The Bad Life Chapter 13.1 - The Final Moment of the Hunt

Inside the escort vehicle, illuminated by the interior lights, a man was already seated. The man was tightly bound, unable to move even a single finger. He was Caucasian, tall, broad-shouldered, with short, chestnut-colored hair trimmed like a soldier’s. I was roughly dragged in and thrown in front of him. Moments later, when the vehicle’s door closed, a quiet stillness enveloped us, as if we were cut off from the outside world.

After a brief silence, the man slowly raised his head. Our eyes met. The gagged man’s eyes were chestnut-colored, like mine. Instinctively, we sized each other up. Though our faces were not alike, our builds and hair color made us look deceptively similar at a glance. A foreboding feeling suddenly washed over me.

Before the man could express any emotion, the escort vehicle’s door swung open. George, dressed in a suit, and an agent wearing a helmet entered. The agent sat beside me, gripping the restraints tightly while speaking in a friendly tone. A low, resonant voice came from inside the helmet.

<Can you make some room? This ride isn’t exactly comfortable.>

Without a word, I stared at him and turned my head. George sat across from me, looking at me. His mask had a grotesque ripple. He was smiling.

<Did you introduce yourselves?>

Instead of answering, I glared at George as if I could kill him. The vehicle jolted, and soon the escort vehicle started moving. The agent standing hunched beside me swayed, but no one paid him any attention. George leaned back leisurely and said.

<Today, you’ll be the reason a second person dies.>

<…….>

<Raymond, this is Sergio. Sergio, this is Raymond.>

My body trembled with tension. No matter how much I breathed, it felt like I couldn’t breathe properly. I felt like I was going to vomit. Saliva dripped from my mouth.

<Oh, Raymond, you don’t look so good… Feeling like you’re going to throw up?>

George said with feigned concern.

<Jerome, take off that stupid helmet and give it to Raymond. It’d be a hassle if he throws up in the vehicle.>

At George’s words, I quickly turned my head. The agent, who had been standing hunched beside me, pretending not to care, slowly removed his helmet. Under the dark, dull sheen of the helmet, a face I knew well gradually appeared. A beautiful smiling mouth, a delicate nose, sparkling green eyes, and a playful whispering voice.

Jerome roughly brushed back the sweat-soaked hair clinging to his forehead. He grinned, placing the helmet on his knees. As if concerned, Jerome gently touched my cheek and wiped the cold sweat from my forehead.

His handsome face, now without the helmet, was a mess. Aside from the marks from when I hit him a few days ago, new wounds marred his attractive features. What had happened after I escaped? But I no longer cared to know. The only thought in my mind was the mechanical realization that Jerome was here too.

I looked around at the people in the escort vehicle one by one. Jerome, his green eyes glinting as he scrutinized me closely, and Sergio, staring at me with a pale, bloodless face filled with terror. Sergio’s gagged lips trembled. Beside Sergio, George sat hunched, obsessively trying to read my expression.

The voice of Simon, which had rung so clearly in the parking lot, had vanished like a lie. With a mind clearer and sharper than ever, I asked George.

<You knew James was hiding in the motel, didn’t you?>

George replied in a sinister tone.

<I was just wondering how to deal with that guy, and you were a big help, Raymond.>

<George, I’m going to kill you.>

I stared intently at his mask and said.

<I’ll hang you upside down and slit your throat like a pig. Once you’re dead, I’ll rape your corpse and burn it like Hugh.>

<Hugh’s name!>

George leapt up, shouting. Bringing his face close to mine, he shouted again.

<If you mention it one more time!>

<What? You think that dead bastard’s going to jump out of his grave in rage?>

George grabbed me by the collar and slammed me onto the floor of the vehicle. The helmet clattered loudly as it rolled across the floor. As soon as I hit the ground, George pressed his boot hard onto the brand on my thigh. My mouth gaped open in pain. George said coldly.

<I’ll cut out that filthy tongue that only knows how to spew filthy words and shove it up your filthy ass.>

<…That’s enough, George.>

Jerome suddenly cut in.

<You keep falling for Raymond’s provocations like that, and it just makes him dig deeper.>

Jerome shook his head as if disappointed. George whipped his head around and glared at Jerome as if he would devour him. All the while, George kept grinding his boot into my thigh with all his strength. The pain was unbearable. I accidentally bit my tongue, and saliva mixed with blood dripped from my mouth. George twisted his boot into my thigh once more, as if crushing it, before returning to his seat. It hurt. Tears streamed down my temples. But I didn’t want to beg them to let me go or to stop. I wouldn’t submit to them anymore, not even falsely.

