Date: Fri, 13 Jan 2017 19:23:45 -0600
From: Kurt King <kingkurt1339@gmail.com>
Subject: The New Life of Xander King Chapter 8

	This story may contain sexual acts between males, persons below the
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	This story is fictional and entirely the work of the author's
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	In the last Chapter, Xander confessed his feelings to Finn with a
kiss in front of Luke, then hung out with Luke, who bought him art supplies
as his birthday present. After that, Xander went shopping with Mrs. Scott
and Finn for school supplies and a computer, and while there, Finn slapped
Xander for putting himself down, and ended with Xander telling Finn to,
well...go read it. This chapter will show repercussions from that slap.

	Also – a note about the inconsistency some of you will probably
notice once it happens will be in the afterword.

~~Chapter Eight – Missing Time~~

[Xander]

	I may be stupid, but I'm not THAT stupid. I left the phone at the
house. And the GPS Finn stuck in my run bag. I found it after I found out
he'd found my journals.

	I took some food from the fridge, made sure I had Trenton, and then
left. I have a second phone that they don't know about, with prepaid
minutes and data and stuff. It's cheap, but it works, and I get some
internet, as long as I limit it. I only use it when I run. That was ten
days ago.

	The first few nights are always the roughest. After that, though, I
usually find someone who'll take me in for a night or two. I'm already
damaged goods, I'll do whatever I need to to get a bed, to get a warm place
to sleep and some food to eat.

	Not that I'm so willing once I'm in the situation. I'm such a
coward and a wuss, and can never keep my word. I try to. I never make
promises because I know that, inevitably, no matter how much I don't want
to, I'll back out. Try to back out, anyway.

	After checking my messages after my most recent 'patron', I find
someone who looks like a decent person who says they'll let me spend the
night. They'll probably be just as rough as everyone else, unfortunately,
but hopefully they won't kick me out after using me. That occasionally
happens, and they say it's because I decided to back out instead of keep my
word. A word I never actually gave, since I don't make promises, in case I
can't keep them.

	I arrive at his apartment and knock on the door, and wait for him
to open it. When he does, I'm confronted by a concerned, but friendly face,
and for the first time in forever, I actually feel safe. But only for a
moment. I know that once inside, I'm going to try to talk my way out of
having sex, and then he's going to force me to let him fuck me. I hope he's
not as big as the last guy, I'm sore, and it hurts to sit or even move. He
fucked me all night without rest.

	This 'patron' is about twenty or so, with light brown, almost
blond, hair and bluish-brown eyes. He has a slender build, and since he's
dressed in nothing more than boxers, I can see that he's got a muscular
body, with defined abs and no hair.

	I can't help it, the moment I see him, I get hard. He'll probably
like that, like all the perverts and pedophiles who 'sponsor' me after I
run away. I just wish that, for once, when I back out of it, they'd let me
and not rape me.

	"Hey, Michael," he uses the name I use on the app. "Come on in."

	I enter his apartment and look around. A couch, a coffee table, a
T.V., a kitchen, but no dining room table, too small for that, and three
doors, probably bathroom and bedrooms.

	"You're pretty cute," he says. He's got a boner, too, I can see it
pushing through his boxers. He probably can't wait to get started, it
almost always starts once I'm inside. "Especially for a boy of just
thirteen. Get comfortable, though as you're a little dirty and smelly, you
can go take a shower, if you want. The bathroom's there," he gestures to
one of the doors. I don't have clothes your size, but if you want to borrow
one of my shirts, you can. Or you can go naked, doesn't matter to me. New
couch, so it's pretty clean, and the carpet's nice. I keep it vacuumed, and
shampoo it every now and then, which is why it's so soft to stand on."

	That wasn't a request. He wants me to take a shower before he fucks
me silly. Some of them are like that, and when they suggest it instead of
tell me to take a shower, I still have to do it. If I don't, they'll yell
at me or beat me or force me into the shower and rape me in there.

	I go into the bathroom and strip off my clothes, checking inside
his medicine cabinet for anything useful, but don't find anything. He
doesn't have any razors, which I find odd. Does he shave? His face is
smooth and he doesn't have a beard or mustache.

