Chapter 16: The Paralyzing Silence
The silence in his room was the only thing Mark had left. The anonymous text lay blazing on his screen, a few chilling words that had shattered his reality: You seem happy for someone trying to cuckold Elijah Miller. I wonder what he would do if he finds out. Guess you're gonna know soon.
Cold sweat trickled down Mark's spine as he frantically scrolled back through his messages with Chloe—had they slipped up? Left a trace? His thumb hovered over the delete button until his vision blurred. No. No one knew. No one could know.
How could this happen? He was just a boy wanting to taste the flesh of his crush and one of the school's hot cheerleaders. Elijah was a delinquent, but he was just a kid like him, right? Can't he also enjoy in peace. Heck, it was the girl who seduced him first. Mark glanced at Chloe's last text—her bubbly promise to meet him tomorrow—no, he forced himself to calm down.
He frantically tried to call Chloe, but she didn't answer—she must have been home, likely exhausted from her day with him.
Desperate for an anchor, he chose the only person who could conceivably know the truth: Elijah. Mark dialed him, carefully smoothing the panic from his voice.
Elijah answered on the third ring, his voice mild, almost bored. "Hey, Mark. That's a surprise. How are you, man? What's going on?"
Mark laughed—a high, nervous sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, nothing much, Eli. Just checking in on my classmates, you know? Old habit from middle school." His fingers tapped against his thigh in a rapid, uneven rhythm.
"I used to do that on Sundays so I thought of trying it again—just reaching out to people, you know?" Mark's laugh cracked midway, brittle as dry twigs underfoot. His fingers tightened around the phone, the plastic groaning faintly. "You're doing okay, right? Nothing… weird going on?"
Elijah maintained the perfect classmate facade—the sound of a boy lounging in bed, utterly unbothered. "Weird? Nah. Just stuck at home 'cause Mom's pissed about some shit." A pause, then a chuckle so light it could've floated away. "Why? You sound kinda jumpy, dude. Why the random call, though? We haven't talked properly since the last math test."
Mark's forced another laugh. "Like I said—old habit! Figured I'd greet all my classmates. Used to do this back in middle school, remember?" The lie tasted like pennies on his tongue. He hadn't called a single soul since sixth grade.
"Huh. Unexpected," Elijah replied, his voice flat but not suspicious. "I'm good, man. Studying. Gotta get my grades up. Talk to you later, I guess."
Mark swallowed hard, staring at his darkened phone screen, the failure palpable. Elijah had given nothing away and had already hung up. No alarm, no cryptic warnings. Nothing. He exhaled shakily.
He immediately turned his attention back to the anonymous number and texted wildly, pleading.
Who is this? Please, don't tell Elijah! What do you want? I can pay you!
Elijah, reading the texts minutes later, grinned. The fish was flopping. He typed his reply, making the game infinitely worse:
Payment? Interesting. But what's stopping me from telling Elijah AND taking your money? You're not negotiating—you're begging. Beggars don't get conditions.
Mark's phone vibrated again before he could formulate a reply. The follow-up text came, colder than the screen itself:
Begging looks pathetic on a scholarship kid. You shouldn't be worried about Eli alone. What about Natalia? Your Russian girlfriend, in the same Grade 10 but a different class I think? Forgot? What would she think if she finds out?
Mark's panic spiked into pure terror. Natalia was the daughter of a city councilman, and their relationship was barely stable. Her father was a family friend and the one paying his tuition in this school—if she left him, his parents would literally kill him. His breath came in shallow gasps as he typed quickly: How the fuck do you know about Natty?!
How do i know about Natty?? For fuck sake I'm also a student. Are you that stupid? Oh, you got a lead on me ain't it? I'm a stu——
Elijah stopped mid-sentence, deleting the draft. Too sloppy. He exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his neck before typing slower this time:
You think I care? You're the one fucking two girls while riding Daddy Councilman's charity. Should I CC him when I send the screenshots?
Before Mark could reply, Elijah sent the final blow: a devastating, clear picture of Mark and Chloe, with his dick in her mouth, an image Elijah had personally taken on the sly before their surveillance began.
What do you want? Money? Name your price! Mark begged.
"I don't need your money," Elijah muttered to himself, enjoying the fear. He typed his final text: I need something else. All you should know is that someone that wants your doom has something on you. Be careful, Mark. Your doom is near.
Mark, now paralyzed with fear, sent a torrent of desperate messages—promises, threats, pleas for negotiation. Elijah left them all unanswered for the rest of the night, allowing the panic and paranoia to do the work for him.
This would teach the fucker to stay away from other people's property, Elijah mused, watching the sunset from his bedroom window. The burner phone lay buzzing with increasingly frantic texts from Mark.
Thinking of it made burst in laughter that chilled even himself as he read Mark's last pleading text: "I'll do anything—just tell me what you want!" The desperation was palpable, the fear deliciously ripe.