<Alright, now that we’ve calmed down, shall we continue the introductions we started earlier?>

Jerome spoke up alone in a cheerful voice. I barely managed to pull myself up, leaning my upper body against Jerome’s leg due to the pain. My tongue must have torn when I was thrown down, as blood pooled in my mouth. I ignored Jerome patting my shoulder. Jerome stroked the back of my neck with cold hands, as if soothing me, and said.

<Alright, Raymond, this Sergio here is going to play the role of your corpse tonight. The local police and federal agents involved in this operation think you’re Sergio. Though it seems Agent Marcus might have seen your face…>

Jerome paused for a moment, then added brightly.

<George will take care of it. What’s the plan, George?>

The man called Sergio stared at me blankly, his face a mix of fear and shock. His eyes already seemed to foresee his fate. To catch me, George had involved the police, and now, to smuggle me out, he planned to sacrifice this Sergio. I couldn’t stop his death. All I could do at this moment was to remember his face and never forget it…

<…One Marcus won’t be a problem.>

George spat out in a voice still thick with anger.

<Some lowlife agent can’t do anything about it.>

<If the boss says so…>

Jerome muttered playfully. The escort vehicle began to slow down, and soon it came to a complete stop. Jerome clapped his hands sharply with a bright expression and said, <We’re here!>, standing up.

He put the helmet back on, which had been rolling on the floor, and gagged me. His quick, forceful movements left no room for resistance. Moments later, when the vehicle’s door opened, Jerome roughly pulled me outside. It was a dark, deserted open lot. Before I could look around, the people who opened the vehicle’s door put a black cloth bag over my head. My vision went pitch black in an instant. The vehicle’s door slammed shut behind me.

Barefoot, I stumbled across the dirt ground as they dragged me along. I heard the sound of a car door opening, and I was forcibly shoved into what felt like a trunk. The engine roared. Just before the door closed, a sharp blow struck the back of my head, and as my consciousness faded, I heard the car door slam shut. That sound was the last thing I heard before I passed out.

James was just foolish, not guilty. He might have done wrong in the past, but in that motel, I decided to take all his sins upon myself. I wanted him to forget everything. To live freely, as if he had never met me, as if I didn’t exist in this world. I wanted him to start anew as an innocent, pure human being.

But he died. Like Hugh, like Carl, he burned to death, and that too was my sin.

But it’s not my sin alone. It’s the sin of me and the top-tier boys. I have to make them pay for their sins. Since they don’t know how to atone themselves, I must become their creditor. I no longer felt even pain.

With a crystal-clear mind, I opened my eyes. The light blinded me momentarily, but my vision gradually returned. I was tied to a chair. I raised my head.

It was some kind of room. A room with nothing distinctive about it. The whitewashed ceiling and walls were completely bare, not even a nail in sight. The floor was covered with several layers of thick plastic. That made me uneasy. It seemed like you could kill someone on this floor and wrap them up in the plastic without a trace.

Beyond that, there were a few objects in the room that I couldn’t understand why they were there. For example, there was a massive lighting rig, the kind you’d see on a film set. The lights were all turned on, surrounding me brightly. Sweat dripped down my cheeks from the heat. I belatedly noticed a tripod without a camera.

<You’re awake?>

A voice came from behind me. I tried to turn my head, but I couldn’t see behind me. Staring at the tripod in front of me, I answered coldly.

<You followed me all the way here? You creepy bastard.>

The voice from behind trembled faintly. A bad feeling crept over me. I tried to look back again, but it was no use.

<…What do you mean?>

I heard a rustling sound. It was the sound of footsteps on the plastic. A chill ran down the back of my neck. The footsteps grew closer, paused behind me, and then slowly moved to the front. He stood there blankly with his back to me before turning around lifelessly.

When our eyes met, I couldn’t say anything. Not even a groan came out.

Matt, standing before me, had a completely crushed nose. His blood-crusted face was suffocating just to look at. But that was nothing. His sunken nose was no issue at all. His right hand, wrapped tightly in bandages, had not a single finger left.

We faced each other in a suffocating silence.

They keep making debtors for me. Without giving me a chance to stop them, without giving me a chance to make them pay for their sins, they create endless grudges and offer them to me. I can’t stop this infinite cycle.