	I turn on the water and step in, washing myself as it heats up,
adjusting the temp when it gets too hot for me. I try to take the shower as
fast as possible, he might be one of the kind to punish me for taking too
long. I do my best to make sure I'm clean everywhere, including in my ass,
so that he'll be happy to penetrate it, after I try to talk my way out and
he forces me to let him in.

	Once the shower is done, I dry off with the towel hanging on the
bar on the shower door, walking into the living room as I dry my
hair. Something smells delicious, and my stomach rumbles. I look over to
see him making grilled cheese. I love grilled cheese, and really hope he
doesn't see the hope on my face. Or hear my stomach growl.

	"Figured you might be hungry," he laughs when my stomach growls,
not looking at me. "Since you said you'd been out on the street for a week
and a half. Don't have much, but is grilled cheese alright? It's really all
I can afford until Friday, payday."

	I stare at him, not sure if he wants me to answer his question or
not, and he looks over at me. I'm scared. He doesn't look angry, just
friendly and a little amused. He's probably a good actor. The three
'patrons' I've had since I ran were all good actors, pretended to be fine
right until they snapped. I can't see the acting in his eyes, which means
that he's really, really good, and that means it'll probably be even worse
tonight. Maybe this is the time I get kidnapped for real, not kept for a
night or two or four.

	"You can sit down," he looks at me, then laughs. "Don't need to put
the towel under you, so long as you cleaned your rear-end pretty well,
including in the crack," I nod.. "I was naked before you came in, myself,
and sit naked on that couch all the time. Hope that's not a problem for
you."

	Translation: don't put the towel under me, and he'll be getting
naked shortly. He probably doesn't want me naked so that after he screws
me, I'll leak out onto his couch and make a big mess, so that he can beat
me for it. Or he's one of those people who enjoys himself, and likes
getting his own cum on the couch.

	I drape the towel across my shoulders and sit on the couch, and a
few minutes later, he walks into the living room with a plate of grilled
cheese sandwiches and sets them on the table in front of me, sitting down
beside me and grabbing a sandwich for himself, taking a bite out of it.

	"Go ahead and eat, little man," he says. "They won't bite."

	I'm really hungry, and once he tells me to eat, I hesitantly grab
one. Once I take a bite of the first one, though, I don't stop until I'm
full, six grilled cheeses later.

	"Damn," he ruffles my hair, and I flinch from the contact. "Seven
grilled cheeses for such a little guy. I know I said you're cute, but
seeing you naked, with those abs developing on you, you're pretty nice,
pretty hot, actually, and I can see why you'd be tempting to others. So...I
know you usually trade having sex for a bed, and are probably waiting for
that, but I was wondering if you'd just talk for now."

	"Talk?" I look at him, confused.

	None of the 'patrons' have ever wanted to talk before, they always
just want to screw me, then either sleep in the bed with me, or make me
sleep on the floor or chained up or tied to a chair or a pole or something.

	"Yeah," he ruffles my hair again, and I flinch again. "Notice
something? I go to do an affectionate action, and you flinch away. There's
got to be a story there, if you're willing to let random strangers fuck you
just so you can have a bed, but will flinch at someone's touch, and I don't
think it's because this is your first time, too. Come on, you must be dying
to talk about what's happened to you, and why you've run away from home,
and it's not like I now who you actually are, or even what your real name
is, since I know it's not Michael, so it's not like I could ruin you or
spread it around or anything. You must be wanting to tell someone, actually
tell someone, and I promise, anything you say to me, I'll keep secret. If
you want to leave in the morning, you can, and we'll never see each other
again. With that the case, you could tell me everything you've wanted to
not tell anyone before."

	"I don't want to have sex," I say, and he lifts an eyebrow. Just
one. I think that's a cute thing to do, and it makes me hard again, and
then I blush and look down, and then I see my boner and feel my face heat
up even more. "I never do."

	"Isn't that what you agreed to trade for a bed?"

	"I never promised sex," I shake my head, scared. He didn't sound
mad or upset, but he's probably just acting or one of those apathetic
people who don't show much emotion. "I said I might be willing to have sex
with someone if they gave me a bed for the night."

