Who is blackmailing me?

This story is my first attempt at writing one, so if you have any ideas or improvements, feel free to leave them here

**ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+**

Alex zipped up his backpack, which was already a bit worn. The fabric at the edges was slightly frayed, which made him feel even more out of place in this new world. He took one last look in the mirror to make sure everything was in order. His green eyes met the image staring back at him, and for a moment, he wondered if he still recognized himself. The denim jacket he wore had been bought by his mother years ago when he was 15, and it was still a loyal companion, even though he now found it almost too old-fashioned. The simple white T-shirt underneath was as unremarkable as everything else about him. His face, still bearing that childishly androgynous appearance, radiated an innocence that made him feel out of place in this new environment.

Today was his first day at the new school. An elite school, as it was called, the St. Ashley Academy. And he had no idea what to expect.

The last three months had been a whirlwind of changes and adjustments. Ever since his father remarried, everything in Alex’s life had changed. The wedding had been a lavish event in a glittering hall, with marble columns and golden napkin rings, almost too much of everything. It felt like a fairy tale, but not one Alex knew or had ever wished for. Miriam, his new stepmother, had been the perfect hostess, always with a cold smile on her lips, so icy that one almost froze if one stared at it too long. She showed little interest in Alex – except for the occasional, barely veiled jabs. Once, she had asked him if he shouldn’t wear something “more presentable” when he showed up in his everyday clothes for one of the rehearsals. Her voice had been so sharp it almost seemed to cut.

There was no real connection with Miriam. She was too perfect, too stylish, too distant. Always the image of an elegant woman who never furrowed her brow or deviated even slightly from her role. Alex could never imagine that she would ever be a mother to him. And then there was his father, who, in his calm, serious tone, remained rather reserved. He always seemed busy with his business and showed little understanding of his son’s situation. “Don’t worry, boy,” he had said one evening when Alex had complained about Miriam’s coldness. “You’ll see, it’ll get better. I looked the same at your age, trust me, in a few years, you’ll be just like me.” But Alex simply couldn’t imagine being anything like his father – a solid man with sharp features and an authority that took up space even in the quietest moments.

His father’s words echoed in his head as he stared at the school door. It was an impressive building made of gray stone, with imposing columns and a façade that looked almost like something out of a fairy tale. Above the entrance, the words “Welcome to St. Ashley Academy” floated in flowing letters, but Alex didn’t feel particularly welcome. He took a deep breath, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, and entered.

The school’s foyer was vast, almost overwhelming. The marble floor shone so brightly that it almost reflected him. The ceilings were so high that it felt more like a cathedral than an ordinary school. Students in tailored outfits strolled through the halls, their gazes always fixed on the latest fashion trends. Alex immediately felt like a stranger in this world.

He himself was in his usual, simple clothes, which had nothing to do with the expensive brands he saw everywhere here. Miriam had bought him a few “cute” pieces of clothing, but he could never get used to them. They felt like targets he didn’t want to wear – too uncomfortable, too impersonal.

Soon, he noticed the curious looks from the other students, who were sizing him up as if he were an exotic animal. A quiet giggle and whispered remarks came from a group of girls leaning against the wall. “Is that a boy or a girl?” Alex heard one of them say. The question was loud enough to be overheard. His neck burned with embarrassment, and he quickened his pace without turning around. It was always the same – the questions about his appearance, the looks that kept putting him into the same box. Over and over, the feeling that his delicate appearance and his resemblance to his mother set him apart from everyone else.

When he reached the classroom, he felt a renewed pressure in his chest. He took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was large, full of students sitting in small groups, talking to each other. Alex chose a spot in the middle of the room, not too far in the front, but also not too far in the back. A place that allowed him to hide while still being part of the group, without standing out too much.

The teacher, Mrs. Avas, stepped to the front of the class. She was of medium height, had her hair neatly pulled back, and wore glasses that balanced on the tip of her nose. Her voice was clear and firm, her presence filling the room. “Good morning, everyone. I hope you had a pleasant summer. Now, let’s start the new school year.” Her words were friendly but also authoritative, immediately establishing a sense of discipline in the class.