Matt gripped the tripod with his left hand. I stared at him silently. I couldn’t bring myself to speak, nor could I look away. Matt stepped forward, rustling the plastic ominously, and struck me with the tripod.

I reflexively closed my eyes. The chair tipped over, and I fell to the floor. My arm burned with pain, but no groan came out. Matt threw the tripod aside and began kicking me as I lay there. I was bound, so I couldn’t block him. No, even if I weren’t bound, I wouldn’t have blocked him.

A conversation with James came to mind. I had laughed and asked how I’d screwed Matt over. James had laughed, saying even the gentle Jerome would’ve torn him apart. That wasn’t all. Even when I heard Matt nearly died because of Simon, I didn’t turn back. I had sensed then that Matt might die, but I didn’t turn the car around. I was the one who made Matt like this. I…

Suddenly, Matt stopped kicking and raised his head. The sound of a door opening had reached us. Seizing the moment when the violence paused, I let out a shaky breath. Blinking, tears poured out.

<Who said you could touch him?>

The cold voice belonged to George. My body trembled. Matt, whose eyes were red with rage, cowered at those words. He immediately backed away from me, stammering excuses.

<S-Sorry… I, I just, s-sorry, p-please…>

George didn’t respond. The rustling of plastic told me he was approaching.

Matt scurried away in a panic. He crouched tightly in a corner of the room. Seeing him tremble like a leaf, consumed by fear, an indescribable emotion welled up inside me. Matt was irreparably broken. He had become like George. Because of me. Tears streamed down, but my throat was so tight no sound came out.

George, approaching from behind, righted the chair. I lowered my head. George stepped in front of me, grabbed my chin, and forced my head up. He looked down at me with domineering eyes.

<Why are you crying? For James? Or for this idiot?>

George sneered.

<Feeling a bit of regret now?>

Far from my usual retorts, I couldn’t even respond. Having just witnessed James’s tragic death and facing Matt like this, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything reckless.

George chuckled and gently wiped my tears. I turned my head, shaking off his hand. He flinched as if to slap me but instead sat down at my feet. I met George’s blue eyes looking up through his mask.

For a fleeting moment, I saw regret in George’s eyes. It wasn’t for me or any of us but seemed solely for his old love. I could tell… It felt like the end was coming for all of us. His face showed intense anger and hostility, but not a trace of lingering attachment. I looked down at him silently, not averting my eyes. The tears wouldn’t stop. Instead of wiping my cheek again, George reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

He pulled out a bundle of old photos. George untied the string binding them and began laying the photos out one by one at my feet. I glanced at them absentmindedly, but my gaze was instantly caught. I knew these photos. I knew the boys in them. I had never met them, but I knew them better than anyone.

A photo of a gravestone in a cemetery. A photo of a boy in a wheelchair beside a mental hospital’s iron sign, with three smiling boys standing at attention behind him. A photo of a gaunt corpse lying under a white sheet. A photo of Hugh holding a newspaper reporting a boy’s suicide. A photo of a young male prostitute in a brothel. A photo of a frail boy’s back as he walked toward a car with a duffel bag.

They were photos of my predecessors. But the last photo George placed down was one I had never seen before.

In the photo, Hugh stood in a garden, dressed neatly in a suit. He held a dog leash, staring clearly at the camera lens. But the leash wasn’t attached to a dog—it was fastened to a boy. Dressed just as neatly in a suit but with a dog collar around his neck, that boy was someone I knew well. A thin, delicate boy with pale blond hair and blue eyes.

George.

<Want a cigarette?>

Startled, I looked up. I had been so absorbed in the photos that I momentarily forgot about George. He was staring intently at my expression. I looked silently at him as he asked with sudden friendliness.

All that remained between us was hatred and disgust. The pity and affection I once felt when I mistook him for my predecessor had been burned away in Bluebell. Even now, years later, nothing had changed. The only places we arranged for each other were lives of endless pain or simple death. But at this moment, as we faced each other, our faces were shockingly similar.

Because we had lived only in pain and contempt for life. We had come to know each other like blood brothers. That’s why I wanted to kill George even more. Because I knew better than anyone why he chose a life of pain over a regretless death, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to give him the thorough death he had never experienced.

George looked away first. He pulled out Hugh’s keepsake from his suit pocket. The tin contained no cigarettes. George clicked his tongue and gestured to Matt.

