The Bad Life – Chapter 17.2 – My Villain, My Monster, My Lover

Author: nicotine

Rather than that, my limbs had been constantly stretched and bent throughout, and from the repetition of running away only to get caught and dragged back, I had been so thoroughly overexerted that the muscle pain was severe. Even when I was just sitting still without moving, my entire body felt achy and stiff, and a throbbing pain came pulsing through it.

In yesterday’s utter disaster, at least one somewhat better aspect was the fact that they preferred the method of raping in a way that was easier rather than causing bleeding from the rear entrance. They had slathered on so much gel as if it were some kind of discourtesy, so the back had not torn open, but that was the only extent of it. After being relentlessly overworked for several hours without any break, even attempting to walk made it sting so badly that tears gathered in my eyes without my realizing it. To be able to move my body properly again, I would need to rest deeply for at least two full days. It was a feasible amount of time because I had once been a soldier and had continued to exercise steadily even after that. In other words, Jamie….

I suddenly glanced at Jerome. He was untying the bow tie he had neatly fastened. Even at a simple glance, the man’s hands were far removed from anything delicate or pretty. It was markedly different from the Bluebell days when he had seemed like some elegant young lord. The hands, rough and calloused with numerous scars, had thick calluses here and there and knuckles that were bulky and coarse. From Rubberham onward, his hands had been that rough. Jerome had called the man we met at the mansion the Deputy Director, and that man had called Jerome the Agent. I could somewhat guess the origin of those hands.

Jerome, who had been folding the bow tie and tucking it into his inner pocket, let out a soft chuckle. He looked at me with eyes flecked with mischief. Emphasizing his characteristic posh accent, Jerome replied politely.

<Agent, huh. So you’re working for some secret intelligence bureau or something?>

I glared at the irritating bastard as he prattled on and sneered back.

<An agent working for a secret intelligence bureau who frequents <The Club>, kidnaps civilians to gang-rape them, and shows up at orgy parties?>

<Umm….>

Jerome burst into laughter as he muttered. Even as he did so, Jerome’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to check behind the car. He spoke softly.

<What’s the reason for hacking up a person who was living normally and turning him into a cripple? Why stamp such a mark on an ordinary person? Jerome, do you find that fun? Do those acts appeal to your perverted sadistic tendencies? How long are you going to keep doing that? How long are you going to repeat those acts?>

Jerome suddenly stopped the car right in the middle of the road and leaned his body toward me abruptly. Startled to the point that my breath caught, I stared blankly at Jerome’s face thrust right in front of my nose. Jerome smiled so that his eyes narrowed into crescents, then planted a brief kiss on my lips. It was such a short moment that there was no time to bite him. Jerome returned to his seat and pulled on the seatbelt. He fastened the seatbelt for me and gripped the steering wheel. The voice of Jerome as he continued speaking remained soft as ever.

At that instant, Jerome twisted the steering wheel and veered into the opposite lane. A sedan that nearly collided with us swerved sharply and blared a long horn. Jerome floored the accelerator without the slightest hesitation and proceeded to drive against the flow of traffic. Struck by a sudden thought, I hurriedly turned to look behind us, and there, two sedans that had likewise abandoned their lanes were now fiercely chasing after us in reverse as well.

If Jerome was truly a secret agent, it would not be all that surprising, but in any case, he drove with such skill that it left me utterly entranced. He nimbly dodged cars coming head-on, adroitly switched lanes with expert precision, and at the intersection, the moment the traffic light changed, he turned the wheel with exquisite timing to merge into another lane. A chaotic uproar erupted behind us with screeching brakes and blaring horns all tangled together, but he merely glanced at the situation in the rearview mirror without so much as batting an eye.

At some point, we shook off one of the cars, and Jerome easily lost the remaining one by twisting the wheel this way and that into an alley. Jerome, who was driving, was the picture of composure, but as for me, sitting quietly in the passenger seat, my heart was pounding wildly from the car chase that had even involved driving the wrong way. Jerome prowled through unfamiliar alleys at high speed, stirring them up, and finally came to a sudden stop somewhere.

I had frozen with my back pressed flat against the seatback and my hand clenched on the assist handle, and only then did I manage to exhale a breath. As Jerome unbuckled his seatbelt, he asked.

My stomach was still churning as if I were inside a car racing at full speed. Jerome unbuckled my seatbelt for me and smirked.

<Back in <Kelly>, you used to run quite often, didn’t you? Just run like you did back then.>

I seized the collar of the bastard right in front of my nose and yanked it hard, growling as if I were about to strangle him to death.

<Oh, right. After going through that troublesome ordeal last night, running must be difficult. I was thoughtless, Raymond. I apologize.>

<I’ll support you. Let’s go.>

I shoved Jerome hard and opened the car door. I managed to get my foot out of the car first, but even standing up was a tremendous ordeal. The moment I finally stood while clinging to the car door, I nearly collapsed right onto the road. A winter wind whooshed by sharply. While I leaned against the door and caught my breath for a moment, Jerome also got out of the driver’s seat and approached me directly.

