Bleecker House (Patreon)

Partial rewrite of an unnamed story by jovialpersonheroflap.

“But surely there must be some mistake, I didn’t even choose this dorm as one of my three preferences!” I felt a pit in my stomach. Ever since I got the acceptance letter I've read everything I could online, web pages, blogs, social media, to get to know the University as best I could three states away. You could sense the eye-rolls through the screen every time someone mentioned a student from the Bleecker House, or Bleacher House as it was commonly known. The jock dorm.

“Yes,” replied the admin, “but if you read the terms and conditions, it does say that you may be assigned to a random dorm in the unlikely event that none of your preferences are available. We make sure that as many of our students who ask for specific dorms get them, but this is just one of those years when the math didn't add up. I'm sorry.”

"Isn’t there some other room? In another dorm?" I knew my judgment was clouded with unfounded bias. I'm sure they were all great guys, they passed the entry requirements after all, but it's just that I spent so many years in active opposition to jocks. In my eyes they were dimwitted bullies who ruined my day more than once over the years. More pragmatically I'd have nothing in common with them as a lanky English major with barely passing theoretical knowledge of any sport.

The admin kept clicking around on the computer, presumably rerunning the same queries a second time. “No, I’m afraid we seem to be full. If you wait a few weeks someone may have dropped out but you’d have to find alternate accommodation until then.”

I sighed. With everything I had to buy there was no way I could afford staying somewhere else, if there even was anything available.

“I can’t do that, I guess I’ll just have to bear it.” The admin smiled and handed me a room key and a map.

“I’m sure you'll find you have more in common than you think. You're all students after all.”

“Sure. I guess,” I muttered under my breath.

I rolled my suitcase through campus and through the dorm following the map, and easily found my room, a double on the second floor. Glued on the door were two small football jerseys in paper, one with my name on it and one saying "Dean". I took a deep breath. Maybe she was right. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Just because this was known as the jock dorm didn't mean everyone there was a jock. I wasn't, so it stood to reason that there would be more students assigned there against their wishes, or just having no idea to begin with.

There wasn’t. Dean was laying in his bed, wearing only baller shorts, scrolling on his phone when I entered. His hair was wet like he had just taken a shower. His face lit up as he saw me and jumped out of bed. "Hey bro. Dean!" he said with a smile while reaching out with a hand. His body and the way he moved didn't go together in my mind. Dean was huge, built to a whole different scale than I. Not only tall with a big set of feet to keep him balanced, but wide and thick from years of workout. But I had never before seen anyone so large move so quickly. He was on the football team, he explained for the first time of a million, and promptly asked who I supported. I blanked and said "Lakers" before realizing they play basket. He smiled a wry smile and said "Shrewd move, bro. But honestly I don't care if you don't cheer the Cheifs. That doesn't make us enemies. It just makes you wrong. Come! I'll show you around."

Leaving the room barefoot, wearing nothing but his shorts, he led the way to present everyone and everything. Everyone there was some kind of jock, even the girls. Everyone was dressed in sports jerseys or workout gear, to what degree they wore anything at all. Even most of the girls were lounging around in sports bra and hot pants, revealing their toned tummies or outright six packs in between. Literally everyone in the building could beat me up without effort.

Everyone was nice enough though, despite having nothing in common. At first I thought Dean was trying to educate me on football with his endless lectures about what happened at practice that day or what one of the other guys on the team had said. He was even trying hard to get me to come to practice with him. I could admire the sports things from afar, but it wasn’t something I wanted to get into. After having tried to change the topic from sports I found that it wasn't so much educating me as him not really being able to talk about anything else. Sure, he watched pop culture movies and listened to music like everyone else, but had no deeper insight into art than "fight scenes good" and "loud music relaxing".