<Cigarettes.>

Limping but quick, Matt hurried over. With swollen, bruised eyes, he glanced at me and pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket, handing it over. As soon as George snatched the pack, Matt scrambled back to his corner. George put two cigarettes in his mouth, lit them both, and placed one in my mouth.

I inhaled deeply and exhaled with a sigh. My tense body seemed to relax slightly. We smoked in silence. When we were about halfway through, George spoke.

Cigarette ash fell onto my lap. It wasn’t hot. It didn’t matter. I felt nothing.

<I asked Hugh the same question. Why me?>

Cigarette smoke drifted like fog from behind George’s mask.

We fell back into silence until we finished the cigarettes. When we were done, George knelt down and looked me straight in the eyes. Loosening his tie and unbuttoning a few shirt buttons, George slipped his fingers under his silicone mask. He yanked it off, and the wig fell with a chilling thud. George’s scarred, blotchy face appeared. He grinned widely, making a grotesque expression.

<You asked why I, of all people, fell in love with him.>

George threw off the silicone gloves he was wearing. His burned, melted skin looked reddish, as if freshly scorched. His hands were like lumps of hardened, molten flesh. The skin on the back of his hands bulged and twisted like veins.

I stared at his swollen, thick hands and spat the cigarette onto the floor. Before the plastic could burn, George crushed the butt with his shoe. With his hideous, ungloved hand, he held up a photo in front of my face.

It was a photo of a gravestone with the name Albert inscribed. Snow had piled softly on it, with two lines of text. I read them without meaning to.

<To God’s young son, Melissa and John’s young son, Albert, eternal rest.>

George let out a short laugh. He suddenly stopped laughing and looked at the photo with a serious gaze.

<Albert was a pretty good dog, wasn’t he? That’s what I heard. I never met him… But he couldn’t endure to the end. Foolishly, he made a fuss and died. Hugh went through trouble he didn’t need to. It was pointless suffering. But I, Albert and I were different…>

Unlike George, who spoke calmly, every word he said pained me. I couldn’t bear his casual tone, saying about a dead boy. James died like that too.

<If you die, Raymond will suffer.>

George treated a person’s death as a mere tool, whether for my pain or his own happiness.

They don’t value a person’s death as part of their life. To them, the life a person built doesn’t matter. They only arrange a death, treating the life before it as if it never existed. Like Albert. Like the other predecessors.

I know nothing about Albert’s life. I don’t even know his face. I only know every detail of his death.

<I endured. Unlike stupid Albert. Unlike bastards like you. At the end of pain, there’s a sweet reward. Hugh loved me. We fell in love. I was his lover… Raymond, Raymond, did you know?>

George’s eyes suddenly gleamed as he spoke. At that moment, he didn’t seem to be looking at me. His strangely unfocused, sparkling gaze seemed to chase something in the void, both futile and happy.

<He was my idol. He was my god. How could I not love him? For him, I could be his dog as much as he wanted. For him, I could give everything. That’s only right. He deserved to have everything. But.>

George smiled softly.

<That wasn’t a complete union, just worship. Hugh realized that soon enough. He wanted love from me, not worship. So we started raising… yes, Raymond… a pet.>

I couldn’t cover my ears or stop his words. I had no choice but to listen to George’s horrific stories. I couldn’t bear it. Tears made my cheeks burn. I didn’t have the strength to hear what came next.

My voice trembled.

<What?>

Unable to contain my anger, tears kept flowing. George laughed.

<Why? You were curious, weren’t you? Why it was you? I’ll explain step by step.>

<Shut up! I’m not curious, and I don’t want to hear…>

George suddenly grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. I could barely see him through lowered eyes. He spat out his words.

George shoved a photo of Peter in my face. His voice, thick with hatred, continued in a heated tone.

<Look, our pretty Peter. Look properly! He was Hugh’s and my first dog. We put in so much effort, but he couldn’t even last and went crazy, so we had to bring in Daniel.>

George tossed Peter’s photo aside and held up Daniel’s.

<This bastard talked too much, so we muzzled him and raised him, but he starved to death. He kept vomiting even when we fed him—what could we do? What could we do, you bastard! Joseph, oh, that guy thought he escaped well, but he fell under a bridge and died. So we took extra care with Christopher. But just when he got docile and we let our guard down, he ran away too. We caught him and sold him to a brothel in Newcontan, Raymond. We were heartbroken. We put in so much effort raising them, but they kept dying. So we had high hopes for Nicholas, but that stupid bastard failed too. And then.>

George took a deep breath.

