professor-predator-3

Subject: Professor Predator Part 3 Our drama continues. Please be patient, things do get horny soon. Very soon. As always, I write these stories as what my boyfriend calls “a community service.” So if you like what’s happening, please let me know at ail CHAPTER FOUR: THE HOSPITAL Ben’s office on campus was a place he didn’t spend more time than necessary, but he still decorated it as richly as he could. The walls of it were covered in Heironymous Bosch prints, framed butterflies, other faggy professorial cliches; he even had a bust of Foucault. He kept a bunch of fake Lotus flowers, big plastic ones, in a vase by the door. The window, which was somewhat underground, looked out on the lawn of the main campus green, but mainly upward toward the perpetually grey skies. He had lined the whole place with christmas lights, and a little diffuser bubbled and glowed with pulsing rainbow light. One afternoon during finals week, a rare snow was falling, and he was just gathering up his things to leave and head home. The second he put on his coat, there was a frantic knocking on his door. He opened it, and beheld the blonde angel: Sam Swinton, looking frantic and flushed. “Are you professor Rainier?” “Yeah, what’s wrong?” Ben asked, brow furrowed. “I only have a few seconds, my tutor is after me, can I come in?” “Of course,” Ben said, ushering the boy inward. Sam didn’t take off his coat, and slumped into a chair in the corner farthest from the door. “Please close the door,” the boy said urgently, his face lined with concern. “Sure, sure,” Ben said, trying to act calm. His heart was pounding. “Does he know where you went?” the man asked, remembering that the boy had a permanent chaperone/bodyguard/stalker.. “Wait–what? No, he just saw me run into this building.” “Does he know my office number or anything?” “He finds out everything. He has access to my email account.” “Okay,” said Ben. “I guess we should make it look like nobody’s here.” Ben turned off the lights, and pulled up two chairs out of sight of the long glass pane that allowed people to see into the office from the hallway. The boy, red-faced from the cold weather and exertion, looked extremely uncomfortable and anxious. “Why don’t you take off your coat?” asked Ben. The boy nodded, and awkwardly shrugged off his backpack and down parka. Beneath he wore a white button-down: fine cotton that framed his narrow shoulders and tiny ribcage, which heaved as if he had been running. He looked frantic. “Calm down,” Ben said. “You’re safe, I’m not exactly sure what from?” “My tutor–it’s a long story. Sorry.” “Should I call the police??” Ben asked, furrowing his brow in false confusion. He needed to act ignorant–totally ignorant, of who this boy was, what was going on. At that moment, the boy went silent, pressed a finger to his lips. A figure in a dark coat was standing there at the door, peering in through the cracks in the Far Side comics and other images Ben had taped to the glass. RAP RAP RAP, the tutor knocked. “Shhh, please don’t answer,” Sam whispered. Without thinking, Ben put out his hand and covered the back of the boy’s cold neck. He felt a tremble go through the adolescent. “You’re safe, okay?” whispered Ben. “I won’t ask any questions.” The boy slouched down with his face in his hands. A second later, Ben’s office phone started ringing. “Don’t answer!” urged the boy. “Of course not,” said Ben. He tousled the boy’s hair. The rings stopped. The voicemail beeped. “Hi, this is Tony Ng, I’m working with the Swinton Family as private tutor and chaperone to Sam Swinton. Have reason to think Sam might be seeking you, trying to manipulate you around issues regarding his academic plans. Please be advised that the Swinton family is informed about all matters regarding Sam. If you saw or interacted with Sam, please call or text me back: 315-670-4455.” The voicemail finished. To Ben’s horror and astonishment, a bright light started to pierce the comics and bric-a-brac that covered the glass panel of his office door; the tutor was trying to peer inside. “Quick, Sam,” said Ben. “Hide in here.” Ben swung open the coat closet, and without shutting it completely, stepped to the office door where the tutor was peering in through the glass. He swung open the door abruptly. “What the fuck are you doing?” Ben asked. Tony, the tutor, jolted back in horror. He was an asian twink, cute enough in his own right but far too severe to be attractive to Ben: greased back hair, crisp suit, black carrier bag. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” he blurted. “Sorry for what?” Ben asked, acting perturbed. “I uh, didn’t mean to prowl around. I’m Tony.” “I’ve never seen you, are you a student?” Ben asked, furrowing his brow. “I’m sorry, did you get my voicemail?” “Oh that? What kind of bizarre message was that?” “I’m Tony, I work for the Swintons. I’m looking for Sam.” “Who the fuck are the Swintons?” “Sam Swinton? You don’t know?” Tony looked shocked. “He’s the 12 year old on campus? Well–13 now.” “I’ve heard of him. I’m still confused, why are you stalking me?” Ben asked. “Sam ran into the building,” Tony murmured, now looking totally sheepish and horrified. “I … have reasons to think he might …please, it’s a complicated situation.” At that moment, Ben kocaeli escort turned on his Scary Man Voice. It was a skill he had learned from his father. A skill that, in the wrong (white doctorate-degree male) hands, was capable of getting people fired, arrested, hospitalized, or worse. “Do you realize how fucking crazy you’re acting?” Ben asked. His tone was sharp, cold, terrifying. “The — Swintons, they’re very difficult people,” Tony begged. Ben frowned. “Not as difficult as I can be, Tony. I’ve had a lot of stalkers in my life, with a lot of weird excuses for stalking me. I don’t need another one. My attorney can file a PFA by tomorrow morning.” “Wha–no, no, you don’t understand! This had nothing to do with you!” “I’m sure,” said Ben. “Please, just–if you see Sam, call me? I’m required to keep him in sight of me 24 hours a day.” “Oh god,” Ben said. “Jesus. Seriously?” “Yes,” said Tony. Ben’s face was twisted up into an expression of mixed pity and disgust. “Do you get days off?” Ben asked. “Once a week they hire a babysitter.” “That’s insane.” “Well, actually, state law requires that a youth under 13 to be under the constant supervision of an adult,” “You said the kid’s 13 right?” “Uh. Yeah.” “So….” “Yes,” Tony admitted. “It’s pretty awful for everybody involved.” “Look,” said Ben. “Here’s my card. Gimme a call if you need to talk or anything. I feel bad for you. I heard about this whole situation through the grapevine, it seems like a nightmare.” “So you don’t think I’m stalking you?” asked the tutor. “Jury’s out on that one.” “What do you mean?” “Have a nice weekend,” Ben said. He closed the door, went back to his desk, sat down, and put the electric kettle on. “Can I come out now?” Sam whispered. Ben smirked. His neck was hot, he turned in his chair. The angelic face was peering through the crack in the door, and it made Ben swoon. “Of course,” said the man. The boy crept out, still peering toward the door. “Are you sure he went?” asked the boy. Ben got up and went to the door again. “You know what? Let me patrol around a minute. I’m going to have a cigarette, and lock the door behind me. I’ll act like I’m leaving for the day, walk around the building, and come back in five minutes. Will you make us tea?” “I kind of need to get moving,” said Sam. “I think you kind of need to get explaining,” said Ben. “Yeah,” the boy admitted. “I was just about to leave for the day. Stay for half an hour, and I’ll let you go.” Sam nodded. He was blushing, Ben thought. Just seeing him in person sent his heart into his throat. Ben walked out the front doors of the academic building, backpack on, acting like he was on his way out for the day. He lit a cigarette, scanned the area. Students were crossing back and forth like usual. The sky was grey, as usual. He went right around the building once. Then inside, he circled the hallways of the first floor once. No sign of anybody. When he opened the door of his office again, Sam was there with the desk lamp on, and two cups of tea steaming. Ben sat down, sighed. Shrugged off his cold winter coat. He took the mug of tea. It was a brown, earthenware thing his mother had made. Hideous. Sam blew on his mug, blonde hair falling in front of his eyes. “Well kiddo,” said Ben, “I’ve definitely got a lot of