I did get used to it. While everyone still acted nice, it was obvious that I was getting more and more ignored. The jocks preferred to talk to other jocks about jock things. I wasn’t really versed in sports lingo. Classic literature was more my speed, but I tried to tackle it as a new subset of literature. I learned more in a month than ever before in my life just by listening. The ones I did talk to repeatedly didn’t seem to have much of any other interests outside of their sport. In fact, some of them were so stupid I wondered how they hadn’t flunked out of college already. The school was probably keeping them on so they could play sports I reckoned. It drives recruitment and revenues so many colleges are willing to bend the rules so long as you could give them that in return.

A month and four days into the semester my cell phone rang in the middle of the night. Afraid I had woken Dean I quickly grabbed the phone from its charing place only to see his name as the caller. 2:46 in the morning said the clock. In the dim light from the phone screen I glanced over at his empty, messy bed to verify he wasn't there before answering. I asked him what was up in a raspy voice and he asked me to come and help him move something at the sports center, as if it was afternoon or something. I told him it was too late, or possibly too early, and hang up on him. The sports center is just outside the dorm, because of course it would be, but I was way too tired to be bothered.

Dean called again, and this time he sounded more panicked. Not quite as drowsy this time I realized he might have gotten in trouble, and needed his roommate to help him out. We might not have anything in common, but at least we were friendly and if he was in trouble this was definitely what dorm mates were for. Besides, it’d be best not to lose the only friend I had in this dorm.

I got to the sports center and met him at the door. He thanked me for coming and led me into the building. We walked in silence.

“So…how are you liking the dorms so far?” he asked, trying to make conversation. The topic felt both random and out of place, and all urgency from the last call had vanished.

"They’re okay, I guess."

"Met anyone interesting?"

"No, not yet. Everyone seems to be really into their sports. It's not really my thing."

"Yeah," he laughed, "we do have a reputation to uphold. I still think it’s weird that you don’t play any sports. I mean, I’d get restless sitting around all day. You need to blow off some steam man, it’s good for the brain."

"Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind."

We came to a door which he opened. It was pitch black and I couldn’t see inside.

"So what did you call me to move, exactly?"

He smiled at me. "You," he said and pushed me inside, probably with more force than he intended. I tumbled down the stairs just inside the door. Fortunately there were only a few steps down to a platform where the stairs took a turn.

"What the fuck man!"

His silhouette chuckled. "Sorry bro. You alright?"

"Couldn’t you just have asked me to walk down the stairs?"

"Better start walking, or we'll be late," he answered, ignoring my annoyance.

I got up and rubbed my side that I’d hit on the fall. Nothing major. At worst maybe a bruise or something. I glared back at Dean's outline and continued down the stairs.

"Late for what?"

"You'll see"

When we reached the bottom it was nearly pitch black, with the only faint light from the door at the top of the stairs.

"I won't see anything with the lights off."

There was no response but I heard Dean shuffling around. I slipped my hands in my pockets and swore. How had I managed to forget my phone? I could have used it as a torch or something. As if on cue, the door at top of the stairs slammed shut with a loud bang.

“Dean! What the fuck!”

I stumbled around in the dark, stretching out my arms in front of me to make sure I didn’t hit anything. I heard a click and a light turned on behind me. I turned around finally got my first look at the room. It was much bigger than I’d thought it was, in fact, the light only illuminated part of it. In the light there was a single chair and a hooded figure standing by it. I was genuinely scared for a moment before I realized what was going on. This must be some sort of initiation, and since it was Dean who brought me, I guessed it was to initiate me into the dorm. At least that would explain why almost no one was talking to me. I walked towards the chair and stopped about six feet away from the hooded figure.

“Very funny Dean, can I go now?”

He said nothing but gestured towards the chair. I sighed and sat. Sportspeople take their initiations way too seriously, and at least this would be a good story to tell.

Out of the shadows emerged five figures, similarly clad to the one who stood next to me. They each carried a red solo cup in their left hand, and either wore or carried items affiliated to different sports in their right hand.  One wore a baseball helmet on his head and a baseball bat in his right hand, another football pads, another held a basket ball, another a lacrosse stick, and the last wore hockey pads and held a hockey stick in his right hand. They all stopped at the same time, well rehearsed, and gave it all an eerie look. I couldn’t see their eyes but they were all faced towards me nonetheless. I looked to the figure next the chair and he gestured towards the other five.

