Once His Nightmare, Now His Employee

CASPIAN’s POV

I should’ve taken the long way.

My fingers curled tighter around the straps of my backpack as I stepped into the east hallway—the one by the gym. The floor was always slick there, like sweat never really dried on it.

I hated this hallway. I always did.

Voices echoed behind the lockers. Laughter. The kind that didn’t sound like anyone was telling a joke.

I kept my head down.

The bell hadn’t even rung yet, but I was already late to homeroom. My math binder was barely holding together with duct tape, and the heel of my right shoe was flapping like a broken tongue.

I passed the janitor’s closet. That’s when I felt it.

Whoosh.

A heavy, soaking slap of water crashed over my head, drenching my hoodie and jeans in one second flat. It wasn’t a spill. It wasn’t an accident.

It was a damn bucket full of water.

There was a sharp inhale—someone pretending to be shocked—and then the hallway erupted in laughter.

“Oops,” a voice said, thick with mock innocence. “Guess someone needed a shower.”

I stood there, dripping, frozen. The water slithered down my back, into my socks. My backpack sagged, soaked through. Even my boxers were wet.

It wasn’t just the cold. It was the heat that burned my skin—the flush of shame crawling up my neck, the way every pair of eyes felt like a spotlight.

“Didn’t know rats could walk upright,” another voice muttered. That was Dorian. Of course it was Dorian.

I turned to look at him. He was leaning against the lockers, holding the empty bucket like it was a trophy. He smirked—perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect smug bastard.

“You’re a piece of shit,” I said, too quiet.

“What was that?” He cupped his hand to his ear. “Did the drowned rat just squeak something?”

More laughter. The kind that echoed.

I swallowed hard. My hands were clenched at my sides, but I didn’t move. What was I gonna do? Hit him? Then I would be the nerd weirdo who got suspended. Again.

So I did what I always did. I walked. Away.

Each squelching step down that hallway felt like a mile. My jeans clung to my thighs, heavy and humiliating. My face burned, but I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t cry.

The bathroom mirror didn’t lie.

I looked like hell—hair matted down, water dripping off my ears, hoodie clinging to me like a second skin. I peeled it off slowly, my arms trembling, not from the cold, but from everything else I couldn’t name.

I wrung it out over the sink. My t-shirt underneath was just as drenched. There was no point trying to save it.

So I took it off too.

My chest was pale and scrawny. I could already imagine the whispers. The stares. But I had a test today—History, third period. I had to take it. I couldn’t let Mr. Elms mark me absent. Not again.

I looked down at my shoes. Water sloshed inside them when I shifted. No way I could walk in those.

So I kicked them off. Socks too. They made that horrible peeling sound when I pulled them away from my skin.

And then I walked.

Shirtless. Barefoot. Backpack clinging to one shoulder like dead weight.

My heart pounded harder with every step toward Room 3B.

The classroom was already quiet when I pushed the door open. Heads turned. Then came the laughter—sharp and instant, like knives to the chest.

“What the hell…”

“Yo, did he come from a pool party?”

“Damn, someone forgot their dignity!”

Even the girls were laughing. Covering their mouths like it helped. I didn’t look at any of them. Not even Emma, who once lent me a pencil and smiled like I mattered.

Mr. Elms stood at the board, the blue marker still in his hand, his brow wrinkling behind his glasses.

“Caspian?” He said.

I nodded once. “Sorry, I’m late. I… I had an accident in the hallway. But I’m okay.”

“You… uh… you can go to the nurse, if…”

“No.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I’m fine. I just… I want to take the test.”

A few more chuckles. Someone faked a sneeze and said, “wet dog.”

I didn’t react.

I walked to my seat slowly, water squelching beneath me with every step. My skin stuck to the cold plastic chair as I sat, my eyes fixed on the paper in front of me.

The laughter died off eventually, replaced by the sound of pens scratching and chairs creaking. The room moved on, but I hadn’t.

I couldn’t stop the shaking in my fingers. I couldn’t stop the lump in my throat, the way it throbbed like it was trying to choke me from the inside. My chest felt exposed, not just from the missing shirt—but from everything.

But I still picked up my pen.

Because I had to pass. I had to be more than the boy with soaked jeans and bruised pride.

