Changlings (M/M)

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Stoutland395
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Changlings (M/M)

Post by Stoutland395 »


*****

“Ben?”

For a second after I said his name, I thought I was mistaken, judging by the look on the man’s face and how it seemed sour at the mention. Subtly, but I had an inkling from the change in the man’s gaze that I was right. His breathing stammered, and his foot tapped impatiently on the floor. His lips tightened, and he seemed to mumble something under his breath. The man looked at me in a way, as if my recognition was an inconvenience to him – or even a detriment. My own sense of uneasiness thought it was a curse, more toward himself than at me. Looking back at that moment I guessed his name I suppose I was correct after all.

“It’s me, Bryce!” I said, pointing to myself, wondering if he recognized me.

A lot changed since high school. I lost a considerable amount of weight, slimming down to a leaner 180 lbs. and discovering a newfound appreciation for myself. I let my old buzzcut to grow out liberally into a medium-length brow bob that curled around my ears. I appreciate my eyes the most; with the extra cheek fat shed, my eyes seemed to have widened into a pair of bright blue saucers. Overall, I felt as if I changed for the better. Had I stayed true to my high school form, I wouldn’t have had the confidence to acknowledge the man standing before me.

He was larger than me. I was never a strong person, but my girth in high school led many to falsely think I was stronger than I was. Now with a much leaner appearance, it was painfully obvious how meek and ineffective I would be in a struggle. The man, if it was indeed Ben, owed his breadth of frame to his former position on the football team, which seemed to have stayed with him all these years later. His hair was black and short like the dark stubble along the sides of his face that merged with the five-o’clock-shadow covering up the lower half of his dreary face.

It was strange seeing him now. My only certainty it was Ben were those bright green eyes. I remember from high school the handsome image of a fresh-faced youth full of confidence and promise. But now, those green eyes were the only constant. His button-up shirt stuck out of his waistband half-way, and his oversized windbreaker carried several smudges and tears. His brown work boots were caked on the bottom with layers of dried dirt and mud. Despite appearing down-beaten, those same distinct green eyes remained.

“Um, so… Could I get some Marlboros?” he asked, changing the subject. His voiced resonated with a deep gravel, almost monotone. It was a far cry from the loud, obnoxious tone I remembered. I hesitated, thinking he didn't recognize me, which wouldn’t be surprising. We weren’t incredibly close, more akin to acquaintances who shared several classes together. Maybe I was mistaken? I turned around and unlocked the glass cabinet, grabbing out a couple packs of cigarettes.

As I did, I noticed the sound a familiar click from behind me.

I quickly turned around. The man was standing at the front door of the gas station, flipping the sign around to where I could read “Opened.” The small metal dial above the door handle had been turned to the left, the source of the click. I froze in place, staring on. My heart sank into my stomach. I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but I was afraid of hearing an answer I knew he would give. The man returned to the counter. For a second, he turned his gaze downward. His cheeks turned a soft shade of pink. The man shook his hand hidden in his jacket pocket, getting my attention.

I was in shock. Was this really Ben? Never could I have imagined him in a such a position like this! Sure, he was a bit pompous and arrogant from what I remembered, but he never seemed like the guy who be running around robbing people. It felt like the wind was knocked out of me. I wanted to say something, plead for mercy, but the shock and fear prevented me from doing so. With his hand still in his pocket, he gestured to me again and spoke in a hushed whisper.

“Money... Let’s go!”

I looked around the station, then out the windows. Aside from my own car and one other I assume belonged to the man, the parking lot was vacant. The roads, too, were unnaturally empty. Fighting back was out of the question. The distinct shape of the object in the man’s pocket was undeniable. In the time it would take me to clear the counter, he could have me on the floor just as quickly. My phone was in my pocket, but I would need time to unlock the screen and dial 9-1-1, and I would still need to get clear of the counter and get somewhere safe.

I opened the register despite my shaking hands, and I stuffed a small plastic bag with bills and change. It must’ve been more than two thousand dollars in that bag.

The man snatched the bag from me and pointed to me again. “Backroom,” he demanded. I pointed to my right by the counter. There was a doorway leading to the breakroom. The man walked behind the counter and gripped his large hand around my elbow, walking behind me as he lead me to the backroom. The door slammed behind me.

“Don’t!” he shouted when I began to turn around to face him. I froze again, standing straight like a subordinate called to attention.

