bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

No . . . Sir had promised he wasn't going to touch him. Oh, no, shit, no—this isn't what he was prepared for. He wasn't prepared for this. He wasn't ready—

"Casey . . ."

"No . . ." He shook his head, the single word no tumbling out of his mouth over and over again. No, no, no. This didn't make sense. "But-but you said . . ." This wasn't happening. "You-you said, you promised—"

"Casey, hey . . ."

His fingers were tingling. He ran them through his hair. Tightened. Gripped and pulled. "No, no—you said—I can't do this, I can't do this, please, don't make me do this—"

"HEY!" Big, scary grown-up man voice boomed and commanded quiet.

Case went still. His breath re-tightened in his chest, but his pulse continued to gallop.

Sir leaned in, his posture rigid. "What did I just say?" he asked, a low rumble. "Hmm?"

"I'm not gay," Case uttered—desperate, pathetic. Losing himself again to the ebb-and-flow of panic and fear. "Please, I'm not even gay—"

"Neither am I," Sir replied—detached, blunt. Leaving no room for emotion or confusion. "Don't get it twisted, Casey. This has nothing to do with being a faggot."

Case blinked at the harshness of the word faggot. As Sir's words settled over him, so did reason. If Sir wasn't gay . . . "Then why are you doing this to me?"

"Tsk, oh, come now, Casey, we've been through this—"

"No. No, none of that life is random tragedy bullshit! Why did you pick me—a boy—if you aren't gay? Because that wasn't random, this was a-a-a calculated fucking decisi—"

"Boys don't menstruate."

The word menstruate smacked into Case, leaving him stunned and breathless, like the shock of hitting concrete when his skateboard had flown out from under him.

"Boys don't get pregnant," Sir continued, his pragmatism slowly bleeding into derision. "And boys are so much more satisfying to break. You see, girls—bless 'em, they are sweet—they grow up conditioned to be scared. They expect to get assaulted. They get taught to fear men because our self-control can only go so far. So when tragedy and the cruel harshness of the world does befall them . . . deep down, they knew it was inevitable.

"But boys? No. When it happens to them, it blindsides them. It destroys them on such a profound level. And I, personally, find that exhilarating to witness."

Case stared at Sir, unable to respond. How was he meant to respond? What the hell could he say to something so insane, so cruel, so . . . inhuman?

"There's no need for the hysterics." Sir flicked his cigarette ash onto the bottom step. "I didn't tolerate it from the others, and I won't tolerate it from you. Understand?"

The others. Case remembered the hair still tangled in the brush. He remembered all the other tell-tale signs of life before him, everything he'd turned his blinders to.

He's not going to touch you, came the voice, penetrating the white noise. Remember? He's not going to touch you, not unless you ask him. That's what he wants. What he really wants.

Okay. That's what Sir wanted: to break him. To break him into submission, into asking for rape. Is it still rape if you ask for it?

I never asked for it. I won't ask for it. I'm okay, because boys don't get raped.

"No."

"What was that?" Sir asked, his tone losing its nonchalance.

Case refocused on his surroundings. Sir stared at him from across the basement, the physical distance between them insignificant. He could apologize, say he didn't mean it. Except he did mean it. So, swallowing down his nerves, he said it again, loud and firm: "No."