Mr. Hawkin

Chapter 9

I was in Mr.Hawkin's house, laying on his shitty futon the first time I felt so disturbed that I couldn't rationalize it and talk myself down. It was a saturday, which by this point meant I spent hours and hours and hours at his house. Since my house was a minefield of trauma just waiting to happen, it only made sense to spend my hours with Mr.Hawkin. He was out picking up the takeout we had ordered a half an hour before. We were having a movie day which entailed, cuddling, kissing, and of course watching movies. But, since he was out, we paused the movie and I was just kinda left on my own. Being as nosey as I am, I made my way up off the futon, and to his back bedroom. It was kind of odd, I've been involved with Mr.Hawkin for about 2 months now, been to his house on more than 10 occasions. Yet still, I've only ventured into his room so few times, I could count it on one hand. So being able to take this opportunity and explore his room to the furthest extent possible was attractive. I walk in and am greeted by an unmade bed, clothes piled up on the ground, and side tables stacked as high as possible with dishes and trash. The way he keeps his house has become second nature to me. I find it kinda comforting now, especially being able to see remnants of my last visit still lingering whenever I return again. I begin my first investigation in the endless void that was his closet. Boxes, shoes, pockets of still more clothes, a redundant organizer pressed up against the wall. I try my hardest to pick out something interesting at the top half of the clutter, but there's nothing that catches my eye. Well, there is a piece of paper that latches onto my eyes pulling me in, begging me to read it. I pick it up, and read what appears to be a letter from someone who is probably deep within his past.

Hawkin,

You've led me on for weeks now. I see the way you look at me, the meaningful glances, sideways smirks, and flirty moments of eye contact.

You have to let me be with you, experience you. Please, I've latched onto this like my life depends on it.

Please let me be with you.

With heart,

Chris.

Holy shit. My face is tingling with embarrassment. Who the fuck is Chris? Why the fuck is he referring to him by Hawkin? It makes me think that he may have been a student, same as me, swept away by the charm and charisma of Mr.Hawkin. I'm pissy, but I try to move on.

I next make the move to investigate his bedside table. The inside of the drawer is uncharacteristically organized and tidy. It's filled with nothing but a stack of 4 journals. They're really simple, not too fancy, just the same plain and casual composition books you could buy for 75 cents. I pick up the stack, after taking a mental note of their placement in the drawer. Immediately the cover of the top journal is written on. "Sam" is staring back at me from the cover. Holy shit. I flick through the pages trying to figure out what it is, there's a handwritten table of contents. "Thoughts...Experiences...Plans". I go to the section responsible for holding the thoughts about me. Every page in the section is absolutely filled, with little to no room for any extra thoughts. The things I'm reading are disturbing, and perverted. Beyond what I presumed he thought of me. Violent, grotesquely sexual, and objectively wrong. He described everything he wasted to do to me, sexually, mentally. Scrawlings of desires, and distinct, well thought out plans of how to hurt me. The experiences section of the journal offers nothing but a detailed, fully realized and mostly accurate account of everything we've ever done together. The texts, the days spent together, and our most intimate encounters. Any amount of time we have ever spent together, it's recorded. When flipping through I notice that there's events described that happened on a date I knew we were together, but they're events that I can't recall happening. My stomach is worked up, filled with knots, and turning around and around. I take a leap of faith, and begin reading through one encounter.

Tonight, Sam and I made out for 25 and ½ minutes. After this we sat on the futon, against the wall of my living room. Sam fell asleep in my arms, and I held him tightly making sure he was staying sound asleep. It was after 15 and ½ minutes that I began to take off mine and his shorts. After doing so, delicately to not wake him, I begin pressing my groin into his. I turn him onto his back, and begin pleasuring myself over him. After 1 minute and 8 seconds I climaxed onto Sam's groin. I put his and my shorts back on, and woke him up to take him home.

Holy shit. I can't even fathom what I've just read. I run to the bathroom and before I can even reach the toilet I vomit in the sink. The realization of who, and what Mr.Hawkin is hits me like a ton of bricks. I start to cry, why on earth would the man that made me feel safe, valued, and loved do this to me? He can't do this to me. I run the faucet to clear out the sink, and hurry back into his bedroom to examine the other journals. They're also marked with names. Chris, Liam, Mack, they're written so neatly and precisely. I'm not the only one. I can't properly digest what's happening to me. Am I nothing more than some conquest to him? Am I nothing more than a journal he can keep to save me for later?

I take pictures of all the journals with my phone. I'm sure to keep this evidence, to make sure whenever the time is right Mr.Hawkin is held accountable for who he is. I write down the names of the others in my notes app, hoping to reach out to them, to share my findings. That's when I hear the slam of a car door, and jangling of keys, crunching of plastic bags, I know he's home. I frantically put the journals back exactly as I found them. I sprint to the futon, and take a position similar to the one he left me in, and pretend like I'm transfixed on something on my phone. He sets the food down, and does nothing. He just looks at me. With the same sexual eyes, except now it feels predatory. Those eyes I had come to love, feel unsafe, feel monstrous.

"Come here." He sits down on the futon and pulls me close to him.

"This is all I was thinking about while I was away."

He kisses me, hard, and he doesn't pull away for what feels like hours.

I finally build up the courage to try and pull away, but he presses me into him even further.

I try to push him away. He pins my arms down, and is gripping onto them tightly. He won't let go. It's then that he puts his hand in my shorts, reaching for my dick. I try to move away but I can't. I jump off the futon finally getting a short breath of fresh air, I only up for mere seconds before he slams me down onto the coffee table sending the take out flying across the room. He grabs me by the throat, and takes off his shorts with the other hand. He shoves his dick in my throat, and starts thrusting in and out, I'm crying and gagging, and after only 1 minute of him doing this I threw up all over him. He finally stops only to mutter "What the fuck." I jump up and run out of his house, sprinting down the street, not looking back at all. I'm finally out. I hope I never have to hear from Mr.Hawkin again.