questions.” The boy nodded. They chatted in near-whispers, as if they were co-conspirators. The boy wanted to take his course English 497A: Queer Theory and Queer Literature, but his parents were obviously opposed. “They say I should focus on the classics,” “The classics are no less queer,” Ben said, smirking. “So I’m finding out. But the mere possibility of taking your class means you’re likely to get a phone call from my mom, soon. She’s going to grill you, I’m so sorry.” “I’ll survive,” said Ben. “I read the syllabus,” said Sam. “Your class looks amazing.” “It is amazing. It’s my favorite class to teach.” Sam sighed, and Ben trembled in desire: The high, girlish tone of his voice, the rasp of his sweet breath. “I hate my life,” said Sam. “You feel pretty powerless,” said Ben. “And you are.” “I just wish I could die sometimes,” Ben said. “What if the tutor wasn’t on campus?” “What do you mean?” “Tony’s life is miserable,” said Sam. “I feel bad for him.” “So do I. How much do you think he wants to quit?” “I don’t think he can, he needs the money. My parents pay him thousands of dollars a week.” “To do what?” “Follow me around basically. I don’t really need help with my classes. The only time I’m free is between 5pm and 7am when he goes back to his apartment in Greenock Bay.” “What would you do if it meant you could be more free? No tutor-stalker. Less Helicopter parenting.” “I’d do fucking anything,” Sam said. His eyes were brimming with tears. “I think I have an idea,” said Ben. He picked up his phone and dialed the counseling center. “Yeah, hey. Can I speak to Liz?” he asked. The phone rang a few times. “Hey Liz, I’m here with Sam Swinton. He’s had a really hard day, he’s crying in my office. We just had to evade his tutor who was hunting for him like a bloodhound. I think he’s in crisis, he’s talking about suicide.” Sam’s eyes bugged out. “Wait–what?” he whispered, loudly. Liz asked a few questions on the other end of the line, Ben murmured in kolej escort concern. “Yeah, I think he’s almost at the end of his rope. Could you come across the green and meet with us really quick?” “I have to be home by 4pm for my final check in with Tony!” the boy protested. “Not if you’re having a psychiatric crisis,” said Ben. Ben had a tough sell, but he talked about what would happen if Sam went to the hospital. It took the boy just ten minutes to get a steely-eyed look of resolve in his eyes. “This is dishonest,” he said. “It’s risky. And most of all it’s gonna suck,” said the boy. “I think it’s an option you have, though,” said Ben. “You are pretty fucking miserable, are you not?” “I fucking hate my life,” said Sam. He looked up then, into Ben’s eyes. He was tearing-up, his voice getting thick in his throat. “Maybe it’s not so much of a lie after all. I’ve definitely thought how much happier I’d be if I was just dead.” “Dead? Or if your parents just thought you were dead?” “That’s the important distinction,” Sam said, laughing through his tears. “I wish my parents would just leave me alone. Let me free. That would make my life all better.” By the time Liz got to Ben’s office, the boy had progressed from admitting to a deathwish, to admitting that he had indeed contemplated suicide before. He had thought about different methods. The sole reason for his despair? “My fucking parents,” he said. “They won’t accept that I’m queer. They treat me like a captive. They think if they can just control me enough, I’ll stop being gay or something. I’d rather die than go on living like this. And they’ll never take me seriously unless I hit them where it hurts. The only thing I have control over is my own life. So I’ll take it away to get back at them.” “If you want to really hit them where it hurts, I think we ought to call an ambulance,” said Liz. She looked at Ben with a fiery glimmer in her eye: an expression that looked proud, satisfied. “Ben, can we speak outside for a second?” she asked. “Sam, would you mind sitting where we can see you?” “Uh-huh,” Sam said. Once they were on the other side of the glass door, Liz buried her face in her hands. Laughed a little. “What a fucking day. Why did this have to happen?” “Don’t you think it’ll make things better?” Ben asked. “It’ll either get them to back the fuck off, or else