It must be noted that this story is told by Billy and that these events have already transpired. He simply recounts events.

Additionally, thank you for all your reviews. This is my first full-length story and constructive criticism is welcome.

Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter Three

I wake up to fingers running through my hair and an arm holding my torso close to the warm body behind me. It's not entirely romantic, I think. The actions seems to be unconscious, like an instinct such as breathing or digesting; they are done without any thought or reason.

"Good morning," I hear coming from the warm body. However, I don't reply. He knows I am awake. "Do you wanna get some breakfast?" he asks, to which I nod my head tiredly. From the kitchen I can smell the sweet scent of my father's specialty blueberry pancakes and the slightly invasive aroma of bacon.

I pull the covers back and sit up. I stay like that for a moment trying to clear my sleep-dazed mind. I eventually get out of bed, go over to the dresser to pull out a pair of clean boxers and slip them on.

"Don't you wanna shower first?"

I only shake my head, "You can if you want."

"Already did," he replies and I turn around to give him an incredulous expression. His eyes are usually a clear, sparkling blue but this morning there is a mist clouding them, evidence of the afterglow.

"You mean you took a shower and then got back into the bed that we had sex on?" I ask.

He shrugs. "It wasn't really sex, I mean, nobody's parts were inside of anyone. It was more of a," he rolls his hand around trying to come up with the term, "It was more of a dry hump."

"Right," I say flatly and walk out of my room, "I'm going to eat breakfast."

"Me too," he says all too cheerfully and I can hear him jump out of my bed.

I climb down the stairs into my kitchen. It is a generic one; It has counters, ovens, refrigerators and stoves on the outside along the walls and an island counter in the middle. I take a seat on the island and my father is frying up an egg in front of me. Plates of blueberry pancakes and bacon rest to left or right of him and the television in the living room is showing Ellen DeGeneres talking to a male homosexual. I secretly wonder if my father researches gay people in his spare time.

My father turns around quickly and hands me a plate of breakfast. I look up at his face and he is beaming. You would think I had just won a championship or gotten accepted into Brown or Harvard. "Congratulations," he says and his voice, and it looks like even his smile, is about to crack. He comes around the island and his arms are spread, tears are welling up in his eyes. He goes in for the hug and I flinch. "You're finally a man."

"Oh, God," I groan. My father can be really dramatic at times. I ask where mom is.

"At a friends," he says and I begin to suspect that that was his idea. My father breathes deep and hugs me tighter and I wonder if he realizes that he is inhaling the scent of sweat and quite possibly semen. Or that he is hugging his son who is covered in both of those, residual massage oil and whatever else Jesse might have put on me while I was asleep. He lets out a squeal, "I'm so happy."

"Me too, dad. Me too." I pat his back and he takes that as a signal to let go, but not before giving me one final squeeze.

Jesse walks into the room just then, he is fully clothed and looks immaculate. The activities of last night are nowhere to be seen in his delicately styled hair or wrinkle-free shirt and he takes a seat beside me. He smells fresh, like soap. "Good morning," he greets my father, flashing him a grin. My father returns the gesture.

"Yes, what an excellent morning it is," he chimes and sits across from us while nibbling on a piece of bacon. His stare alternates from Jesse to me to Jesse. He is grinning madly.

"So, umm, how was your dinner last night," I ask trying to make the situation less awkward. Well, less awkward for me; I'm sure Jesse and my dad are unaware of the uncomfortable atmosphere. "Y'know, with your co-workers and stuff."

"It was great," he says dismissively and watches as Jesse piles pancakes onto his plate.

I chew on some egg and swallow. I did not trust the pancakes; they might have aphrodisiacs baked right into them or something. "You wanna give us a ride to school today?" I question.

"Sure thing, boy-o." With that, my father gets up and ruffles my hair. I am sure he threw in a 'good job' in there somewhere but the 'boy-o' thing knocks me off balance.

I rest my head on my palm and turn to watch Jesse eat. I am not too hungry myself. The fact that my father saw us naked in bed together made me lose my appetite — that and the probability that he went upstairs to tell all his online friends his son finally lost his virginity. Yes, my father has online friends. He plays MMORPGs too.

I watch Jesse in boredom as he molests a breakfast sausage.

His tongue flicks out, tentatively, licking its tip before going on to moisten his lips. A seductive smile tug at the ends of his mouth; his teeth close around the end of the sausage. They pierce into the meat and juices flow from the edges of his mouth and dribble down his chin. He gives me a genuine grin and I can not help but laugh and smile as well. It is contagious. He wipes the juices off with his middle and index fingers and places them near my lips. Instinctively, my face recoils; his grin takes a turn for the devious. Inching his fingers closer, I open my mouth unable to resist the obvious sexuality of it all and suck delicately on his digits.