<Raymond. You came to us.>

<No! No!>

I shook my head frantically, still caught by my hair. My short hair slipped out of George’s grip. I lowered my head and cried. Tears and saliva dripped onto my thighs. A hideous hand appeared in my vision. George gently cupped my cheek, lifting my head as if to soothe me. His deep blue eyes, burning with vivid hatred, met mine… His cracked lips parted.

George leaned in. We looked into each other’s faces up close. George suddenly twisted his head and kissed me. Nausea surged. I thrashed, shaking my head to escape. But George gripped my cheeks hard, forcing my lips open. Tears fell onto George’s cheek. He roughly sucked my lips and thrust his tongue inside.

I tried to bite and crush his tongue, but George, as if used to such resistance, easily dodged and ravaged my mouth at will. I didn’t stop resisting. Even bound tightly, I twisted my whole body, desperately trying to escape. George gripped my cheeks harder and kissed me. He bit my lips hard and rubbed his tongue against my teeth. He licked my tear-streaked cheeks with his filthy tongue and bit my eyelids painfully. My body trembled.

George whispered.

<Don’t pretend to cry, you bastard. Where do you get off lying again?>

My blocked breath suddenly burst out. I was dizzy from gasping for air. Breathing heavily, I twisted my body to shake George off. His body heat touching me was repulsive and chilling, making me nauseous. I couldn’t even sob, only choking out sounds. George gently stroked my hair. I wanted to kill him.

<We could have been happy, Raymond.>

George’s hand, which had been stroking my hair, softly wrapped around the back of my neck. The touch of his scarred hand on my bare skin sent shivers through me.

<You, we, didn’t have to suffer like this.>

The hand on my neck moved to caress my shoulder and then my chest. He slipped his hand under my shirt, touching my abdomen and sides. I shuddered.

George pressed his body closer. His hand slipped into my pants, touching the brand between my thighs. He whispered right in my ear.

<If you had done well, no one would have died.>

George’s hand gripped my genitals. My body froze stiffly. George continued whispering, undeterred.

<You ruined everything. It’s all your fault. You messed up, and that’s why this happened.>

Suddenly, George grabbed my testicles and forcibly shoved a finger into my tightly clenched opening. I tensed up in pain and fear. George chuckled mockingly. He painfully probed inside before pulling his finger out.

My body went limp. George stood up and lit another cigarette. Too weak to lift my head, I stared blankly at my knees. Tears fell. George picked up the tripod lying on the floor and set it up in front of me. He bent down, staring at me through the empty tripod as if taking a picture.

<Looking good, Raymond! I made sure not to touch your face… There are still some old scars, but… it’s fine, that’s good enough. You’ll look great on camera.>

George tilted the lighting rig closer to me and continued.

<We used to take photos, but you, Raymond, you’re worth keeping as a special memento. No matter what, you’re the last legacy Hugh left behind. Just taking a single photo and sending you off would be a waste. I even learned how to use a camcorder for you.>

George suddenly leaned in close to my face and said.

<Who knows? If it turns out well, maybe a porn company will show interest. Raymond, ever seen gay porn?>

<…….>

<Still crying? Acting now won’t help.>

George gently wiped my tears. The sobs I had barely suppressed finally burst out. Groaning like an animal, I cried, and George patted my shoulder as if to soothe me.

<Come to think of it, Raymond, you’ve always been curious about when and how you’d die, haven’t you?>

<Hng… sob, ugh… sob…>

<You’ll find out soon enough.>

<…….>

Die while atoning.

Atoning.

Those words hit me like a blow to the back of my head. Like a miracle, my tears stopped. Gasping for breath, I lifted my head. By then, it was too late—George had walked behind me. The plastic rustled, and the door opened and slammed shut behind me. His words left me unable to even cry, only panting.

Die while atoning?

I stared blankly at the photos scattered on the plastic floor. The photo of Hugh in a suit and George with a dog collar lay at my feet.

Die while atoning?

Those words pulled me out of my pity.

I’m supposed to atone? This is all my fault?

I glared at Hugh and George in the photo. It took a little longer for the anger to return…

I’m Hugh’s legacy?

As the shock faded, familiar anger ignited.

