Chapter 30

Emily felt good for the first time in weeks. No, it probably wasn't ethical to rejoice over a student being admitted to a mental hospital, but she couldn't help but feel relief. Hopefully, she would never have to deal with the psychopathic monster again.

She cradled a fresh mug of coffee in her hand as she graded papers, shocked by some of the answers. Chuckling to herself, she decided to have a sneaky chocolate bar with her coffee. Why not?

A breeze wafted in as the door opened quietly and Damien appeared, smiling.

He wandered in without knocking or asking if it was okay and took a seat at the desk directly opposite her.

"So, I finally finished your book," he said. “What a roller coaster!”

Her pen dropped as her hands froze.

She couldn't breathe.

"H—he showed you?" she asked.

"No, dummy, I showed him," Damien corrected her and smiled widely. He put his feet up on her table, scattering dry clots of mud onto the crisp white papers.

"I... erm... I don't—" Emily shook her head, trying to explain that she did not understand what was happening.

"One of your characters…Damon, you call him... he's me, right?" Damien asked.

He was right, but she couldn't admit it. The character was a less than generous representation.

"Oh... no," she cooed. "He's not based on you."

She watched in silent horror as Damien pulled out a sheet of paper and began to read.

"Damon was always up in arms about some issue or another. Last week he was rallying for a vegan option on the menu, this week it was the plight of the Iranian refugees on the agenda," Damien read, nodding, and making faces as did. "Alice often wondered if his political stances and generous charity work were more to feed his already overinflated ego than the hungry masses he claimed to care about."

Emily felt her face turn an uncomfortable shade of red as she listened to the words she'd written, both ashamed of her scathing review of the boy's character and her writing in general.

There was no denying it. It was Damien. Writing her least favorite students into her stories was an outlet of sorts, a way to release the stress they caused her.

"I wrote that a long time ago, Damien," she said. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," he repeated quietly. "Not yet. But you will be."

Emily's face went numb. She blinked slowly, feeling tears swelling up under her eyelids.

"Please, Damien," she started.

"What did I tell you about pleading?" he asked.

"That it wouldn't work on Greg," she said, remembering the conversation well. "But you aren't like him."

She hoped he wasn't. Prayed he wasn't.

'Any minute he's going to laugh and say, 'I kid,'' she assured herself, operating on sheer hope.

"Damien, I have two children. A five-year-old and a seven-year-old. Their Father is zero help and I have no family. I have a mortgage. Childcare fees. Loan repayments. If I lose this job, I'm completely screwed," she said, hoping he would understand. That he would see her as a human being and find it in his heart to take pity on her.

"Whatever will you do?" he asked, shrugging.

"I'm asking you to keep this a secret," she said, swallowing her pride and pushing any moral issues aside. It was wrong of her to ask but losing her teaching career over such a stupid mistake just didn't seem like an option.

"Asking me?" He smirked.

"I'm begging you," she uttered, her voice breaking. Tears streamed from her eyes as she stared at him, hoping to see the kindness he'd shown in the past. "Please don't ruin my life."

"I could ruin your life," he said. "Or... you could entertain me for my last few weeks of school life. If you do everything I say, I'll keep your secret."

His blue eyes were cold and dark as he pinned her with his stare, unblinking.

"Okay," she nodded, not seeing another option. If he kept his word, this thing would be over in a few weeks and she could go on with her life.

"The first thing I want you to do is write another book in your series. One all about the character Damon. And make him amazing," he said.

Emily nodded. She didn't know when she would find the time or where she would get the inspiration, but saying no wasn't an option.

Once he’d left, she sat for a moment, staring down at the random pattern of tear stains on the paper she was grading.

'They'll dry,' she thought.

###

Greg's face lit up when he saw Damien approach. He claimed to love this place but the drugs they prescribed kept him in a strangely docile state, dulling his senses.

"I told you, didn't I?" Greg boasted. He was always boasting. "I said I could get you any girl you wanted."

Damien smiled as he sat at the white plastic table.

"You are the master of manipulation." Damien flattered him. This was the best way to keep control of a textbook narcissist.

Greg fancied himself a psychopath, claiming the label like a prized trophy despite displaying none of the symptoms or defining characteristics. He was great at psychoanalyzing others yet had this gaping blind spot when it came to his own diagnosis.

"You're going to have to take over the streaming account while I'm in here," Greg explained. "The internet connection here isn't good enough to run the software."

"I'll manage," Damien told him. When they first created the account, they had combined Greg's likeable personality with Damien's gaming skills. Since then, Greg had caught up to him in talent for the game and Damien could impersonate him without a hitch.

Now, with their business out of the way, Greg dominated the conversation, telling him about the girls he'd met inside and how he was planning to control and torture them. Damien nodded along, not listening. He was thinking about the cat Greg had blasted in that nerd's microwave. This was something that went against his code and Greg would have to be punished in some way.

He'd already switched the sponsors on their account without Greg noticing, funneling the earnings into his personal account.

'I could change the password and cut him out entirely,' Damien considered but it seemed a little harsh and he didn't want to lose his main source of excitement. Without Greg, his life would be dull.

"So did it feel good to finally get revenge on that bitch?" Greg asked.

"Oh, I haven't even started yet," Damien told him and chuckled. "I'm going to destroy every aspect of her life. I don't think I've despised anyone as much as her."

When the portly attendant shuffled over to let him know the visitor’s hours were closing, Damien said his goodbyes and took the bus home.

He entered his room to find Amber where he'd left her, tear stains running the length of her pretty face.

"You came back," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.

"It's my room," Damien pointed out.

"Can you uncuff me?" she asked, staring up with the saddest eyes he'd ever seen.

"Aww, you want to stop?" he asked, feigning confusion.

"W—what, I... I don't understand," she stammered.

"I'm sorry I was gone for so long," Damien said, barely able to keep a straight face. "My Mum asked for my help with something, and I could hardly say no because I have a naked girl chained to my bed."

He watched her face, seeing the cogs turning behind her eyes. Was she really pathetic and desperate enough to fall for this?

He knew the answer was yes. He and Greg had made sure of it.

"I understand if you want to go home. This was a little much for your first time I guess," Damien said, slumping his shoulders and sighing.

Ambers eyes widened, seemingly terrified at the thought of disappointing him.

"No, no, no," Amber protested, shaking her head so fiercely her hair gathered static from the sheets. "It's fine. Really."

As he got on the bed next to her, she shifted toward him, hungry for contact, and snuggled her head into his chest. The salty smell of her tears made him nauseous. Everything about her made him sick. He’d eaten an entire packet of strong mints and the disgusting taste of her still lingered in his mouth.

"You know I love you right?" she asked. She was probably hoping he would say it in return. Instead, he nodded.

"Just... please don't break my heart," she begged, looking up into his eyes with sheer desperation. "I don't think I could bear it."

He gave her a sympathetic look as he tenderly stroked her hair.

"I won't," he lied.