This plays on for a couple seconds before my father walks back into the room. He is unfazed by the sight before him and simply asks if we are ready to leave. I hum a 'Mhmm' and the sudden wave of vibrations cause Jesse to pull his fingers from my mouth. He wipes them on his shirt as if he just touched something gross and aptly turns away from me. I stand up from my seat and skip upstairs. I shower and dress in a matter of minutes and am downstairs again. My father and Jesse are at the doorway about a foot apart. Jesse seems to be telling a story to my attentive father whose arms are crossed in concentration. When they see me coming down the stairs, they both give me a mixed expression of 'wow, that was fast' and something similar to that of a deer-caught-in-the-headlights.

Without moving his gaze Jesse quickly says 'I was on top,' and opens the door for my father, who he ushers out. I climb down the rest of the stairs, sling on my backpack that was resting by the door, and exit the house, closing the door behind me.

The car ride to school is peacefully silent and my father announces he is going on another business trip with mom.

I am sitting in chemistry class and my hand is raised. The teacher calls on me, "Yes, Mr. Stockholm?"

"May I move up closer?" I ask, "I think my eye sight is going."

"Certainly, Mr. Stockholm, however I suggest you get glasses or," he adds in good humour, "you stop masturbating and maybe your eyesight will get a bit better." The class laughs and I move up a couple seats. In reality my eyesight is perfect, but I saw Nicky sitting up here and he seemed sort of lonely being new and all so I thought I would help him out. The rumoured side effects of jerking off, or self abuse as they call it in Britain, are also myths. I jerk off once a day and I can spot a fly across a room.

"Hey," I greet as I place my books on the two-person desk.

"Hey," he replies and we finish off the notes.

The projector turns off and the lights are back on. The sudden change in brightness is greeted with groans and I get started on the work. Not that I like to admit it, but chemistry is my worst subject and I struggle to keep up a low A. It just does not click.

My eyes glare intently at the textbook in front of me, trying to ignite them or rip them to shreds with my inherent psychic abilities.

"You need help?" I hear a voice ask from beside me. I turn my head to see green eyes looking at me. They belong to Nicky and I can see a hint of concern in them.

"Yeah," I breath and he scoots closer to me. He smells sweet, like fruit punch.

"What do you need help on?" he asks looking at my sheet.

"Everything," I sigh and his eyes flick over to my face. He smiles shyly and attempts to teach me.

Cedar Crest Secondary operates in a three classes per day schedule with a universal lunch period after the second class. At this time all the students eat their lunches, hang out or hold club meetings. I am in one of those meetings. I am the Grade Eleven Representative in Student Council as well as its Vice President.

We go over plans for the Halloween costume contest, the pumpkin carving contest and the autumn dance. It goes smoothly and we finish the meeting early. As people start to leave, Jesse approaches me. His baby blue eyes hold a predatory glint.

"Nice job, el presidente." He purrs, standing next to me as I gather papers together.

"Thanks," I reply and hold out the papers, "Carry these for me, will you?" He takes them.

"'Kay." He says obediently and follows me out the door, walking to my left, "So anyways, I was wondering if you'd like to hang out tonight."

"Sure," I say noncommittally, "Who else is coming?"

"N-no one," he stumbles, averting his gaze. It is unbecoming of him, "It's just us so meet me at the park, 'kay?"

"Alright." I agree and with that confirmation, Jesse runs off.

"I have a game meeting to go to," he yells over his shoulder and disappears into the crowd.

"Okay," I say, knowing he can not hear me and walk to my locker. The football team meets up on Tuesdays, not Mondays. I shrug it off and spot Nicky in the halls. We talk.

After school, I did not see Jesse and walk home by myself. The park and its silence seem to be missing that feeling of being observed I am acquainted with and the bus is near empty.

I talk with Mr. Broflovski and he tells me about his daughter. She is in first grade now and the teachers all compliment her cheeriness and ability to learn so quickly. They believe she might skip a grade and you can see the pride in Mr. Broflovski's eyes as he tells me this. They are shimmering and I wish I could have captured this moment or described it at his funeral because Mr. Broflovski dies several days later. His body is found at a bus stop, his left eye surgically removed. The unfortunate part, though, is not that his wife is left weeping at his grave after everyone else had left or that his daughter had become fatherless hours after she had skipped a grade. No, what is unfortunate is that Mr. Broflovski is neither the first nor is he the last victim. His funeral is a closed casket.