He silently extended his hand. For some inexplicable reason, a memory I had completely forgotten in the blackness suddenly resurfaced. Back when I was confined in the log cabin, having forgotten even how to walk and addicted to the drugs, Jerome had extended his cold hand toward me and said. <If you extend your hand, I grab it.> The face of twenty-five-year-old Jerome that abruptly rose before my eyes faded away, replaced by the man over thirty standing tall in front of me, extending his hand. Just like that Jerome from back then, who had awakened in me the memory of standing on two legs, the memory that I could walk, that I could even run.

I did not want to take his hand. I wanted to shake it off and crawl on the ground if I had to, just to escape. But a faint resistance was swept away by the fiercely surging impulse. I took his hand and leaned my body against him. Jerome tightly wrapped his arm around my waist to support me and quickly moved his steps. As I quietly gazed at Jerome’s face, focused only on walking ahead, I suddenly asked.

<You’re dragging me out so I can’t meet Timothy, aren’t you. Last time, you made sure I couldn’t escape from that damned school, and after that, you shut me in the log cabin. What are you planning this time?>

<Well. I haven’t thought that far yet, and first off, I intend to change out of these clothes.>

<…Clothes?>

It sounded like the kind of leisurely banter one might make while cracking jokes, but Jerome was right. Jerome was dressed in a splendid tailcoat, and I was in a suit, an outfit that stood out conspicuously. With our already noticeable appearances, and as two men each a full head taller than most others, if Timothy set his mind to finding us, he would track us down in the blink of an eye. Moreover, as I was being practically carried by Jerome with my arm around his shoulder, it was inevitable that passersby would glance at us once or twice.

It was a perfectly accurate statement without a single flaw, but it irritated me that he was deliberately dodging the question, so I drove my elbow hard into the bastard’s side. Jerome, caught off guard by the sudden attack, let out a groan mixed with laughter and glanced at me sideways with eyes still twinkling with amusement.

<Don’t overdo it. We’re both in the same dire situation, after all.>

From earlier on, the absurdity of the situation where Jerome and I were amicably fleeing together left me unable to retort with anything. I could not accept that Jerome and I were sharing the same circumstances. But Jerome and I were walking side by side right now. No, we were much closer than just walking side by side. I had my arm draped over his shoulder, and he had his arm wrapped around my waist, supporting me so tightly that our bodies were pressed right up against each other to keep me from falling. I was going along relying on him. We had become a <we>. That unfamiliarity sealed my lips. All I could do was stare at Jerome’s face, which I had hated so much and still hated, with a sense of estrangement.

<There’s no suitable place to change clothes right away, taking a taxi is dangerous, and you can’t even use your strength.>

I glared at Jerome, who was speaking in such a lighthearted tone.

Even as my breath came in gasps, I snapped back fiercely. On the other hand, Jerome, whose breathing was not the least bit disrupted, replied with feigned innocence.

<…….>

<See, I told you to run away sooner.>

<…….>

Instead of answering, I stopped my foot and stared at him intently. Jerome likewise held his ground without backing down, meeting my gaze with his smiling face intact. We stood there for a moment, staring at each other fixedly, and then, struck by how ridiculous this situation of having a staring contest felt, I turned my head away first.

As we walked on in silence, I had no choice but to rely on Jerome more and more. Thanks to being jostled around in a car that had performed all sorts of acrobatics for the past hour, I was far more exhausted than I had been back at the mansion. Even though my legs had given out long ago in what would have been the worst state, the only reason I was stubbornly walking on my own two feet was to avoid being carried on his back, but my body was leaning almost entirely against Jerome. It was an awkward and uncomfortable moment where I did not know what to do with myself, but Jerome’s face remained utterly composed without a single change in expression. If I lost my balance, he would grab the arm draped over his shoulder to steady it and tightly pull my waist to support me. When I squirmed because the excessive closeness made me uncomfortable, he would instead apply more strength to straighten my waist and slow our pace. He seemed to think I was complaining because it was hard. It was true that it was hard, so as I walked while loading my weight onto Jerome, I panted heavily.

After about two blocks, I was so worn out that I wanted to just collapse right there on the spot. As I breathed raggedly and my legs finally gave way with my knees buckling, Jerome sat me down on the edge of the sidewalk. He sat down right next to me and wiped the sweat beaded on my forehead. At some point, Jerome seemed fairly tired himself and let out a long breath. He leaned his cheek against his knee and looked at me.

<…….>

Jerome’s face, speaking in such a light tone as if it were nothing, did not show any particular worry either. I did not even feel the need to respond and simply focused on catching my breath while ignoring him. Jerome gazed at me thoughtfully for a while, then suddenly smirked. His fresh green eyes, sparkling with vitality, dipped into mischief, his slightly reddened lips parted to reveal white teeth. The wind blew, making his sweat-dampened black hair flutter lightly.