“Before we begin, I’d like to get to know you all a little better. I have an assignment for you. For the next hour, I want everyone to bring a photo from the past. It could be a childhood photo or from a moment that is important to you. You will show it to the class and explain why it is meaningful to you.”

Alex’s heart skipped a beat. Photos? What if no one in his family had a picture that fit here? What if he didn’t have a photo that didn’t confront him with the image of family and the past he’d rather suppress?

“Don’t worry, it won’t be a big deal,” Mrs. Avas continued when she noticed the unease in the room. “I just want you to show something about yourselves. Simply choose a picture that is meaningful to you.” Her eyes met his for a moment, and Alex felt as though she were looking straight at his fingers, examining him.

As the hours went by, he tried not to let the nervousness overwhelm him. But the stares of the other students unsettled him again and again. Particularly a girl in the back row, who kept staring at him curiously and gave him an almost amused grin, as if she knew something he didn’t understand.

The rest of the lesson flowed with constant conversation and tasks, but Alex could hardly focus on the class. Again and again, his gaze drifted back to the girl in the back row. What did she want from him? What was it about him that she found so interesting?

The lesson continued, but Alex couldn’t concentrate. The teacher’s words bounced off him as his thoughts circled around the photo. What should he show? A picture from his childhood, where he sat next to his mother on the sofa, with that almost sacred smile that never seemed to fit him? A picture that would only make the others see him as “the mother’s version”? It felt like a trap.

The rest of the hour passed in a fog. Again and again, he looked at the girl in the back row, who scrutinized him with a mix of curiosity and perhaps even malicious enjoyment. Her gaze drilled into him, wouldn’t let go, and every time he tried to focus, he felt like she was waiting for a moment to expose him, to make him an outsider. Her grin seemed to say that she had already figured him out. “You’re not like us,” it seemed to whisper. And that was true.

When the hour finally ended, Alex packed his things mechanically. The knot in his stomach had turned into a solid, immovable ball. The classroom was full of voices, but he heard none of it. The other students stood up, chatted, laughed, as if the day was completely normal for them. But for Alex, this first day of school was anything but normal. He felt like a foreign body, **** into a world that wasn’t made for him.

As he stepped into the hallway, he felt like a shadow-walker. The other students’ steps echoed on the shiny floor, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that all eyes were on him. No conversations, no smiles, no welcomes. He walked quickly, without looking back, as he felt the stares on him. But even when he found a seat in the cafeteria, that feeling of isolation stayed with him. He sat at one of the tables at the edge of the room, far away from the others. A sandwich, an apple, a glass of water – it felt like he was in another dimension, as if he didn’t belong here.

The other groups in the cafeteria seemed to live in their own world. The athletes, loud and confident, dominated the space with their laughter and discussions. The girls, perfectly styled, seemed to live in their own bubble, as if everything around them was just a backdrop. The skaters in the back, rebellious and quiet at the same time. They all seemed to have found themselves, had their place, their role. Just Alex didn’t.

He was an observer, an invisible stranger. Not part of them, not part of anything. The tables and conversations seemed like walls, separating him from the world. And when he finally sat at the edge of the room with his tray, he felt like nothing, sinking in a sea of meaninglessness. No one spoke to him, no one helped him find his way. No one showed him he was worth something.

The rest of the lunch break dragged on painfully. The conversations of the others seemed to crush him, and Alex couldn’t help but feel smaller and smaller. He stared at the table in front of him, his eyes fixed on the sandwich he barely touched. The apple sat almost untouched next to him. All he wanted was for this moment to pass, for him to somehow disappear into the crowd, for him to simply become invisible.

But he wasn’t. The stares that kept returning to him only made him the center of attention even more. The girl from the back row, who had been staring at him several times that day, was suddenly gone. But in her place were others, who also sized him up as he tried to retreat into the corner. They whispered, giggled, and Alex felt that they were talking about him. Probably laughing at the new guy, at the one who didn’t fit into their world. And it felt like a silent confirmation of his greatest fear – that he would never belong.