make them bring him home. I’m going to make a case for them backing the fuck off. And we have the rare advantage of me accompanying him to the hospital, so I can get the doctors there on our side.” “You’re taking him to the hospital?” asked Ben. “I don’t want him to be in there all alone, but it’ll look really weird if I go.” “Really fucking weird,” said Liz. “It has to be me. It’s Friday, whatever. I’ll sneak out once he’s admitted.” “You sure he’ll be admitted?” asked Ben. “Oh. We’re making this happen.” “I’ve never felt bad about abusing the medical establishment..but convincing a 13 year old to lie about suicidal intentions?” “Oh, it’s not a lie,” Liz said. “He’s wanted to kill himself for months. It’s just that he’s never gotten anywhere near making an attempt. We’re just helping this kiddo stretch the truth so his life gets better.” “Perfect,” said Ben. “My license is in your hands, this conversation never happened.” “Tell that to Sam,” said Ben. Liz shook her head. Within moments, an ambulance arrived at the back parking lot. Liz walked Sam out to it, and the two went zooming off to the nearest hospital with a psych ward. * * * * * * Many hours later, it was dark and quiet at the Chambers, Oregon emergency room. Liz had what she hoped would be the last very difficult family session with Sam’s mother and father. They had been so anxious and emotional they had made everything about themselves–and at first used fear, obligation, and guilt to attempt to gain control of the situation again. They had shamed him for not being stronger, and gotten so exasperated that finally Liz had lost her cool. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Swinton, will you please listen?” Liz’s voice was shaking. “What?” asked Sam’s mother. “Your son is in a psychiatric ward, Mrs. Swinton,” Liz said. Tears were in her eyes. “Do you understand why he’s here?” “Because he’s confused, and he needs prayer and his family,” said Mrs. Swinton. “No, mom!” Sam blurted. Tears were in his eyes. “Mrs. Swinton, Sam has told you repeatedly, directly, bluntly several times. Several times in the last ten minutes–that your efforts to control his behavior, and your lack of acceptance of his sexual orientation are the biggest problems he has. Literally, he has expressed that he wants to die because of your obsession with control. At this point, I have to ask, are just you unwilling to hear that? Or are you fucking deaf?” Mrs. Swinton’s face got red. “How dare you,” she hissed. “Fuck you, mom!” Sam said. “You make everything about you, no matter what happens! If I slit my wrists and died today, all you’d cry about is the plans YOU had for my future. You’d rather I was dead and perfect, than alive and gay. Fuck you. I’m gonna kill myself the first chance I get once I’m out of here.” First time in Sam’s life, his mother shut up. His father stared blankly at both of them on the video chat. “Honey,” said Sam’s father. “We love you. We don’t want you to die. konak escort We don’t want you to be gay, either. But…maybe your mother and I need to come to terms with some things.” “You don’t MAYBE,” said Sam, “You need to come to terms with me being queer, you need to respect that I’m a human being with my own choices and intelligence and you both need to accept that I’m not going to change no matter how hard you try to control my life. The harder you grip me the more damage you’re going to do. I refuse to talk to either of you until I’m out of the hospital. You’re hurting me. And Mom, I feel like only Dad actually loves me. You just love your fucking self.” At this, Sam broke into sobs and turned away from the video chat. Liz sighed. Looked blankly at the screen. “I’m sorry this got so heated,” she said. “For whatever it’s worth, Mrs and Mr Swinton, This is not part of my job. I’m here because I care about Sam. I’m here because, as a social worker, I have an obligation to intervene when people are vulnerable and being oppressed.” “You think my son,” Mrs. Swinton gaped, tears streaming through her mascara, “is OPPRESSED?” Liz had to stifle a laugh. “Yes, Mrs. Swinton that’s the term we use when somebody is being silenced or controlled by those with greater power.” “I’ll have you fired,” Mrs. Swinton fumed. “Honey,” said Sam’s