Jerome abruptly reached out his hand and touched my cheek. He wiped away the bead of sweat trickling down my cheek with his fingertip, then slowly stroked my cheek with his cool hand… brushing past my jawline to wrap around my nape. I simply stared at him without a word. Because of the way his touch caressed so slowly as if in a caress, the fine hairs on my nape stood on end. I glared at Jerome intently and slapped his hand away roughly.

Jerome persistently reached out again and straightened my hair.

<Well, I happen to have some business with him anyway, so I wouldn’t refuse.>

I irritably grabbed his wrist and swatted it away.

Jerome placed his hand on my cheek once again.

The moment I tried to remove his hand again, unexpectedly, Jerome snatched my hand and gripped it tightly. He squeezed my hand so painfully that my mouth gaped open, and he smiled languidly.

<It’s my own worry. If you get caught by Timothy, my situation becomes difficult.>

The crazy bastard had gripped my hand so hard that I could not even make a sound of pain. Jerome pinned my hand to the ground as if pressing it down and suddenly pressed his body right up against mine. He came so close as if to embrace me and slipped his hand into my pants pocket. After a moment, he pulled out my Hugh phone while releasing the hand he had been gripping. The instant my hand was free, I swung a fist at him, but Jerome deftly leaned back his upper body to dodge it. As my body wobbled from swinging the punch with all my might, Jerome stood up and quickly put some distance between us.

I cursed at him profusely as he grinned irritatingly, and barely regained my balance. Jerome paid no attention and nonchalantly made a call to somewhere.

<Hello, Mrs. Stella. Yes, it’s Jerome. Have you been well?>

Like a sly fox, he was a few steps away grinning, so I threw small pebbles that came to hand at him. Annoyingly, Jerome stepped back one more pace and dodged every single one without getting hit. Having no more strength left to tussle, I simply lay down flat on the sidewalk. The winter sunlight stabbed sharply at my eyelids.

<Yes, ma’am. I know it’s dangerous, but things have gotten a bit urgent right now.>

While Jerome talked on the phone with someone called Mrs. Stella for a few minutes, I closed my eyes and slowly regulated my breathing. The cold winter air burrowed deep into my lungs. After a while, Jerome ended the call and told me to wait, then disappeared somewhere. I raised my sprawled body and massaged my legs. The muscle pain hurt so much that tears pricked at my eyes, but the muscles were so tense that I could not just leave them alone. At least it was to this extent because I had steadily gone jogging during my stay at <Elrphan>, otherwise, if it were the body from when I lived at Teddy’s house, drinking alcohol and doing drugs all the time, I would have ended up being carried on Jerome’s back long ago.

As I quietly massaged my legs, all sorts of random thoughts came to mind. I had not grown as strong as Jerome, but Teddy had been diligent in taking care of me too. Once, on a day when I had collapsed in front of the front door from being high on drugs, Teddy had searched the entire neighborhood up and down to find me. In the end, unable to find me and returning home, he had seen me collapsed in front of the front door, exploded in anger, and beaten me up badly. I had liked that naivety of Teddy’s. Even though I went around with words like I hate it, get lost, leave me alone now stuck to my lips, whenever I ended up completely drunk and collapsed, it was always Teddy who took me away. I stopped the hand that had been massaging my legs. In fact, Teddy’s cooking skills were not all that bad. I missed the awful clam chowder he used to make for me.

As I quietly looked down at my legs, a pair of black shoes wedged in between my ankles. I lifted my head. Jerome stood with his back to the pale winter sunlight and suddenly pressed a cold can against my cheek. I flinched away from the chill on my cheek, and he grinned playfully as he handed me the can. It was a Coca-Cola can. Jerome said as he cracked open his own can.

<…….>

Instead of answering, I shook the cola can for dear life. Jerome, who had been drinking his cola, watched me with his eyes wide open. I threw the can that I had shaken with all my strength. Jerome’s gaze followed the can all the way across to the opposite sidewalk. He turned his still-wide eyes back to me.

<I’m not drinking it, you jerk.>

<…….>

<Don’t do things you never did before and get lost.>

<You’re so stubborn as always.>

Jerome said in a playful voice and suddenly straddled my thigh. There had not been many passersby to begin with, but even those few all glanced at us. I hurriedly pushed at his shoulder, but Jerome did not budge an inch like a rock. Before I could resist, the bastard twisted my jaw joint firmly to force my mouth open and poured his own cola into it wildly. He was a complete madman. The carbonation hit my throat painfully as it went down my esophagus. No matter how much I hit and pushed at Jerome’s arm, he acted as if it did not hurt at all and stubbornly emptied the entire can of cola into me. I swallowed half and spilled half.

<Cough, cough!>

My breath caught, and with a tickle in my throat, I bent at the waist and coughed violently. With Jerome sitting right in front of my nose, I had no choice but to lean my head against his chest and let out coughs like retching. As I glared at him through tear-filled eyes with difficulty, Jerome sucked on his fingers soaked in cola and laughed like a mischievous kid. I was not joking; I really wanted to kill him. The moment I lunged to strangle his neck, he slipped away irritatingly once again.