Something pressed against the back of my head, sending me into a panic.

I began to hyperventilate, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I screamed out “Ben, please--!” My voice cracked and I choked. Even if I found the strength to continue pleading, it wouldn’t have done any good. I felt whatever pressed against my head lifting away, and a hand reached from behind me and covered my mouth. The man jerked me backward and hissed in my ear, telling me to be quiet. It felt like an eternity that we stood there in the backroom. I stared at him from the corner of my eye. The man shut his eyes, mumbling to himself, perhaps considering what his next course of action would be.

His thumb slipped and pressed down on my nose, forcing me to hold my breath. After a few seconds I reach up and grabbed his hand, panickedly trying to breathe. That seemed to snap him back in the moment, and he let go of me, allowing me to take a deep breath.

“Put you hands behind your back!” he barked.

I did so without protest, throwing my arms back and grasping my wrists. It was easy to guess what was happening, even if I hadn’t heard tape ripping away. The man began wrapping up my arms, starting mid-forearm and across my hands. He mummified my hands in tape behind my back; with my hands gripping my wrists when the tape went on, I wouldn’t be able to pick at the tape and get out. “Legs, together!” he demanded. He knelt and wrapped more tape around my ankles several times over before winding up my shins and calves. He stopped just below my knees, finishing up with several more layers of tape.

When he ripped the tape, I lost my balance and fell backward. The man caught me in a tight bearhug and dragged me to the janitor’s closet. He shoved me forward, and I bumped onto the doorway, bouncing off it and falling to my knees. A kick to my back sent me fully onto the floor, and I let out a yelp banging my elbow and shoulder on the hard tile. I kicked around on the floor, scooting backward and deeper into the closet with the man slowly stepping closer to me. I made it to the corner of the closet and with nowhere else to go, the man knelt and straddled my legs. The dim fluorescent light shining behind his head cast a frightening shadow over his face.

My heart pounded so hard I felt it throbbing in my ears. The man let out a long sigh and snatched a cloth rag off the shelf above me. He pressed the folded cloth to my mouth. I tightened my lips in resistance to what was coming, but it didn’t take much prodding to get me to relent. The cloth filled my mouth and puffed my cheeks. I coughed a little, but the man payed no attention, shoving it in as far as he could until I could close my lips together. He took the tape and rolled it around my head several times, catching the hairs on the back of my neck; it compressed around my cheeks, making things worse. I flexed my tongue to the back of my throat to keep the cloth from choking me.

I was completely helpless, tied up in the back of a closet in an empty gas station, unable to move or scream. I expected the man to simply take his money and leave, doubting he would take the time and trouble to taping me up only to kill me the next moment. It was uncomfortable but still a relief I might still make it out of this unharmed. Instead of leaving, the man sat next to me; he let out a loud frustrating groan and raked his hands through his short hair, scratching his head. A moment of silence passed before he spoke.

“I wasn’t sure at first it was you when I came in. It’s been a while hasn’t it, Bryce? Sigh… I’m sorry, man. When you said my name, I almost turned around and walked out, but… I really need the money. Things just haven’t been so good lately, not for a while anyway. You seem to be doing well for yourself. You weren’t like this the last time we saw each other. I remember you being a little bigger in the middle.” Ben patted my flat stomach and jostled my hair. “You look good, man, really. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He paused and frowned, chocking back the cracking in his voice. “I’m really sorry, man.”
Without another word, Ben got to his feet and left through the backdoor with his stash of money.

I don’t remember how long I stayed bound and gagged. When it got late, and the drowsiness took over, I relaxed my tongue and almost choked on the cloth in my mouth. I flexed my poor excuse for muscles and swung my legs around, but the layers of tape kept me mostly immobile. I eventually worked out a way to push the cloth aside in my mouth and ease the soreness in my tongue. I fell over to my side and rested my head on the tile, and I curled my body into a ball. The store got colder at night.

My manager screamed when she found me laid out on the floor. Of course, she called the police. They took statements and gathered the surveillance footage for evidence. It was simple enough to explain. What I didn’t expect was my response when the officer asked me for name.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say much. He had a gun in his pocket, and he asked for the money is all.” I know they would figure things out eventually. Looking back, I don’t know why I withheld like that. Maybe it was pity, or maybe it was a bit of understanding between two old acquaintances. He wasn’t like the last time I saw him. I just wish I could’ve talked to him before he left.