I blinked back the burn behind my eyes. And I started writing.

After the test, I turned to carry my bag and leave the room. Then, I saw Dorian standing next to me. An evil smirk on his face.

My breath hitched.

~~~~~

That was just one of the episodes where I was bullied by Dorian Keene in front of the other students. I was seen as a rat in the midst of the others. I was never accepted nor was I welcomed.

“Mr. Vale?” Dr. McMasters’ voice came from the left side and I was forced to open my eyes.

I sat up gently with his help. “Mr. Vale, you have to be more careful. Why were you having such attacks again? It's been months since you last had one.”

“I don't know why.” I lied right through my nose.

Years back, I was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. And it was all because of the assaults I faced in high school.

The sleepless nights still haunt me. I remember the assault—every flash of it. How I ended up dumped in the trash like I was nothing. How I almost collided with a trailer, dazed and broken.

Now, I can’t sleep unless every light in my room is on. I still hide inside my wardrobe—the only place that feels safe.

And when the PTSD hits, I lose control. I cry like a baby. I run around the house, frantic, like I’m trying to outrun the memories. But they always catch up.

I thought I had it under control. I really thought I did. But no. Dorian is back.

He is the face behind every sleepless night. My nightmare in human form. And yet… he's also my obsession—the one I need to crush to finally breathe freely. To destroy him, I can’t be weak. I must be sharper. Stronger. Fearless.

“Mr. Vale, are you still using your medication?” The doctor asked, his tone careful, clinical.

I nodded too quickly. “Yes. I was just… worked up. That’s all. Thanks for caring.”

My voice came out smoother than I felt, like I hadn’t just passed through another episode of PTSD, trembling like a child.

I got to my feet, brushing imaginary dust off my suit, willing my fingers to stop shaking as I slipped it back on.

“I’ll recommend something stronger. You can pick it up at the pharmacy unit,” he said, scribbling with quick strokes before tearing out a slip of paper.

I took it with a nod and a stiff smile, tucking the prescription into my jacket’s front pocket like it was a secret I wasn’t ready to admit.

Just as I turned to leave, a thought flickered—dangerous, bitter. I almost ignored it. Almost.

“What’s wrong with Mr. Keene?” I asked, too casually. “You know him, right?”

The doctor froze just a second before responding. “Yes, but… you know I can’t share patient details. That’s confidential, unless he gives permission.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice like the truth might be hiding between the tiles on the floor. “Come on. I’m not a stranger. Please. Just tell me something.”

“Mr. Vale, I can’t break the rules. You know that. I hope you understand.”

I didn’t. But I forced a tight nod. My fingers curled around the doorknob until the cold metal bit into my palm.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway—but my mind was racing, spinning, burning with possibilities.

How do I push Dorian? How do I pull the strings until he unravels like I did?

But fate didn't wait. The door to Dorian’s ward opened—and just like that, there he was.

He was standing and smiling faintly, as if he hadn’t ripped me apart and left me in a trash heap of my own fear.

I froze. My eyes narrowed. My voice, when it came, was steel dipped in ice. “Mr. Keene, such incompetence will not be tolerated at my company.”

He blinked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. “Excuse me… who are you?”

I nearly laughed. A dry, sharp scoff escaped before I could stop it. “Are you seriously pretending? I’m your boss. Vale Enterprises?”

He tilted his head, like my words were smoke he couldn’t catch. “Vale Enterprises…” he echoed, then frowned. “I know the name. But no company like that would ever hire me. I mean… my resume is a disaster.”

His eyes met mine, steady. Almost too steady.

“By the way… who are you?”

He’s pretending. He is trying to play lost. Playing innocent. Like he didn’t brand my soul with scars I still hide from.

Fine. Let him play. But he won’t win.

“Mr. Keene, you…”

“Mr. Vale,” a nurse interrupted sharply, her tone firm as she stepped between us. “Please don’t disturb the patient.”

She gently guided Dorian back into the ward—like he was fragile. Like he deserved kindness.

The doors shut behind them.

And I stood alone in the hallway, my jaw clenched, my hands shaking with a cocktail of rage and memories.

“You’re not getting out that easily,” I whispered.

He was once the monster who haunted my dreams. Now he’s my employee. My pawn. And I swear by everything in me—he will pay for every sin.