Unable to vent my anger, I panted and glared at Jerome. But thanks to drinking something sweet, my thirst was quenched, and a slight bit of vitality returned to my utterly exhausted body. It was just a slight bit. Every time Jerome came close, I threw pebbles at him, so he stood at a safe distance away. With one hand shoved into his pocket and standing crookedly, he was fiddling around with someone else’s Hugh phone as he pleased. There was nothing worth seeing even if I looked, so I left him alone.

After rummaging through the Hugh phone for a long while, Jerome asked.

<…What?>

Jerome shook the Hugh phone with the text window open as he spoke.

<She’s worried, so she says to at least give her a call, and to come home quickly.>

<What?>

<You’ll throw pebbles if I come close.>

<…….>

I glared at him murderously, but Jerome just kept smiling brightly. After glaring for a long time, I finally gave up from my side.

Jerome stared at me intently and said spitefully.

<Umm….>

Jerome feigned contemplation in the most infuriating way and replied.

Jerome started sending replies on his own. I dragged my legs and half-crawled toward the bastard to snatch the Hugh phone away. In that short time, Jerome had sent Faye a text like <Sorry, but we’re done now.> Fortunately, she called right away, and as I hurriedly picked up and said <Faye, misunderstanding. That jerk was just messing around…>, Jerome snatched the Hugh phone from behind me. Having taken the Hugh phone, he hung up on his own. My anger boiled over so much that I felt like the top of my head would blow off.

<I’ll borrow the Hugh phone for a bit. As you saw earlier, I threw mine away.>

If I could just beat Jerome to death, Timothy or whoever, that would be my one wish. Unable to contain my anger, I panted until I collapsed from exhaustion, and only then did Jerome roughly hoist me onto his back and set me down on the sidewalk. Having no strength left even to sit, I half-lay down, and by then Jerome had gone off toward the road alone. Thinking about how I was worrying Faye and Allen made my heart unbearably uneasy. Moreover, Jerome did not seem like he would let me go easily at all, and since he had taken the Hugh phone too, there was absolutely nothing I could do right now.

If I thought about it coldly, in the current situation, moving together with Jerome was not so bad. Because Jerome was the person closest to <The Club> and most suitable for finding out about Timothy. But the way he scratched at my nerves like this, made my blood boil, and then slipped away irritatingly was so infuriating that I felt like I could die from it. There was also a physiological aversion to the idea that I had to move together with Jerome. We could never become a cooperative relationship, and we had never once been thrown into the same situation, so the present felt awkwardly mismatched. I even had an unrealistic thought that it might be better to go back alone to Newcontan’s strip The Club and search around for male prostitutes who had sold their bodies to <The Club> before.

By the time I regulated my exhausted breathing and regained my composure, Jerome returned. Behind him, a red truck came crawling along slowly. Eventually, both Jerome and the truck stopped in front of me. He flung open the truck door and strode toward me. He slipped his arms under my armpits and lifted me up with a heave. There was no room for choice. Leaning my body against him, I was practically carried as we approached the truck.

In the driver’s seat sat a man with long gray hair braided into two plaits draped over his broad, muscular shoulders. Wearing a blue vest, he had nothing underneath, so his firm chest muscles were fully exposed. His build was like a boulder, so even though only that one man was riding in it, the truck felt completely filled. Anyway, he was an enormously muscular middle-aged man… and he was wearing wild makeup. The man grinned with lips painted bright red. I nodded my head inadvertently but could not hide my flustered expression in time.

With Jerome’s help, I barely climbed into the back seat, and the man extended his hand. I shook it half-unconsciously. Jerome, who had gotten into the passenger seat, interjected.

<Raymond, this is Mrs. Stella. The person we’ll be imposing on for a while today. Mrs. Stella, this is Raymond. He’s well acquainted with Christopher.>

Deep dimples formed in Mrs. Stella’s cheeks, rough with sprouting beard stubble. The moment we exchanged greetings, Mrs. Stella immediately started the truck. I half-lay down in the back seat and gazed at the scenery flashing by outside the window. Despite Mrs. Stella’s rough driving skills, an unstoppable drowsiness washed over me, and before I knew it, I fell asleep.

When I woke from sleep, I was lying in an unfamiliar bed. My whole body ached terribly. When I tried to raise my body, pain surged in, and a groan escaped me involuntarily. I barely crawled out from under the blanket, stretched out fully, and lightly loosened my body. Because I had slept deeply, my body felt incomparably lighter than before falling asleep. Only after loosening up did I look around the dim surroundings. It was pitch dark, so I could not see a thing.