At the end of the break, when the others streamed back into the classrooms, Alex stayed behind alone. No one had spoken to him, no one had asked if he wanted to sit with them, if he wanted to join them. It was as if he were invisible – and yet, he wasn’t. He knew they saw him. They saw him, but they didn’t want to see him.

“I’m a loser,” Alex muttered to himself as he made his way to his next class. It was a simple, painful truth that kept hitting him over and over. No one had helped him. No one had shown him how to find a place in this world. Instead, he felt like a shadow sneaking through the halls, a stranger who had to squeeze himself into a world that had nothing to offer him. And so the day passed, and Alex couldn’t help but curse himself for ever having ventured into this world.

The journey home seemed to take forever. Alex wandered through the streets with his head down, the backpack weighing heavily on his shoulders. The gray sky, which enveloped the day in a leaden darkness, mirrored exactly the feeling that was suffocating him. The sounds of the city roared all around him, but inside, it was quiet, a suffocating, empty silence broken only by his own thoughts.

He thought about the photo. That damn assignment that he couldn’t shake off. Everyone else seemed to have a clear idea of what they wanted to show. Pictures from happy moments, trips, parties, or family gatherings. But what did he have? How could he show something that somehow represented him without constantly bringing his mother, the one he wanted to leave behind, back into focus?

His gaze fell on the phone in his pocket. He hesitated. Maybe he could ask someone in his family. But immediately the thought came to him that his mother was no longer there to support him. This reminder hit him like a punch. She was dead. A long time ago. Three years had passed, but it felt like just yesterday she had been lying in a hospital bed, weak and silent.

Alex bit his lip as the images unfolded in his mind: his mother, her gentle smile, her elegant hands that often stroked his hair in a comforting way. She had always been there to listen, to help him when he was uncertain. But that was long gone.

His father – he was still there, but he seemed so different. Since marrying Miriam, he had entered a world Alex didn’t understand. Their conversations weren’t the same anymore, and the time they spent together had dwindled down to business matters. And Miriam? She had never shown any real interest in helping him. To her, Alex was still the stranger, the son from another world that she at best tolerated.

And then there was his aunt, his mother’s sister. She had always been very close to her. But Alex wasn’t sure if he could ask her for a photo. It felt strange to reach out after so much time for something so personal. But what other choice did he have?

He pulled the phone out of his pocket, scrolled through his messages, and paused for a moment. Maybe he could call his aunt. Perhaps she had a photo that showed him in another time – not as the ****, directionless boy of today, but as the person he once was. The boy who still had hopes, the one who was still with his mother, who looked into a future that wasn't yet shaped by all these fears and loneliness.

He sighed deeply and typed the message to his aunt. "Hello Aunt Lisa, I hope you're doing well. I need to ask you something. It's about a photo... from the time when my mother was still around. Something that reminds me of who I used to be. I need it for school. Do you maybe have something? I'd love to hear from you."

With an uncertain feeling, he pressed "Send." It felt like he was making one last, tentative attempt to find something that would remind him of that other time. A time he had long believed to be lost. But the more he thought about it, the more uncertain he became. What if she didn't have anything? Or if she didn't respond?

The way home seemed even longer as he stared at the smartphone, waiting for a reply that didn't seem to come. A blank stare at the screen, which only made him feel more alone. If only he knew how to find his place in this world, in this new school. How he could free himself from the shadows of the past and find his way back to himself. But the image of his mother – it stayed with him, deeply rooted inside.

He shook his head, as if to shake off the thoughts that tormented him, but they remained persistent. Maybe, he thought, it was still too early to know what he truly wanted. But for now, he had to at least take the time to remember the past. Remember the mother who had been with him before everything changed so much. And in that moment, he felt a deep, silent longing for her, for the feeling of not being so completely alone.