"What do you want me to do?"

He didn’t reply but repeated his gesture. I got up and walked towards the five. Even close up I couldn't see who was wearing the outfits in the dim light. They probably wore neck gaiters or balaclavas or something. I looked in each of their cups.

The first, the baseball one, held an orange drink. It looked and smelled like orange juice except for the black lumps floating in the cup. They didn’t smell of anything, but I couldn’t tell what they were.

The second, the football one, held a yellow drink. It smelled like piss but didn’t look like it. It was murky, with some sediment mixed into it. I also smelt lavender, which felt out of place.

The third, the basketball one, held a green drink. It was transparent but smelled of mint. Actually, the mint smell was so present it smelled like toothpaste. Strong toothpaste.

The fourth, the lacrosse one, held a blue drink. It was carbonated and clear, but it smelled sickly sweet, like they’d added way too much sugar.

The fifth and last, the hockey one, held a white drink. It was white like cream, and smelled overwhelmingly of mayonnaise.

I looked back at the figure next to the chair and he repeated his gesture a third time. I walked back to the one with the lacrosse stick as from what I could tell, his drink looked and smelled the least weird. I wasn’t looking forward to this, not knowing what they’d put in it, but I guessed they wouldn’t let me leave until I drank something. I just hoped that they’d only made me drink one, not all six. I took the blue drink out of his hands and drank. It was both sweet and sour and went down petty easily but burned every so often. I couldn’t finish it in one go, I had to pause a few times to let the burning subside. I finished the drink and looked back at the figure by my chair. It didn’t move. I on the other hand started to sway like I had instantly become smashed. I started to feel my eyelids getting heavy. Why was I suddenly so tired again? It must have been something they put in that drink. My legs gave out and I fell to my knees before lying down on the ground. I tried to hold my head up but I was fighting a losing battle. Eventually I gave in and slumped on the floor, letting the sleep wash over me. I could feel hands grabbing me, carrying me away.

I woke up in pain. My whole body felt uncomfortable. I recalled the kidnapping by Dean at the sports center, the ceremony with the hooded figures and their boozy, drugged up drinks, but then nothing. Nothing clearly anyway. I had this lingering weird dream of being a jersey or something in a laundry basket, carried to the washing room. Then I sat down on the washing machine, but it was an armchair. Then I sank down deep into the armchair. Then the washing machine started and I could smell the sweaty laundry again. You can't smell in dreams though, can you?

I was trying to locate where the pain was coming from, but no matter what muscle I twitched there was a bit of ache. I really hoped I hadn't done anything stupid while drugged. Something they filmed and would use to extort me, or just publish online to humiliate without the trouble of threatening me with it. I looked over to Dean's bed. He was sound asleep face down into a pillow, his body only partially covered by a sheet.

I got up from the bed, back screaming in agony of being bent straight. trying to ignore the pain that was everywhere. Had they pummeled me or something? No, this was more pain of exhaustion, like the time Ryan took me wall climbing, only much worse. I raise my hand to scratch my face and paused. My nose felt different than usual. Had I broken it? No, my face and head were the few body parts that didn't hurt. Mindful to not wake up Dean by turning on the light I went to look in the bathroom mirror. I was shocked.

In front of me in the mirror was an entirely new person. I was taller to start with, so everything looked slightly different from this angle. My body wasn’t as skinny as it used to be. I would even call it athletic with lean, defined muscles all over, hints of veins popping out on arms and legs, and most distractingly of all a well-defined six-pack. Obviously my clothes had been removed at some point, because I always sleep in a T-shirt. But what shocked me most was my face. It had changed so much I was almost unrecognizable. I say almost, because the more I stared at my face, the more I found pieces of my old face. My ears were the same, just a little bigger. My eyes were a bit narrowed and my eyebrows bushier. My nose had changed quite a bit. Somehow I looked flippant, obnoxious even. Like someone who would make everything into a dare or a competition.