I flung open the window at the head of the bed. An unexpectedly cool breeze rushed in refreshingly. The wind made my hair whip around wildly. Startled, I blinked my eyes and cautiously stuck my head out the window. There was a sound. The moment I thrust my upper body out, the sound of waves pounded at my ears. I blinked my eyes. Gradually, the darkness became familiar to my eyes. It was the sea. Outside the window, there was a short cliff about ten meters away, and beyond the soft white sand beach at the bottom of the cliff, the pitch-black seawater crashed with splashes.

If I tried to escape, it would really take some effort. After standing there for a while, letting the sea breeze chase away the sleepiness, I closed the window. I carefully stepped out of the bed. The soreness below was still there, but it was not to the point that I could not walk. I limped across the bedroom floor. Every time I stepped, a creaking sound came from the floorboards.

When I opened the door, bright light poured in. I saw fluorescent lights brightly lit, and on the mat in front of the door, a pair of slippers was neatly placed. Ignoring the slippers, I tiptoed out quietly on the balls of my feet. The house was small and cozy, with a peaceful silence pervading it. Except for the occasional sound of waves from the slightly open window, it was endlessly quiet and still. The floor was covered with a soft, plush carpet. I carefully stepped onto the carpet to make no sound and emerged into the living room.

<…….>

Jerome was sitting on the living room sofa. He was leaning back against the sofa with his head tilted slightly to the side… and asleep.

I blinked my eyes and stood at a distance, gazing at him. He had removed his shirt collar and unfastened the cuff buttons on his sleeves. He seemed to be sleeping quite deeply, as his chest rose and fell regularly. I raised onto my tiptoes and approached Jerome stealthily. He noticed nothing and breathed peacefully, deeply asleep. I stood tall in front of him and quietly looked down at Jerome.

His cheeks and jaw, where stubble was beginning to sprout roughly, and his slightly parted lips in sleep presented a thoroughly masculine appearance that felt unfamiliar. I knew nothing about Jerome. Yet, on the other hand, it felt like there was nothing I did not know about Jerome. That face with eyes peacefully closed was utterly unfamiliar. Even his appearance, now approaching thirty, felt strange to me. Nevertheless, for some reason, on one side, it also felt familiar, as if we had lived our whole lives pressed flesh to flesh. No, it was no different from having lived our whole lives pressed flesh to flesh… Even after leaving Bluebell and Rubberham, the boys from the top tier had never completely left my side even once. Even the dead Hugh seemed like he was somewhere, aging like me, living day by day.

It would be like that for the rest of my remaining life as well. I would never be able to forget the boys from the top tier.

They had become an inseparable part of me, and now it was impossible to perfectly separate me from them. Like something that had melted together with them and then hardened, I could no longer distinguish between myself and the boys from the top tier. The cruelties I possessed, the angers I harbored, could not become entirely my own. The sexual desires I had learned from them had never ignited as purely my own cravings. The boys would forever be with me in my life….

There was no perfect way to kill them. No matter how I killed them, they would imprint themselves onto my life through their death, and if I left them alive, they would interfere with my life through their living. I could never escape for my entire life. That was my fate. My fate.

Standing tall over Jerome, casting a shadow on him, I suddenly lunged forward silently and swiftly. Jerome’s eyes snapped open as if he had been waiting for it. We did not exchange a single word. I gripped his enticingly exposed throat tightly with both hands. Jerome tried to draw up his knee and strike my solar plexus with his heel. Instead of dodging, I wrapped around his leg and twisted it. Jerome twisted his body to dislocate the joint while kicking at my side with his free leg. I barely blocked his instep with my arm.

The moment Jerome lost his balance and slid off the sofa, I mounted on top of him. I pressed a cushion mercilessly against his face to block his airway. Jerome, who had seized my wrists, rolled his body with all his strength to break free. Pushed by him, I lost my balance and staggered back, and for a very brief moment, my knees buckled. Jerome did not miss that instant and swung a fist that grazed my lips. Blood pooled in my mouth, but instead of faltering, I sprang up like a coiled spring and tackled Jerome’s waist to flip him over. Mounting on top of him again, I gripped his throat tightly once more. Jerome tried to grab my arms and push them away, but I clung on tenaciously. I strangled him as if to snap his neck bones. Jerome threw his head back and writhed. I clamped my thighs tightly against his upper body while pressing my thumb hard against his Adam’s apple. He jerked his head sharply backward.

Jerome blinked his eyes. His bloodshot red eyes looked at me and then ever so slightly pulled up the corner of his mouth. I squeezed his throat even harder. His eyes slowly closed.

The body pinned beneath me lost its strength and went limp. Even as I doubted it, I slowly loosened my hands. Jerome lay motionless below, his ruddy cheeks drained to a pallid white. With trembling hands, I placed my fingers under his nose. There was not even the faintest breath. I felt nothing. Perhaps he was dead. From beyond the window, the sound of crashing waves suddenly came in eerily. Jerome was dead.