	"Good distinction," he says. "But you came here knowing I wanted to
fuck you, right?"

	"Yeah," I admit. I don't lie. I never lie. I always avoid answering
instead of lying. "I always say I might, which implies there's a
possibility of it. I want to do it, because it'd be better, but when it
comes time, I always get scared and freak out and stop. I...I've been raped
a lot. I've never had sex willingly before. Sometimes, the 'patrons'," I
accidentally spit that word out, not thinking about the fact that he's one
of the 'patrons' when I say it. "Tie me up or beat me or something just as
bad. It's awful. I've tried to run away from them a few times. One even
locked me up for a few days before letting me go. I hate it. I hate
myself."

	"Let me get this straight," he takes a deep breath. "You've never
willingly had sex before?" I shake my head, and he puts an arm across my
shoulders, and I flinch, tensing up. Here it comes, he's going to tell me
to toughen up, because I'm taking him all the way in. "I've got some good
news for you, little man, because I'm straight, in a relationship, and
completely committed. I never said I'd have sex with you, I only told you
I'd let you spend the night here."

	I look at him in confusion.

	"The look on your face!" He laughs, squeezing my shoulder. I flinch
again. "That's priceless, little man. I use the app just to make friends,
when we started talking, I decided I was going to let you stay the
night. Better here than with some pervert and pedophile, right?"

	I'm not sure how to answer that. What if he's just waiting to fuck
me in my sleep? Some of them do that, too, promising that I don't need to
worry, that it's a safe place to be, and they won't rape me, and so
on. Then I wake to them in my ass, without lube, and sometimes, even with
my hands tied behind me back or to the bed.

	"You look exhausted," he lifts his arm up and ruffles my hair,
making my flinch again. "Go ahead and go to sleep, it's late, and you look
exhausted. You can sleep on the couch or on my bed, up to you. I'll get
your clothes washed while you're sleeping. Need to do laundry, anyway."

	He stands up, stretches, then starts doing dishes, and I curl up on
the couch, watching him, feeling my eyelids grow heavier, despite my
wanting to stay away. He's just making me feel comfortable so that he can
enjoy it when he rapes me. I don't like having sex for a bed, and always
back out when it starts. I'm a coward and a wuss, and I can't keep myself
awake.

	I know that because I wake up with a blanket over me, my clothes
washed and folded and sitting on the coffee table, the guy standing in the
kitchen, frying bacon. Trenton's clenched in my arms. How did he end up in
my arms? I last remember him being in my bag. Did he go through my bag?

	"Morning, little man," he says as I sit up. "Clothes are cleaned,
just as I promised," he must notice me staring at Trenton. "His head was
poking out of your backpack last night, and you kept squirming and mumbling
in your sleep. I pulled him out and gave him to you, and you clutched him
tightly, and then went back to sleeping, only a little more peacefully. You
can get dressed if you want to, you know. And like I told you last night,
don't worry about having sex in exchange for being allowed to sleep
here. You're not my type, and even if you were, I'm not one for sex that's
not entirely consensual."

	I sit up and stare at my clothes, not sure if he really wants me to
put them on or not. Probably does, just so he can rip them off of me. I had
a guy do that, once. Let me sleep the whole night without sex, then in the
morning, after my clothes were washed and everything, he told me to put
them on. Once I was clothed, he pushed me against a wall and literally
ripped off my shirt, then cut off my pants. I didn't have any clothes after
he fucked me and kicked me out of his house.

	Can you do me a favor, little man?"

	Probably pose naked so he can take pictures of me, so he can share
them with his pedo friends.

	"Go home," he says when I don't answer, just start pulling on my
clothes instead. "Tell your parents that you're sorry, and don't run away
again. Give them a chance, little man, and try to let them in. You look
like the kind of person who lets other people control how he views
himself. The only person whose opinion should mean anything to you is
yours. Once you're home, start doing something every day.

