This time, I woke up in bed in a dormitory. I didn’t move except to open my eyes and stare around at a long room of beds made up the same with the same covers, same sheets, and same lumps asleep underneath. The only difference I could see was the color of the hair on the heads except where the person had pulled the sheets over themselves.
On the pale blue walls were various posters of rock stars, soccer players and other athletes, and photos of family.
The windows were many and here, too had individual curtains obviously the beds occupant’s preference.
“You awake?” the boy next to me asked in a quiet voice. His accent was odd, I identified it as Saudi, and the face I looked at was dark skinned, dark eyed and young. About sixteen.
I lifted my covers and stared; I was in boxers of the British royal flag and grimaced at my choice. No T-shirt and saggy socks. My body was taller and more mature than I remembered; I had definitely gone through puberty. I looked about sixteen this time and I’d wake with an obvious hard on. I blushed, threw the covers aside, and went running down the row of beds to where my subconscious said was the restrooms.
Here were a row of stalls and sinks, mirrors over the porcelain tubs and a long counter. Plush towels and washcloths were stacked neatly in an armoire.
The showers were one room over, another row separated by shower curtains and tiled floors with drains. This boys school was exclusive from the appointments I could see. I rushed into the closest toilet and went with evident relief.
The Saudi boy followed me in and he wore royal purple PJs with gold piping and a crest on the breast pocket. He leaned on the sink and watched me. Slowly, he pushed the stall door closed, his hot eyes made me uneasy.
“Any more dreams, Aidan?” he asked finally and his English sounded very Etonian with Arabic overtones.
“Dreams?” I shook the last drops off and tucked myself back in. coming out; I washed my hands and stared at myself in the mirror over the sinks. I saw an average height teen with fair hair and purple eyes with thick dark lashes, a straight patrician nose, lips on the plump side, dimples, high cheekbones, and porcelain fair skin.
“Too pretty,” I muttered and he laughed.
“You say that every time, Aidan. Glenellen tries to bugger you every chance he gets but you’ve managed to avoid him.”
I gave him a look. “Oh, don’t worry. I like you but not that way. I prefer girls.”
“Khalid, right?” I asked suddenly, his name popped into my head.
“Same as it was last week when you met me.”
“Sorry. Bad with names. Where are we again?”
“Somerset. School for the gifted. Your parents sent you here while they’re on sabbatical.”
“I told you all this?” I was suddenly chilled standing in the drafty bathroom in my underwear.
“No. I hacked into the school files and checked you out. You were mysteriously mum. Chelmsley and his cronies paid me to find out about your particulars.”
“And?” I prompted.
“Your DOB is January 6th, 1996. You were born in Cornwall. Your name is Aidan Argent. Your parents are Moira and Michael, both missionaries in Africa for the next three years while you finish Prep School. You have a trust that funds this place. You’re paid up until January and then, another 3000 pounds are due. Your school fees are paid with money orders or bank drafts, sometimes-prepaid credit cards that the financial officers think is odd. Your transcripts show excellent grades and exceptional language skills.”
“You hacked into my files,” I said flatly.
“A few others, too. Chelmsley and Glenellen like to make sure their victims are worthy of their attention. But then, you are so pretty he’s made an exception in your case.”
“What are you his pimp?” I was adding in my head, another 16 years had gone by since my last life. I’d been 14 in 93 and now, was only 16 in 2012.
I could only imagine the changes in the world in those sixteen years.
“Can you take me to the computer room, Khalid?”
“Why? I’ve got an I Pod. You want to surf the net?”
His words sent a bubble of unease through me. I made him explain and was in awe at the sheer volume of information out there available to anyone with a computer.
We spent the next several hours surfing the net until had a working knowledge of it. He watched me with a puzzled look before finally asking why I seemed so unused to it.
“Why? Did I seem to know about it before?” I asked him.
“Well, you weren’t taking any computer science but your files said you came from Wilson. Wilson has a strong comp program.” His eyes were dark and soft looking.
“You’re a second son of Sheikh Amani, right?”
“Twenty second, actually,” he grinned. “I’ll get a good education, a nice place to live wherever, a cushy job in finance and a fare-thee-well.”
“You’re a nice guy, Khalid.”
“For a pimp?”
“Why do you do it?” I was curious. His face hardened and he looked sad for a minute before he answered.
“Because he did it to me, Aidan. And I’m scared of him. Like everyone else except you. You’re the only one he’s after that hasn’t given in or been coerced.”
“He won’t get me,” I vowed. “And I won’t let him get you again.”
He didn’t say anything and I suspected he didn’t believe me; his eyes had that wounded look I had come to recognize. Like me, he had not found salvation in reporting such abuse but had learned to deal with it in his own way.