It felt like all the blood drained from my entire body. As I looked down at the dead Jerome, suddenly a chill crept up behind my ears. I could vividly feel cold sweat trickling down my spine. This time, it was as if someone were strangling my throat, and my breath caught tightly. Just like that, strength seemed to ebb away from my whole body. I blankly looked down at Jerome’s face with eyes closed as if in sleep.

<No.>

A drop of blood from my torn lips fell onto Jerome’s throat, where red handprints remained, staining it bright red.

<Ah… no.>

It felt like I was screaming, but I could not hear the scream. Wind and sound seemed to burst terrifyingly from my throat, but like a deaf person, I heard nothing. It was as if I had been trapped in a perfect vacuum. Screaming, I got off the dead Jerome. I yanked at his shirt and ripped it open, placing my interlaced hands on his bare chest. I pressed my palms down on his chest where his heart had stopped. Drops of blood fell onto the back of my hands and his chest.

How many times had I done this, how many times in Afghanistan, how many dead people, how many times had I, fallen into shock, done it, yes, I had done it, I could save them. Was it too late? A chilling sensation washed over me as if all the blood in my body was draining out. Was it too late? Was it too late? Was it too late? It could not be. He could not die here! We, you, you, me, it’s a lie. It’s a dream. It can’t be. Every time I pressed down on his chest, Jerome’s limbs jerked and flopped, but he still did not open his eyes. I threw myself down in front of him.

I gripped Jerome’s jaw, where his head had lolled in death. I straightened his head, tilted it back, and pressed my mouth to his. Blocking his nose, I blew deep breaths into his mouth. Before I knew it, tears were flowing. This could not happen. He could not die. I did not even know what this emotion was. But I could not lose any more. The boys. I could not lose my boys any longer. I did not know. I did not know. I did not know. Clinging to him, I desperately blew breaths into him. It was quiet. Too quiet. This could not be. We, this, too, you, always there, you, you all, if you die, now I, my life is, what I have, in this life, I, to me, only you all! I cannot lose even you! Rubbing my blood-soaked lips against his, I blew breaths into him. Tears streamed down endlessly. Jerome did not even twitch a fingertip.

I raised my body and pressed down on his chest with my interlaced hands as if pumping his heart. Tears and blood smeared across his chest, dyeing it entirely red like a real dead person. Jerome did not move a bit. He was dead. Dead. I collapsed onto Jerome and wailed. Cracks began to form in the vacuum world where sound had vanished like a shattered eggshell. The silence choking my breath started to crumble from the edges. Screams could be heard. It was my scream, which had not even reached my own ears. I was frantically shouting at my deaf self until my voice tore. Bloodcurdling screams ripped into my eardrums. A shiver ran through me at that terrifying cry, and my breath caught.

“Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away! Run away!”

<Cough!>

A pained cough yanked me back to reality in an instant. Starting with one cough, Jerome twisted his body and let out coughs like vomiting. I froze with my eyes wide open. Tears flowed, but I could say nothing. Jerome was alive and moving. He coughed while writhing his body. His chest heaved as he breathed laboriously. Only then did I hurriedly rise and lift Jerome’s upper body. I held him in my arms as if cradling him. Jerome arched his back and spewed coughs wildly. Dots of blood fell from his mouth. With his face drained to a deathly pallor, he coughed for a long while.

Jerome, who had been panting and gasping for breath, heaved his body a few times and finally managed to breathe properly. He was looking down at his chest, smeared with blood. It was my blood. The blood that had flowed from my torn lips and mouth after being hit by Jerome. Jerome raised his head. Since I had been staring at him in my arms the whole time, our eyes met right away.

The silence seemed to tear at my eardrums. I was still shedding tears drop by drop. His bloodshot eyes, brimming with life, were hateful and yet lovable at the same time. I felt like I would go mad just like this. Seeing him with eyes open, I wanted to strangle his throat and kill him again, and seeing those green eyes looking at me, I did not want to move while keeping our gazes locked forever. Blood and saliva mixed and flowed from my torn lips. Sobbing soundlessly, I stared at Jerome without even blinking. He opened his lips, wet with my blood and saliva.

Jerome reached out his hand. As he wiped my wet eyes with his fingertips, he continued in a voice hoarse from the strain.

I answered through my sobs. Jerome let out a short burst of laughter. Even his laughter was pathetically hoarse. I had never imagined it. I just…. I simply hugged Jerome even tighter. Burying my face in his chest, I poured out my tears. Jerome did not hug me back and simply stayed still in my arms. The man said in a voice roughened by the strangling.

He asked slyly, like a serpent.

At twenty, we met. In a remote school in a cold region without even a tropical night, he tried to kill me several times, raped me, made me get gang-raped, and lashed me with a horsewhip until my entire body was black and blue with bruises. Jerome liked that. He liked dropping me into the abyss of despair and frustration and watching me climb back up that cliff. He liked ejaculating on my face. He liked raping me. He liked watching me get gang-raped by others. Raping me while I slept and taking photos to keep was his delightful hobby. He liked torturing me harshly and trampling me miserably.