I’m not Hugh’s legacy—I’m a witness. A witness to his death and the last remaining witness to his crimes. I won’t die by George’s hand and let Hugh’s sins burn away. His sins will survive with me. I’ll never let Hugh’s sins be forgotten…!

But, but I can’t see a way to live. I can’t see a way to survive… a way to escape…

<Haha… haha!>

I snapped my head up. Matt, crouched in the corner, laughed like a madman.

<Die, die… just die!>

Matt muttered, trying to hide his fingerless right hand. At that moment, a not-so-brilliant idea struck me. But this time, Matt might be able to save me. In truth, there was no other way but Matt. I had to do something.

<Matt! Matt… come here.>

Tied to the chair, I shouted for him. Matt, huddled in the corner hiding his hand, looked up.

I remembered his once-beautiful face. His now bruised and mottled cheeks were once pale skin sprinkled with faint freckles, and his tangled hair was once cute, red curls. His now dulled, lifeless sky-blue eyes had once sparkled with cheeky vitality.

The charming, lively young man I had been drawn to was gone. In his place was a wounded young man who had learned hate, burning with murderous intent toward me. I could no longer save him, but he could save me.

<…….>

Perhaps because of George’s harshness, Matt glanced at the door and didn’t move. He stayed crouched silently for a long time. Only after enough time passed to be certain George wouldn’t return did Matt shakily stand. Hiding his right hand behind his back, he staggered toward me step by step. With each step, anger awakened in his eyes, flickering like a flame. Before he could lose control again and grab the tripod, I quickly spoke.

<Matt, who punished you?>

When he didn’t answer, I pressed him.

<What happened? Didn’t Jerome protect you?>

Matt, who had been striding toward me, stopped. He stood frozen a few steps away, his lips trembling.

<Simon… Simon punished me. I, I… Jerome… Jerome doesn’t even k-know yet.>

Simon cut off his fingers! A chill ran down my spine. Ever since I took a liking to Matt, Simon had hated him. Simon despised anyone I showed affection toward, except the top-tier boys. He even drugged James to make him rape me, just to punish him. Thinking of James made my eyes burn again.

But now wasn’t the time to think about Simon. Jerome, there had to be a reason Jerome kept Matt alive this long. From the days in Laverham, Jerome had been using Matt to play some kind of game with me. A game just between Jerome and me, without Simon or George. I had to figure out what it was. To do that, I had to provoke Matt. And using Matt to escape was the only way left.

<Really? He didn’t even come to see you? Did Jerome say he’d get revenge on Simon for you?>

Matt’s eyes welled with tears.

<I d-don’t know… I don’t know. Jerome didn’t even come to see me…>

<Why not? Isn’t Jerome your lover? Why didn’t he come to see you?>

Why not? I was desperately thinking at that moment too. Why didn’t Jerome visit Matt? Damn it, I didn’t care about the real reason. What mattered was a reason to feed Matt. Why didn’t Jerome visit him? Even when his lover was unjustly punished. Because Jerome was coming to get me. Why? Why did Jerome leave his lover to come for me? Because Jerome loves me. So who is Jerome’s real lover? Raymond. I’m Jerome’s lover.

I looked at Matt, tears streaming down his face. Was Jerome betting on me like he did in Bluebell? Maybe he deliberately kept someone like Matt, easy to manipulate, nearby so I could escape, only to start the hunt once I did. I wasn’t sure if this guess was right, but in this situation, Matt was the only one who could help me even a little.

<…That’s strange. I met Jerome.>

<W-Where? J-Jerome was here?>

<Yeah. Even though you’re here, Jerome didn’t even look at you… Did he come for me?>

Sparks of jealousy flared in Matt’s eyes.

<What does that mean?>

His sharp retort reminded me of when I first met him. The cocky young man who looked down on me and bossed me around at the motel, whining about wanting waffles with cream. It made me feel even more bitter. Matt could never return to that young man. Hiding my bitterness, I lifted my chin. There was no time for pity. Whether Matt’s foolishness led him to death or not, nothing was more important to me than escaping this moment’s death.

<What does it mean? Matt, after all this, you still don’t get it?>

<I don’t know!>

<Jerome told me never to take my eyes off him, didn’t he? Why do you think that was?>

<Why… I, I don’t know… J-Jerome just t-told me to do it…>

Matt mumbled, looking uncertain.

<Because Jerome…>

Because Jerome loves me. Yeah. As long as I’m here, you’ll never be fully loved. So help me escape quickly. Make me disappear from Jerome’s sight.