While Mark suffered, the Miller house found a quiet domestic rhythm. Elara, Iris, and Akari had returned from church the previous evening. Akari was noticeably more comfortable, her shoulders relaxed. She even shared a quiet laugh with Iris while unpacking the groceries they had picked up on the way back.
———-
Monday morning arrived, and Elijah was one of the first up. He took a bath and dressed in dark, casual clothes—a planned wardrobe for the day's criminal activities.
He found Elara in the kitchen, organizing schedules and packing her briefcase.
"Up early," Elara commented, noticing his unusual promptness. "A good sign, perhaps."
"Just getting a head start on studying," Elijah lied smoothly, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. Elara eyed his outfit—black jeans and a fitted gray hoodie—but said nothing as he leaned against the counter, taking a loud bite.
Elara packed several sheets of paper into a folder. She then called out to Iris, who was coming out of the downstairs washroom with a bubbly Akari. She looked happy—quite unlike the traumatized girl she had been a few days prior. "Iris! Remember, you need to go for the homework packets at four. Both Elijah's and Akari's." Iris nodded, already running a mental checklist.
"And Elijah," Elara fixed him with a sharp look. "You are still grounded until next week since you want it so badly. Do not cause a scene." With one last stern warning, Elara grabbed her coat and left for work.
As the door clicked shut, Elijah turned to Iris, deeply confused. "Homework packets? Since when does Mr. Markov give homework? I never had homework from him. Ever."
Iris explained, "Mr. Markov was chosen as the teacher to help students with extra lessons—you know, to boost grades. Used to do it back then. But he personally added a homework system for those placed in his remedial class. Akari's just 11th grade's thing. Mom signed you up the day you brought Akari home. She was supposed to tell you."
Elijah groaned, sinking into a chair. "Remedial? Me? This is unbelievable. How can Mom even think of this. What kind of sorcery is this!!"
Iris laughed, a genuine, amused sound. Akari, standing near the sink, also laughed softly, covering her mouth. Elijah shot her a glare, and Akari instantly looked down, her laughter dying.
"Your midterm grades were trash," Iris shot back, popping a grape into her mouth with smug satisfaction. "Mom saw the report card you hid under your mattress." Elijah's jaw clenched—he'd forgotten Iris sometimes cleaned his room when he was out.
Eli shot Iris a glare, the apple core crumpling in his grip. "Aren't you just the perfect little spy?" His voice dripped venom, but Iris only shrugged, unbothered, as Akari hovered awkwardly by the fridge.
Iris grinned. "Enjoy your extra credit, Eli. At least Akari has company now."
Elijah snorted and served himself a breakfast of cold cereal. Iris left, telling him, "Wash the dishes when you're done," before heading to her room.
Elijah ate, annoyed by his mother's latest maneuver. Akari sat opposite him, also eating silently, but Elijah could see her glancing at him from time to time—a mixture of weariness and curiosity.
"Is it true?" Akari suddenly asked, her voice barely a whisper, interrupting the silence.
Elijah paused, stunned by her unexpected initiative. "Is what true?"
"What you said before," she mumbled, her cheeks turning instantly red. "About the... the sex therapy. Was it a just a joke??"
Elijah's annoyance vanished, replaced by a triumphant smirk. He leaned forward. "Are you considering taking my offer?"
Akari's face deepened into crimson, and she looked away, fidgeting with the spoon. "I was just asking," she mumbled into her cereal bowl.
Elijah's smirk widened, cold and predatory. "It's true, of course. It's quite a specialized skill. But you would have to pay for each session, Akari. It's quite a hassle for me to help someone so... innocent." He watched her fingers tremble around her spoon. "Though considering your situation, I might offer a discount—if you're truly desperate."
Akari went silent, turning an even deeper shade of red. She didn't reply, focusing intensely on her breakfast.
"Tick-tock, Akari," he murmured, dragging his spoon through leftover milk. "The longer you wait, the worse those nightmares get. Poor thing, might be waking up screaming every night... hope it doesn't reach that level" He clicked his tongue, watching her fingers clench around her bowl.
Elijah leaned closer. "Tell me, do you still feel his hands on you when you shower? Bet you might be taking boiling hot baths, don't you?"
Akari's spoon clattered into the bowl. She didn't deny it. Elijah's grin turned razor-sharp—he'd struck nerve-deep.
The kitchen faucet dripped in the silence between them. Three plinks of water hitting stainless steel before Akari whispered, "Would it... make it stop?" Her hands were fists now, knuckles bleaching white.
Elijah leaned back, studying her. "Not immediately," he admitted, watching her shoulders slump. "But give it time—pain always fades when replaced with something sharper." His fingers trailed along the table's edge, stopping just short of hers. "Like pleasure."
With that he stood up, leaving his bowl unwashed—he had better things to do than obey Iris' petty demands. Akari remained frozen at the table, staring at the space where Elijah had been as if he'd left scorch marks in the air.
He had a tight schedule. He texted Vanessa: "Come around 1 PM. I have to meet my friends at 2 PM sharp. We can film the next video when I get back from dealing with my matters."