Nevertheless, he hoped I would survive, hoped I would survive healthily. He hoped I would survive and suffer even more. He lifted me up when I was hanging at the edge of death, extended his hand to me when I was dying, and made it possible for me to win in moments of revenge.

Clutching Jerome tightly, I sobbed soundlessly. After a long silence, Jerome raised his hand. He gently wrapped his arm around my back and whispered.

<Foolish, Raymond.>

I opened my eyes in the morning. The memory before losing consciousness came back vividly. With nothing in my stomach to vomit, when I collapsed beside Jerome and convulsed until my body jerked uncontrollably, I retched. My body flopped and thrashed, but nothing came out, so I convulsed for a long while before collapsing onto the floorboards and blacking out. Jerome did not lay a finger on me and simply watched. Sprawled face-down in the thin vomit, through my blurring vision, I kept seeing Jerome. Even as I retched from instinctive revulsion, in that moment, I was steeped in a deep sense of relief. I despaired in the joy that Jerome had survived and could look at me. Slowly recalling the memory, I realized. I no longer even had a bottom to fall to. I stared blankly at the ceiling and closed my eyes.

I stayed in that house.

There was no part of me that did not hurt, yet when I tried to sit up, my body felt endlessly heavy. My head was heavy and groggy, making it hard even to swallow water. Mrs. Stella boiled chicken soup and brought it, but with no appetite, I could not even take a few sips. It was like that for days. I could not even go to the bathroom on my own. Relying on Mrs. Stella, I barely managed to go back and forth to the bathroom. I did not know what Jerome had said, but Mrs. Stella asked nothing and silently took care of me.

I slept a great deal. It was not that I had nightmares, but when I woke, I was soaked in cold sweat. By my side was always Mrs. Stella. He wiped my face with a damp cloth and gruffly said <You’ll feel better after you sweat it out>. I felt grateful toward that big man, but I did not agree with his words. It seemed like my mood would never improve. It was a dreadful lethargy. On the other hand, it was also a reasonable lethargy. Like submitting to fate, I spent the whole day lying down. Even with the damp cloth wiping me, there were limits, and a smell began to emanate from me more and more. Not shaving, my beard grew. Still, I did not feel like moving.

After about four days, I could eat a little food, but if I ate until full, I would definitely vomit. But sometimes, strangely, my appetite would return, and I would devour food like a madman. If it was not enough, I would crawl down from the bed and onto the floor to make my way to the kitchen. I gulped down a whole pot full of soup and pulled out a hunk of cold meat from the oven, clutching it in both hands and eating it up. I rummaged through the fridge, tearing into hard bread, eating raw eggs shells and all, and crunching on raw vegetables. Scooping jam with a spoon and when I dropped some on the floor, I licked it up clean like a dog. Not satisfied with that, I ransacked the cupboards, finding all the cereal and biscuits and devouring them.

Once, when Mrs. Stella came home, I was sitting on the kitchen floor with the place in shambles, scooping handfuls of tea leaves with a spoon and eating them. Mrs. Stella stared blankly at me for a moment as I shoveled the crumbled leaves into my mouth with the spoon. The instant our eyes met, my stomach churned. Shame made my face flush bright red. Collapsing to the floor in dry heaves as if to vomit, he hurriedly set down his handbag and took me to the bathroom. Clutching the toilet bowl, I vomited up everything I had eaten that day. Mrs. Stella gathered me up after I had thrown it all up and collapsed, washed me, and put me to bed. The next day when I opened my eyes, he fed me breakfast with the same face as always.

I repeated such bizarre behaviors several times. Mrs. Stella never said a word of blame toward me. No matter how much I wrecked the kitchen and turned the fridge and cupboards upside down, he silently cleaned it up. No matter how much I devoured, the next day the food was replenished just the same. Finally, I could no longer bear it myself. I wanted to die. I desperately wanted to die. My stinking body, the growing beard, the mouth worn away from repeated vomiting, all of it was utterly loathsome. It felt like I was not in my right mind. No, I had already gone mad. I had finally gone mad. Gone mad…. Sobbing filthily like a piglet, I fell asleep as if fainting. When I woke, it was dawn.

It was quiet. Quiet like the day I killed Jerome. For some reason, my body felt light. The head that had always been unbearably heavy seemed lighter. I slowly sat up. Placing my bare feet on the carpeted floor, suddenly everything became clear. Why had I wandered like this for so long. I slipped out of bed and flung open the window at the headboard. The sea breeze rushed in roughly, making the curtains flutter. I closed my eyes. It was freeing. I opened my eyes. Beyond the window, the deep, dark cliff stretched out.

Dragging my lethargic body, I barely climbed onto the windowsill. Whether soft white sand lay below the cliff or sharp rocks, nothing was visible because of the dawn darkness. But it was peaceful. I had finally found the right answer. After meeting the boy from the top tier and a long time had passed, I had found the path to peace at last. That was all I wanted. Right now, in this moment, that was the only thing I desperately wanted. I took a deep breath and leaned my body toward the window.