But just before I could spit out those sweet lies, at that moment, I saw Matt fidgeting with his right hand. He was in pain, unsure what to do, trying to hide his fingerless hand behind his back out of fear, only to glance at it in agony and grimace.

My tongue froze, and no words came out. If we’re talking about fault, Matt’s isn’t greater than mine. The top-tier boys’ conspiracy dragged me from Virginia to Laverham. If I hadn’t told Matt to come with me to Laverham, he wouldn’t have gone through this. That was the truth.

If I were to direct my anger at someone, it should rightfully be aimed at the top-tier boys. I couldn’t let myself be swept up in petty anger. I couldn’t use Matt just because I resented him, knowing he might die, just to save myself. If I went along with Jerome’s secret proposal and used Matt, he would surely die.

While I hesitated because of his severed fingers, Matt began to sink into panic again.

<…Jerome, Jerome… Jerome… I, I, I’m so ugly now, J-Jerome won’t love me anymore…>

Matt fumbled at his collapsed nose with his fingerless right hand. Damn it, I couldn’t bear to watch and had to turn my head. But I couldn’t block my ears.

<H-How much it hurt, it hurt… S-Simon… sob, ugh, m-my, my fingers… ugh, sob. With t-tools… a wrench… my fingers… Ray, Ray, I don’t have fingers…>

Matt’s muttering was more torturous than any torment. The plastic rustled. Matt stumbled forward and threw himself at my feet. He clung to my knees, sobbing. His tears soaked my legs. The spots where his tears touched felt hot, as if burning. Matt rubbed his forehead against my knees, wailing. Every time he stammered broken words—me, Ray, fingers, no fingers—between his sobs, my heart sank.

I stared blankly at the back of his head, then leaned down and rested my forehead against his. I must have lost my mind for a moment. To think I’d use someone I caused this to. He’d surely die because of me. Resting my forehead against Matt’s, I exhaled quietly and whispered.

<It’s okay, Matt. It’s okay. Shh. It’ll be alright. Everything will be fine. I promise…>

Matt clung tightly to my legs, crying like a child. His tears drenched my thighs. As I kissed the back of his head endlessly and whispered that it was okay, the door behind us opened again.

The door stayed open, and a brief silence followed. Matt, still sobbing with his face buried in my knees, didn’t seem to hear it.

A chill ran down my spine, and I clamped my mouth shut. I slowly pulled away from Matt and listened. For a moment, there was no sound, but then the plastic rustled. The sound of someone approaching, rustling step by step, came closer. My mouth wouldn’t move. The sound stopped right behind me. I froze, unable to speak to Matt.

Suddenly, a hand landed on my shoulder. I jumped in shock. The hand was large and terribly warm. Only one person had such warm hands.

When I flinched in surprise, Matt looked up. He saw the person behind me and opened his mouth. In an instant, Matt’s face paled with fear, and he scrambled back, pushing himself away with his hips. His injured right hand recklessly pressed against the floor, causing blood to seep through the bandage.

<How can you two…>

Simon said quietly.

<Still be so close?>

Simon slowly stepped around to face me. His cheeks were sunken, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. He clearly didn’t look well. Simon, stroking my shoulder, asked calmly again.

<That guy stole your stuff and even handed you over to Jerome. That vile, despicable idiot had plenty of chances to help you afterward but never did, not once. So why do you always treat him so kindly?>

<…….>

<Raymond. Explain it to me. Help me understand. Tell me why you hate and despise me but love him. I don’t get you, Raymond. I can’t understand you.>

Simon, who had been stroking my cheek, leaned down and kissed my forehead. I didn’t even think of responding to him. I couldn’t take my eyes off Matt, who was terrified and shoving his right hand into his shirt to hide it. I knew the more I did this, the more Simon would hate Matt, but I still couldn’t look away.

Matt, like a madman, stuffed his hand into his shirt. His trembling mouth drooled, tears welled in his eyes, but he was too scared of Simon to even groan. Matt looked like he was losing his mind. When he tried to shove his right hand into his mouth, I couldn’t bear to watch anymore. I closed my eyes and turned my head, but Simon grabbed my chin.

In his usual blunt tone, Simon said.

I opened my eyes. Simon’s face was expressionless.

<And I’ll save you right now.>

His voice was calm. I looked up at him, then lowered my eyes. Beyond Simon, Matt was crying, shoving his hand into his mouth. I turned my eyes back to Simon.