	"Every single day," he continues. "When you get up, look in the
mirror and state three negative things about yourself. No more, no
less. Then, after you do that, state three positive things about
yourself. No less than three, but you can do more if you feel like it or
want to get more out. It could be things about you directly, or things
going on in your life that relate to you, but it has to be at least
three. Every day, try to think of new things to say about yourself.

	"If you can't do that," he walks over, putting a plate of bacon and
pancakes in front of me. I'm fully dressed and sitting again at this point,
and he just returns to the kitchen, pouring some orange juice into a
glass. "Then you can use something you've used before, but again, try to
think of something new about yourself. It doesn't have to be new, itself,
just something you haven't said before, or said a lot. Do that every single
day. Before you do that, though, say 'Today will be a good day.' For me, it
was 'Today will be a good day. I'm a terrible artist, I need to learn to be
be a little more tight with my money, and I suck at martial arts, but I've
got an amazing family that loves me and wishes I wouldn't be challenging
myself to live without the family's money for so long, have an amazing
singing voice, can cook like no one's business, and have amazing friends.'

	"And one more thing," he sits down next to me with his own plate,
putting a glass of orange juice in front of me. He's got milk for
himself. "I want one of those three things to be 'I woke up today'. From
what you seem like, I'm sure that's going to be on the negative side of
things. Do this every single day until 'I woke up today' is on the positive
side."

	I don't answer, just stare at him, and he gets a thoughtful look on
his face.

	"Promise it," he holds out his right pinky to me. "If you promise
me you'll do that, then I promise you that anytime you need a place to
stay, you can call me, and I'll let you spend the night, no charge, no sex,
nothing."

	"The two promises conflict."

	"How so?"

	"I promise not to run away, you promise to let me stay here if I
do."

	"Oh, right," he grins at me, still holding his finger out. "I was
actually meaning to promise the other thing, saying that today will be a
good day, then exactly three negative things about yourself and at least
three positive things about yourself, with 'I woke up today' as one of your
things until it makes it from one of the three negative things to one of
the minimum-three positive things. I was simply requesting that you go home
and try not to run again, not have that as part of the promise, do you
understand now?"

	I nod.

	"I want to hear it," he says. "Pinky, too. That way, you can't back
out. And yes, I know it'll be hard to come up with positive things for you,
while it's all-too-easy to come up with negative things, but do it, however
long it takes, okay? Wake up earlier if you think it's going to take you a
long time to think of three positive things for the day, if you're worried
about being late for school. Do we have a promise?"

	"Yeah," I link my pinky with his. "I promise."

	He shakes once, then releases me.

	"Now," he says. "Are you ready to go home? If so, I've called my
family and had them send a car over, so they can drive you home, if you
want that. No charge to you, of course."

	"I guess," even if it's really just kidnapping me and making me
disappear.

	That's probably what it really is. He's just making me feel safe
until the actual pedo arrives.

	"Oh," he starts eating. "And I put my number in your phone, under
my name, David. You don't really have any contacts in there. None,
actually. Remember, I made a promise, and when a King makes a promise, they
keep that promise."

	"A King?" Does he know who I am?

	"Don't look so panicked," he laughs. "I'm not a literal king,
that's just my last name. David King. Had fun at school with that, the
teachers would always go 'King, David', and well, bullies are bullies. My
great-grandfather is Adrian King, the head of the Lumara Group, one of the
largest privately-owned organizations in the U.S. I came out here three
years ago, after graduating high school, to try to make it on my own for a
few years. I'm not sure how long I'm going to be out here for, but
remember: I made a promise. No matter where I'm at, I'll be willing to give
you a room if you need it. Eat up while it's still hot, then let me know if
you're going home now or not."

[Finn]

	Stupidstupidstupid! I shouldn't have smacked Xander. He disappeared
that night, and his phone and the GPS I had in his bag were sitting on his
desk. Everything we'd bought him yesterday were all still in their
packages. I can't believe he knew about the GPS, it wasn't even something
he could notice easily.

	It's been two weeks since he ran away, fourteen days without a word
from or of him. He actually managed to disappear well this time, and
everyone's really worried. He's always been found within ten
days. Always. There's not been a trace of him since he ran, though, and no
one's optimistic. He was probably kidnapped at last, a huge risk with what
his journals says he does.

