The next few days I was forced into a new routine. Every morning, Mr. Henderson’s minivan would be idling on the curb, in front of my home, waiting for me to emerge from my front door. I’d slide into the backseat without a word and we’d drive to the same graffitied wasteland of abandoned warehouses where he’d recorded my masturbation video. There, he’d continue filming me with his camcorder, his voice directing me to do the nastiest shit before dropping me off at school with the taste of cum still on my tongue.

True to his word, he deleted the video that he posted. He'd continue using it as blackmail, threatening to post it again if I didn't join in on his grand plan for a state championship. But as the week progressed, it became clear that his leverage was gone. It was too late. The internet already had it. My video was everywhere. It was downloaded, re-posted, and splattered across every filthy corner of the web. "Yanni the cock-loving slut" wasn't just a video, it was a viral phenomenon spreading like a disease.