce of hatred I feel. "I'm not your fucking Bae, and I never was."
Her neck cocks back like she's been slapped. "How dare you talk to me like that! We're getting married this weekend!"
I laugh, loudly. And then I can't stop. I'm fucking full out cackling. "You are the craziest fucking bitch I have ever met in my life! I never wanted to marry you in the first place. You fucking blackmailed me. Which, by the way, is fucking illegal. Not only that, but you already fucking made your bed, Aniyah. I know you led the dean to us. I fucking saw you."
Her mouth gapes open and closed like a fish.
"I don't care how much money your daddy has, or how rich you marry—you are fucking scum. I hope you catch something incurable and rot, because you deserve to be as ugly on the outside as you are on the inside."
She gasps and stomps her foot indignantly and shouts, "The NFL only takes real men, you know. They won't want you when they find out you like to take it up the ass."
I laugh again, actually ashamed that I ever let her bully me into her little extortion deal in the first place. I really should have talked to Bryant first, but I let her loud mouth dramatic meltdown frighten me into making any deal she wanted, not only afraid that people would find out about me, but more than that, that Bryant would be punished. And it happened anyway. We could have made a better plan than him just disappearing. He moved out of his campus housing before my plane even touched down, and he's not answering his phone.
Before she can open her mouth to try to threaten me with anything else, I shut her down. "Go ahead and leak your little video. Tell anyone you want that I love Bryant Nicks and his big, hard cock. Not only will I sue you for everything you have, but Groveton College will too, because their top priority is keeping it quiet. More than that—I'm not fucking afraid of you, nor am I afraid of anyone else's opinion of me."
I step towards her menacingly, purposefully showing off my full height and bulk. I want her to feel intimidated. She might think that just because I have a gay lover that makes me less of a man, but she has no fucking idea what it takes to unlearn the bullshit and even begin to accept yourself for having feelings you don't understand. Honestly, it's something I've barely begun to process. It's only been since I realized that I was losing him that I understood what I had in the first place. Talk about a mind-fuck.
"I don't give a fuck about anything other than the fact that it's your fault he's gone. I fucking loved him, and you took that away from me. Cross me again and you'll regret it."
I leave her planted in the middle of the sidewalk, gaping like a blow up sex doll, which is all she’s good for, anyway. It occurs to me that no one has probably ever called her on her bullshit before.
The door to Bryant's office is open when I come around the hallway. Coach Sanders is in there, looking through some files.
"Hey Coach Sanders." I greet him tersely, unsure if he's even going to talk to me. He didn't do much more than stare at us after Bryant and I were caught. He looked like he might try to speak to me once on the flight home the next day, but he never did get any words out of his mouth.
"Hey Perry," he says awkwardly. "What can I do you for?" He grimaces at his choice of words, and I can't help but bark out a laugh. Nothing in this situation is particularly funny, but his discomfort is making me feel better.
"Don't worry, I'm not interested," I assure him, mostly jokingly. "Are you taking over as head coach?" I ask, trying to make conversation.
