Project "Lamb"|¦|Ari Lowe

The classroom hummed with its usual, familiar noise — someone was texting, someone was flipping through their notes, the lecturer droned on about the day's topic. Ari sat at the third desk by the window, hunched over his notebook, doing his best to listen.

He took notes. Line after line, neat and even. His pen trembled slightly, but he paid it no mind. If he looked only at his notebook, if he didn't raise his head, he could almost forget where he was and who he was.

The red plaid skirt under the desk felt too short. His stockings were pulled tight, the garters digging into his thighs. All as it should be. All according to the rules. He was used to it.

Ari turned the page and got distracted for a second — a bird flew past the window, a branch swayed. He watched it for exactly a second, then lowered his eyes again. Inhale. Exhale. He began counting to himself again — quietly, barely moving his lips: "One, two, three..."

The lecturer asked the class something. Ari didn't catch it. He shrank into his desk, gripped his pen, and stared at his notes, hoping the question wasn't for him.It is better to be invisible.

Break time. The bell rang, the classroom came alive, students headed for the door. Ari had just started gathering his notebooks when one of the girls from the year appeared beside him — smiling, confident, as if she were doing something perfectly ordinary.

"Ari," she said, and he looked up too late. "You don't mind, right?"

She showed him the leather cuffs. He didn't even get a chance to answer. No one was waiting for an answer anyway. There were three of them. One held him by the shoulders, another took his notebooks and set them on the windowsill, the third snapped the cuffs onto his wrists above his head — onto the projector hook sticking out of the wall, right above the desk.

"Done," the girl said, pleased. "We'll leave him like this."

She spread his legs to shoulder width, positioned them neatly, like a doll's, and stepped back to admire her work. Ari didn't resist. He jerked once, twice — the metal clinked against the wall, and he went still. No point. He knew. Everyone knew.

He stood there, stretched tall, arms above his head, cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the floor. His notebooks remained on the windowsill, out of reach. No one was going to set him free. The break went on as usual — people came in, people went out, glanced at him, and moved on. Ari stayed silent. He counted to himself.

Break between classes. Ari stepped into the second-floor restroom — just to wash his hands, just to wait it out. The door clicked shut behind him before he could turn around.

There were three of them. Upper-year students. He didn't even get a word out.

"Oh, the lamb," one of them drawled, and there was no malice in his voice. Just calm, matter-of-fact certainty.

The belt tightened around Ari's wrists before he understood what was happening. His arms were hauled up above his head, hooked onto the divider. He jerked, but the second one had already forced his jaw open — and the red gag slid into his mouth, thick, with a strap at the back of his head. Ari tried to moan, but it was useless.

Then they poured water over him.

An ice-cold stream struck his face, ran through his hair, down his blouse, his skirt, his stockings. The fabric clung to his body instantly, turned transparent. Ari shuddered all over, squeezed his eyes shut, and tears came on their own — hot against his cold face. He cried without a sound, only his shoulders shaking.

The guys exchanged glances, one of them snorted.

"That's it, let's go."

The door slammed. Silence.

Ari slid down the wall and sat on the toilet, soaked, trembling, gagged and bound. Water dripped from his hair, his chin, his stockings. He stared ahead with wet eyes and started counting to himself again — one, two, three...

The pool. Ari hated swimming class. Not because of the water — he knew how to swim. Because of the swimsuit. Tight, blue, it fit him like a second skin and hid nothing: not his flat chest, not his wide hips, not the fact that he wasn't a girl.

After the laps, he was the first to slip out of the showers and into the restroom by the changing room — just to wait it out, just to hide for a couple of minutes. The door clicked shut behind him. He wasn't even surprised.

They were already waiting.

This time it was faster, more routine. He didn't resist — pointless anyway. The leather cuffs snapped onto his wrists, his arms were hauled up above his head, the chain thrown over a metal beam under the ceiling and pulled tight. Ari hung there, stretched out, his toes barely touching the tile. The wet swimsuit clung to his body, water dripped from his hair, goosebumps ran across his skin.

The gag — red again, tight again. The strap was pulled at the back of his head, and his voice was gone.

"Hang there, lamb," someone said, with the same matter-of-fact certainty as always.

Laughter. Footsteps. The door.

Ari was left alone. Soaked, stretched out, his arms going numb. He stared at the floor, at the water dripping between the tiles.

The drops fell from him steadily, one after another.

Night in the dormitory. Quiet. Only a lamp buzzing somewhere down the hall and the sound of someone shifting on a creaky bed behind the wall.

Ari slept on his back, sprawled across the narrow cot. The light-blue women's nightgown had ridden up to his thighs, the long sleeves crumpled at his wrists. His hair was spread across the pillow in light strands, the side-swept bangs fallen over one eye. In sleep, he was calm — for the first time all day. Breathing evenly, lips slightly parted, arms stretched along his sides.

The door to his room was ajar. He'd forgotten to lock it. Or never locked it — what difference did it make, they'd open it anyway.

Moonlight fell through the window, lay across the floor, the bed, his face. The nightgown, women's, short, with lace at the hem. Funny and pitiful at once. But he was asleep and didn't know he was being watched.

...."..."