	Speaking of those, I still can't figure out what it is that bothers
me with them. I've been over them probably a thousand times since he ran,
and while it's hard to make out with the headache his handwriting gives me,
I still can't figure it out. I even rewrote them all in a document on my
computer. Well, there's actually over a hundred documents, each day
receiving its own, each journal itself receiving its own folder, to keep
them organized. I've been through both versions, the originals and the
translations, and can't find anything Yet still, I get that feeling that
something's off, that I'm misreading something.

	I really shouldn't have smacked him, it was just an emotional
strike, I wanted him to shut up, and knew he wouldn't listen unless I did
something that caught his attention fully, and didn't think kissing would
have anything but the opposite reaction with his mood at the time.

	The smack was born of a combination of frustration and emotion and
annoyance, and now he's run away, and it's all my fault. I'm so stupid, I
should have known he'd run after getting struck, but I wasn't thinking at
the time.

	Karma won't even talk to me, now, and that's big for her. If Karma
won't talk to someone she's mad at, it's serious. In fact, she pretends
like I don't even exist, just going on with her daily business without me,
even in the Student Council meetings. We had elections as formalities, but
Karma and I were basically shoo-ins as the reps of the freshman.

	Luke's worried about Xander, too. He keeps finding me after school
no matter where I'm at and asking me where Xander's at. Luke's in eighth
grade, in a completely different school, and he still manages to find me at
school and ask where Xander's at and if he's okay.

	That's even after Xander practically told him that he doesn't like
him, then was annoyed and scared the entire time they hung out. Luke asks
me if I know why he was, and I honestly tell him I've got no clue.

	That shows me that I'm not the only kid with feelings for Xander,
with how Luke really cares for him and is concerned, and thinking about
that makes me feel even worse.

	Right now, I'm at Aunt Linda's house, worrying with them. There's
no word of what happened to Xander, and everyone's starting to think that
while he's gone, he was kidnapped.

	I pulled Uncle Trey to the side, to tell him what Xander does when
he's run away, just to get a place to sleep, when one of the security
guards walked up to Uncle Trey. The security guard says something in Uncle
Trey's ear, too quiet for me to make out, and Uncle Trey's entire
expression changes to both confusion and relief.

	"What?" I ask.

	"Xander's at the gate," he answers.

	"And you're confused...why?"

	"He's not alone," Uncle Trey starts walking, and I follow him,
practically having to run to keep up with his speed. "The driver who
brought him here works for a man by the name of Adrian King, a man who
makes your biological father look poor. This isn't good, if Mr. King finds
out that our son's a runaway, it could ruin things a fair bit. We're in the
process of making an agreement with them, a contract. This could ruin
us. Pray that Xander's antics haven't screwed things up or gotten to
Mr. King."

	Despite what he's saying, he's also worried for Xander. I can see
it on his face. He doesn't care about the contract at all, but is just
talking to try to hide that he's worried about Xander, and I make a mental
note to make sure he doesn't mention it when he's reprimanding Xander for
running away.

	Outside, we wait for the car to pull up to the steps, and when it
stops, the driver steps out. He walks around to the back and opens up the
door, and out steps not Xander, but a man who must be at least seventy
years old, dressed in a suit that's probably more expensive than any Father
could ever hope to own.

	From Uncle Trey's reaction, I know this is bad news. The man turns
around and peeks into the car, and a moment later, Xander shyly gets out of
the car, keeping his head down. I'm wondering if this is one of Xander's
'sponsors'.

	"Hello, Trey," the man looks at Uncle Trey.

	"Adrian," Uncle Trey responds tensely, looking at Xander.

	Oh, crap. It's THE Adrian that Uncle Trey just mentioned, isn't it?
This is even worse news than one of his drivers showing up with a runaway
my godfather took in.

	"Is he yours?" Mr. King asks, and Uncle Trey nods. "Mr. Xander here
reminds me of my late grandson, Nathan. Haven't seen him since he was
twenty, though. I was on my way here when one of my great-grandchildren
called me and asked if he could borrow a car to bring a kid home, though he
was calling him 'little man', as Mr. Xander hadn't stated his real name. I
was passing through the town at the time, so we stopped to pick him up. I
was surprised when he said he lived here, and when I pressed for an answer,
he said he was adopted."