<Wish for something worth wishing for, you idiot.>

Simon just stared at me silently. It was as if my words were a signal. The door burst open again, and a commotion erupted behind me. The plastic rustled. People were approaching from behind.

<Huh? Why’s our Matt here? Did he follow us all the way here?>

It was Jerome. He sounded genuinely curious and amused as he strode toward Matt, asking loudly. Hearing his voice made my blood boil. What’s so damn fun for that guy all the time? What makes every single day so damn exciting and thrilling for him? With a curious expression, Jerome crouched in front of Matt.

Matt, drooling and shoving his right hand into his mouth, suddenly noticed Jerome. The moment he recognized him, Matt’s face turned deathly pale. I recalled Matt saying he was afraid Jerome wouldn’t love him because he was ugly now. Jerome didn’t look displeased. He studied Matt’s face with fascination and amusement, then noticed the fingerless right hand and widened his eyes.

<What’s wrong with him?>

Jerome asked, turning to Simon. Simon stepped away from me slowly, not answering.

<Oh, that’s the guy?>

A malicious voice came from behind, and my head was yanked back. Some man tilted my head back and stared at my face.

<Hey, he’s good-looking.>

<That’s him. Untie him.>

George’s voice followed. The door slammed shut. Soon, I was surrounded by about a dozen men.

They were all men. Some had already pulled out their dicks. They were really going to film that porn they mentioned, those bastards. I clenched my mouth shut and glared at George. He set up a camcorder on the tripod. At George’s command, the men untied my restraints.

Though my arms and legs were free, I stayed seated in the chair. What was coming was obvious, and I didn’t want to waste my energy beforehand. Resistance now felt like just that. Resisting, at this point, was dismissed as a pointless waste of strength.

I stared at the camcorder lens. James, you tried to get me out of here. I recalled his face, dead just hours ago. I won’t submit.

<Matt.>

George said softly.

<Jerome, bring Matt over.>

Jerome obeyed without a word. He gently supported the terrified, crying Matt. Matt stretched his legs out, resisting, but it was no use. Jerome was absurdly strong. He effortlessly brought Matt in front of the camcorder. George crouched in front of him.

<Matt, if I recall, you said you with Raymond. Is that right?>

Matt seemed too scared to answer coherently. George slapped his cheek without hesitation. Matt froze, staring at George. George asked again.

<You slept with Raymond, didn’t you? Right or wrong.>

Matt nodded frantically. George smiled coldly.

<And what did you tell us back then? Remember?>

Matt, out of his mind, couldn’t possibly recall. When he looked bewildered, George asked kindly.

<Think carefully. You went to the motel because you wanted to sleep with Raymond. And you spread your legs, but Raymond didn’t do it. Why not?>

Matt stammered, unable to answer. George slapped his cheek again. Matt started crying again.

<If you don’t answer properly, your remaining fingers will be gone too.>

At that, Matt sobbed and shouted.

<He couldn’t! Ray, Ray said he couldn’t penetrate!>

George turned to me and smirked. I gritted my teeth. Shame I thought was long gone heated my face. I glared at him, but George calmly turned back to Matt.

<So, how did you two sleep together?>

<I, I, I…>

George cut him off.

Matt stared blankly at George. So did I. I stared at him, stunned. George gently stroked Matt’s cheek and said.

<Don’t!>

I leapt from the chair, shouting. It wasn’t Jerome who brought Matt. It wasn’t because of Jerome’s and my game. George brought Matt!

<Don’t move, Matt!>

<If you don’t,>

George sneered viciously.

<I’ll cut off your wrist.>

Matt’s face turned ghostly white. He looked at me, tears streaming. A premonition hit me, such a premonition, and I shouted frantically.

<No, Matt! No…>

George grinned.

Those words seemed to have a clear effect on Matt. His eyes reddened, and he whipped around to face me. As he stood, I scrambled over the chair to escape. I didn’t get far. The surrounding men grabbed my collar and shirt. They seized my hair and dragged me, throwing me in front of Matt. Matt fumbled, trying to climb on top of me. Unable to push him away roughly because of his injuries, I grabbed his wrists and pleaded.

<Matt, no, we… don’t do this. Please…>

<But, my fingers…>

Matt said, crying.

<Ray, your pants, take them off…>

<No. No, Matt…>

I held his wrists and whispered.