Two: Blackamailed!

SCARLETT

Oh no no no!

I was panicking as I turned my room upside down in search of that one thing that I couldn't afford to lose or misplace.

If it fell into the wrong hands... God! I couldn't start to imagine what'd happen if it fell into the wrong hands. The mortification. If anyone should find out I had that side to myself, if they should have the tiniest idea what I had scribbled in that journal, I'd be too mortified to live on.

And I wasn't even joking.

I groaned harshly as I turned my pink bag inside out but it wasn't there.

I had misplaced it.

I've lost it. I've always protected the journal as if my life depended on it; my life did depend on it. That was why I've always carried it with me anywhere I was going because I felt it was safer to do so. I've never liked the idea of not being where my journal was and that was why I couldn't leave it behind in my new room in my new hostel when it was just the first week of resumption.

And so I took it with me to that silly party that the experience of running into that jackass of a mafia heir that was my brother’s mortal enemy had ruined for, only to lose that one thing that I've always guided with my life.

I've always known about Damien Hunter. He was the heir to the Underground, our mafia’s number one enemy but I got to know more about him when he and Aiden became students here and the enmity between them grew even more intense than the one our fathers share.

Aiden was right about everything I've heard him say about him. He was a complete dick and was completely insufferable. And it's such a waste that personality belonged to that kind of body.

I suddenly remembered what was at stake, I remembered that I had lost one thing I shouldn't have and dread filled my entire body again. I couldn't think of how it had happened, how I'd managed to lose it. It was secure in my bag and there was never a time when I brought it out from my bag.

So how?

After minutes of pacing up and down in my room and looking for the journal that I was sure I wouldn't find, I gave up and started to think of ways out.

If I had really lost it and someone ended up finding it, then they'd have no way of tracing it back to me. My name wasn't written there and neither was my contact info too. They wouldn't be able to trace it back to me.

I was sad that I had lost the journal that had been my companion for more than three years now, the journal that has my darkest and most sinister fantasies but losing it was better than having someone read it and know that it belonged to me.

That thought comforted me for a while until another random thought popped into my head; someone might have intentionally stolen it from my bag or the person who picked it up might have seen it fall out of my bag.

That sent me into another wave of paranoia and I started pacing the length of my dorm room again, my thoughts spiraling into a thousand scenarios of what could possibly happen if someone bad knew that journal belonged to me.

Blackmail. Ridicule. Everybody getting to know my darkest fantasies.

God! Why did I have to scribble them down? They could have just existed in my mind but writing them down had been a way to soothe the ache from having a thousand darkest fantasies swirling in my head unwarranted.

But now, it was also going to be the end of me.

I couldn’t believe I was stupid enough to allow this to happen.

My phone pinged, shattering the silence in the room. I initially wanted to ignore it but then, I wanted something to distract me from the abyss that I had plunged myself into.

I picked it up and it nearly dropped from my hand.

Looking for this?

Attached to the message was a picture of my journal.

My legs gave way and I collapsed onto the bed. My hands were shaking around the phone as I stared at it, stared at the picture of my journal that was clearly taken by a guy from the hand holding it.

I stared and stared, silently wishing and hoping and praying that the message would disappear but it remained there, taunting me.

I… God! I felt my heart racing and slamming wildly against my chest and I could feel the room closing in on me, cutting off the airflow in the room and suffocating me. I placed my other hand over my chest as if that’d calm it down but it didn’t work.

My heart wouldn’t stop racing and I was doomed.

With shaky hands, I dialed the number that sent the message to me, and my heart jumped to my throat when it started to ring.

It rang and rang until it stopped ringing and I was about to dial it again when another message popped up.

I get that you’re agitated because a stranger is in possession of your most deranged and explicit sexual fantasies disguised as a lousy piece of journal but you don’t get to make the rules here. If I want us to have a conversation on phone, I’d be the one doing the calling and not you.

Are we clear?

I felt anger building within me at the rudeness and audacity in his tone and my first reaction was to give him a piece of my mind but then, I remembered that he was the one with the real power here and if I were to play my cards right, I shouldn’t be provoking him.

Why are you doing this? How did you get my journal? How did you even know it belonged to me?

And how did he even get my number if he wasn’t someone that knew me before? The probability of the journal being in the hands of someone who knows me made my cheek burn in embarrassment.

Fuck! I was so done for.

You seem to have a lot of questions.

I’m… just give me back the journal. I’ll give you anything you want, I’ll do anything you want. Just give me back the journal, please.

Three dots appeared immediately, then they disappeared for a while before appearing again.

Anything?

Yes, please. If it’s money, just name any amount. I’ll give you, just send my journal back to me.

Why am I not surprised? For a 19 years old who detailed how she’d like to live out one of the most deranged rape fantasies I’ve ever read, offering money to keep your shame a secret isn’t surprising.

Fuck! I choked back on a gasp. He had read everything. He knows everything and he knows that it belonged to me. I’d never be able to raise my head up in public again.

I’m… I’m just… what do you want me to do?

An address was the next thing that dropped in my inbox and my pulse spiked.

What’s the meaning of this?

Be there by 6 pm tomorrow. Alone. Not coming or showing up with a third party would mean you want the whole school to know how you desire to be tied and fucked like a dirty little slut and trust me, I’d be more than willing to watch what that’d mean for your reputation.

See you tomorrow.

He closed the chat before I could even form a reply and I was left staring at the message as the realization of what was happening just dawned on me.

My worst nightmare just came to pass.