father, “Please. She’s there with our son in the hospital, she’s off the clock doing this out of the goodness of her heart.” “This is liberal bullshit,” Sam’s mother said. “Rosanne,” said Sam’s father. His tone was harsh, paternal. “That’s enough.” The woman stifled all her emotions at once. “I’m so sorry, Dr. uh,” “I’m not a doctor,” Liz said. “I’m just a social worker. And if you only want to know my name so you can get me fired, I’ll gladly stay anonymous.” She ended the call. Sam sniffled a while. She wiped his nose, and he hung his head. “That was really hard,” she said. “Really brave. How do you feel?” “Shitty,” said Sam. “Shitty’s not an emotion.” “Tired.” “Guess what,” said Liz. “Yeah, yeah, tired’s not an emotion either. I feel frustrated. Hopeless.” “I’m holding out hope for you, still,” said Liz. All of a sudden, Sam looked her in the eye. His brow was furrowed. “So you’re friends with Dr. Rainier?” “Yes.” “Are you guys, like,” Liz laughed. “Of course not. Ben’s as queer as a two dollar bill.” Sam broke into a broad smile. “Oh, okay. Good.” “Why good?” Sam shrugged. He thought about the man’s big, warm hand tousling his hair. The way his brown eyes sparkled while they were drinking tea in the near-darkness. “What do you think will happen now?” Sam asked, changing the subject. “Well, I have to go home. And you need to get some sleep. The psychiatrist will probably evaluate you in the morning. You just tell him the truth, okay? No need to embellish the story. Are you gonna be scared on your own if I leave?” “No,” said Sam. “I’m just tired. I wanna go to bed.” “Okay Sam. Can I get a hug?” She gave him a warm embrace, held him for a minute. He shed a few tears. “I’m gonna leave you with my sweater, okay?” she said. She shrugged off the glittery white, feminine thing and Sam’s eyes lit up. “Woww,” he said. “It smells like perfume.” “Sorry about that.” “No it’s cool,” said Sam. He pulled on the tight sleeves at once. The effect was to make him instantly look far, far more camp. IF only Ben could see him now,” she thought. “Hey Liz,” Sam said, as if he was psychic. “Would you take a picture of me for Dr. Rainier? I want him to know I’m okay.” She smiled, nodded, and pulled out her phone. A few minutes later, Sam was alone in a small room with a mechanical bed and a television and a strange multicolored curtain all around him. He tried to sleep but the meager hospital blankets didn’t keep him very warm. They had taken his phone, his shoelaces, his belt. Somebody down the hallway was shouting and raving at the nurses, and the boy shivered and pushed the nurse’s button again, in spite of the twinge of guilt that they probably had more important things to do. A fat native American girl came in twenty minutes later, looking at him with a flat expression. “Yeah?” “I’m really cold,” he said. She didn’t say a word, just turned around. A minute later, she brought him another of the cheap, shitty blankets that was hardly any bigger than a beach towel. He nestled down, and tried to fall asleep. The events of the day kept racing through his mind, but after all that had happened he could only think of one thing: the smell of Dr. Rainier. His hairy arms. The magpie tattoo on his forearm. The magpie tattoo on his forearm? Why did that seem so familiar? He fell asleep. * * * * * * Ben had waited with his phone nearby for the first few hours of nerve-wracking curiosity. But after a while, the anticipation dulled, he grew bored, and was tired of ruminating about the day’s events–what had he been thinking? Why had he cooked up this entire scheme? This might get Sam sent home after all! And at the very least he was clearly making the boy’s life far, far more difficult. He was taking a walk in the cold with Sweetpea when his phone chirped. He pulled it out in the drizzy, grey midnight. There was Sam. Cheeks puffy from crying, but a smile on his face. His blonde hair was frazzled and he was wearing a tight, feminine turtleneck Ben recognized as belonging to Liz. He looked like an angel. Ben wanted so badly to wrap the little boy up in his arms and hold him safe from all the terrible things in life. The text read: “Sam wants you to know he’s doing okay.” Ben put his phone away. Tears came to his eyes. He kept walking.