	I can just imagine this guy getting Xander to answer his
questions. This man radiates authority and commands respect. If he asked me
a question, I would answer it, no matter what the question was.

	"We adopted him over the summer," Uncle Trey explains. "I'm sorry
for any trouble he caused you, Adrian, we're-"

	"It's fine," Mr. King lifts a hand up, halting my uncle's words in
his tracks. "I'm serious, Trey, it's fine. Every boy wants to run away from
home at some point. I did six times, though I never made it more than a day
before returning home with my head hung in shame. It's no problem, Trey,
don't worry. I was on my way here to discuss our contract, anyway, so it
wasn't like I went out of my way. I do believe that young Master Xander has
something he wants to say to you, though."

	Mr. King stops talking, and waits. Xander mumbles something.

	"I don't believe he heard you," Mr. King says. The way he's
treating Xander, and the way Xander's reacting, I could almost picture them
being grandfather and grandson, especially with their last names matching
up, though that's probably coincidence. "Hold your head up and speak
clearly and loudly, so that you may be heard, Alexander."

	Xander actually obeys that. He lifts his head up and looks Uncle
Trey right in the eye, speaking loudly enough that you'd never know you
talked quietly.

	"I'm sorry for running away and making you worry. I won't do it
again."

	Knowing Xander, he'll convince himself it's okay to leave a note
saying 'don't worry about me' next time he runs, so that he doesn't run
away and make them worry. In his mind, that'll probably make it so he can
run without making them worry, so that he's kept his promise.

	"Go up to your room," Uncle Trey says. "Linda's out, and I plan on
talking to you before she gets home. For now, though, just go up to your
room and stay in there until I come get you."

	"Yes, sir," Xander responds, then glances at Mr. King for a moment
before making his way inside.

	I so want to follow him up to his room and talk to him, but know
that Uncle Trey has, essentially, grounded him. I can talk to him later,
after things have cooled down. An apology is best done immediately, but
knowing Xander, it'll still be fresh in his mind when I talk to him. If
not, it'll be back in his mind as soon as I approach him.

	Something's different about Xander, but I can't put my finger on
it. It's more than him looking at Uncle Trey and speaking clearly as he
makes eye contact, though. After Mr. King coaxed Xander into speaking, what
did they discuss?

~~END OF CHAPTER EIGHT~~

	Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you enjoyed it!

	Don't forget that you can contact me with your feedback, your
comments, questions, or suggestions, or even just your thoughts on the
chapter! Also, I'm going to be putting other stories on Nifty at some point
in the future (probably the near future), and could always use ideas for
those stories, so even if you don't think your idea would work for this
one, it might work for one of those!

	Yes, I know there's an inconsistency, and even mention it in the
chapter's title. It's intentional. For those who didn't catch it – read
the chapter again, and think about the chapter's title as you do.

	The three nominees for the next story to start getting uploaded, as
they'll make an appearance at one point or another in Xander's life, are:

	Zack, the first King I ever wrote, who's outgoing, bold, and very
sure of himself and his sexuality, and a bit of a whore (and a top), and is
also a master martial artist and has desires to make a living off of
writing, a goal he's already achieving. He will be fourteen when his story
takes place, and it starts before NLXK, which begins in 2016, beginning in
2014, two years prior.
	Matt, the fourth King, but most talented King I've ever written,
who's good at pretty much anything he puts his mind to, but likes singing,
playing instruments, doing animation, and acting. He will be eleven, almost
twelve, when his story begins in the year of 2015.
	Benj, my newest addition to the Kings, who was created as part of
this story, but is given his own story instead. A little bit of a rebel, he
does his own thing with whoever he wants. His story starts around the same
time as NLXK, and involves incidences of rape, abuse, and humiliation
(domination), in addition to romance, and can be a fair bit darker than
NLXK. Benj starts off at twelve, nearly thirteen, and has no active life
goals at this time.

	Hope you enjoyed this, and stay tuned for Chapter 9!