I hated it. The more I examined the body the more things I found that were altered. The skin was way more tanned than yesterday, and almost all hair was gone. The old scar from the camping trip was gone too. What happened last night? Dean, I thought. Dean would know. He was there.

I walked out of the bathroom and turned on the light.

“Wake up!”

Immediately he jerked awake. “What time is it?” he said, shielding his eyes from the light.

“You’ve got some explaining to do!”

He ignored me and checked his phone, “Five to seven. Fuck it, I might as well.” He trailed, then hauled himself out of bed and towards the bathroom. He passed me without even a glance. Over the past month I’ve learned that Dean is not a functioning human until he’s had his morning shower. Soon after I heard the noise from the shower Dean’s phone dinged. I quickly moved over to his bed and read the message on his lock screen.

"How’s he doing? He’ll be in pain, take it EZ on him. Don’t forget to bring him to the nets."

Then I noticed the date. It said Saturday. Dean had called me on Thursday, well early Friday. I had been blacked out for almost thirty hours. I put down his phone, sat back down on my bed, and stared at my feet. They didn't look like my feet. They looked... powerful. Larger for sure, but there were more to them. "Fuck!" I exhaled. I noticed my rippling six-pack still looked athletic even sitting down. No folds of tummy fat. Even Dean had that.

I jerked, surprised by Dean opening the door from the bathroom, and stepped out into the room naked. Without saying anything he started to clothe himself with his workout gear. It's was Saturday, apparently, and everyone in the dorm had training to get to.

“Are you not gonna say anything? Tell me what happened?” I demanded.

He stopped what he was doing, paused for a second, and then turned to me, half-dressed. “How much do you remember?”

“Not much. Everything after we went into the basement is gone.”

“Okay. It was your indoctrination…”

“Don’t you mean initiation?”

He looked sincerely at me. “No. I don’t.”

He looked away and continued. “It was your indoctrination. We made you choose a sport. You chose lacrosse. Then we gave you something to…alter you. To make you a better lacrosse player. A better jock.”

I looked down at my feet again. My lacrosse feet, purpose-built to play lacrosse. It all felt surreal. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. It’s what happens to people in this dorm who don’t fit in. We make them fit. Guess why all the options were team sports. I'm a bit hurt you didn't pick football for the record.”

“This has to be illegal! If I tell the college board…”

“They won’t believe you," Dean cut in. "And even if you ask to do a blood test nothing will come up except for alcohol. They will kick you out for that. They know we’re doing this but they don’t mind. You know as well as I they are willing to bend the rules for sports.”

“But I don’t want to play lacrosse! Or any sport for that matter!”

He laughed. “Oh, you will. You will.” He looked at his phone. “It seems Zac and Mort want you down at the nets after training. Since it’s lacrosse that should be around 11:30. You’ve got a few hours as it’s only…7:15 now. I’d use it to do some work if I were you. You won’t be doing any for the rest of the weekend.”

“Oh,” he continued, “and your body might hurt now but it’ll get better once you start moving. I've heard burpees are good.”

His words brought my attention back to the pain. It was still bearable, but definitely there and a bit annoying. He slung his bag over his shoulder and started to leave.

“Dean! What the fuck!”

He stopped and turned towards me again. Really looking at me this time. "Look, if it was up to me we would have just found a different dorm and transferred you there, but no one came asking me. I know this must suck for you. You're rewired and rebuilt to excel in one thing and one thing only, and it's not even something you wanted to be good at. I get that. You've lost pretty much everything you thought made you you. Your clothes don't even fit anymore, and how you are going to explain who you are to your parents I can't even begin to imagine. I have no idea how the process works, I left before you even selected your sport, but I'm pretty sure it is irreversible. I can tell you this though. While no one I know would dare go through what you just did, almost everyone will be envious of what you have become. For the next few weeks, this first one in particular, your body memory will soak up movements like a sponge. Make good use of that." He turned to leave. "Just be down at the nets by 11:30."

"Hey, Dean."

"Yeah"

"I have nothing to wear."

"Just take a pair of my shorts." He made a final pause before leaving. "Welcome to the dorm, for real."