Fluorescent lights flashed on overhead. The dim cliff below faintly brightened. I turned around. It was blinding. At the doorway stood Mrs. Stella in a robe. He yawned while removing the nightcap with a white tassel at the end.

Mrs. Stella muttered in a voice still thick with sleep.

While I just blinked my eyes, he strode over. Before I could throw myself out the window, the man’s sturdy arm caught me around the waist. The lady hoisted a build like mine onto his shoulder with ease and even had the leisure to close the window. He walked out of the room just like that. I flailed my limbs trying to escape the man, but it was no use. He plopped me down on the sofa. With no strength, I blankly looked up at him. Mrs. Stella winked.

The lady ruffled my hair wildly. He talked about what had just happened as if it were nothing more than a mischievous prank.

<I’ll boil some tea, so stay put obediently.>

<…….>

He draped a blanket over my knees and gently straightened my hair. For a moment, embarrassment welled up, making my ears burn hot. Instead of answering, I lowered my head, and he stopped talking to me and crossed over to the kitchen. I blankly listened to the clinking sounds of boiling tea, then raised my head at the sound of slippers returning to the living room. Mrs. Stella sat down opposite me and placed down a tea set from which steam was rising gently.

<…….>

<Sugar?>

I shook my head silently. The lady handed me the mug. Unable to take it, I just stared blankly, and he took my hand and placed it in my grip himself.

I glanced at him cautiously and took a sip. He grinned as if to say I had done well. In a dazed state, I blankly stared at the man.

Suddenly, tears dropped down. I hurriedly rubbed my cheek to wipe them away. The tears began to pour uncontrollably. Clutching the cup tightly, I bowed my head deeply. The tears flowed endlessly into my beard. It was embarrassing to act spoiled in front of someone I barely knew, it felt guilty, it felt miserable, and I was still tormented by the desire to just die. Unable to suppress the sobs, I curled my entire body hunched over and cried without even knowing shame.

<…Sor, sorry… ugh….>

<It’s okay. When you feel like crying, you have to cry; what else can you do.>

I could not possibly lift my head. With the lady right in front of me, I kept crying, kept crying. I absolutely could not stop the crying. I did not know where to go. Now, I did not even know what to do or how to do it. I knew nothing. I wanted to disappear. Just like this, to a place where no one knew, to a place where no one could find me, to a place where I could not think of anything, I wanted to vanish from this world. My ears ached and felt stuffy. The tears overflowed, flowed down, and welled up again.

I would rather self-harm. I wanted to demand atonement anywhere. I wanted a <real> pain that I could feel with my skin. Instead of fighting the pain arising from within and suffering alone, I would rather get beaten to death by anyone. With no salvation or liberation in sight, tormented and pained not knowing what to do, my stinking body was horrifically normal. It moved as if functioning normally, without hurting in the slightest. I could not prove the pain. I had to prove that my pain was not an illusion but real. That all the pains I had carried my whole life were not illusions, that the traces left by the boys from the top tier had to be proven somehow. That I had actually hurt. That I still hurt. I had to prove it to myself.

Trembling and sobbing, I dropped the cup. At the sound of the glass shattering into pieces, I jerked my head up. With my face a mess and ugly from tears, I looked at Mrs. Stella in fear. The lady was silently watching me. He set down his teacup on the table and interlaced his thick-knuckled hands.

<…….>

.>

At Mrs. Stella’s words, the night at <The Club> that I had completely forgotten came to mind. I had not even thought of such a thing. I was caught up in Jerome. I endlessly repeated thoughts of the act of trying to kill him, why I had tried to kill him, and the fact that in the end I could not kill him, thinking and thinking and thinking again without reaching any conclusion, just circling the same spot.

<…….>

I silently looked down at the glass shards on the floor. The lukewarm tea soaked my toes and the carpet wetly.

At the unexpected words, I raised my head. I could easily read the meaning of those words. Mrs. Stella was saying that he had gone through the same thing as me. But… Mrs. Stella looked much older than me. He seemed at least over forty. If a man that old had also gone through <The Club>… <The Club> might have started much earlier than I thought. It was frightening just to imagine how long ago that was and how many people had been sacrificed there.

I quietly looked at Mrs. Stella and then lowered my head again. I was not suffering because of <The Club>. What tormented me was the boys from the top tier. What tormented me was me. Nothing else mattered. I did not care. I did not want to know. What I wanted to know, what I hoped for, was now just to escape from the pain….

.>

Mrs. Stella said lowly. I blankly stared at him.

<…….>

<You’re still young.>

<…….>

<No matter what you went through at <The Club>, right now you have a chance to choose. You can choose how to live the rest of your life now. Like me, survive. Or.>

The lady stopped speaking. The silence was not long, but the regret that flashed across the lady’s face in that moment let me guess how long the years he had endured were.

<Jerome…?>

I looked at the lady in bewilderment. The lady nodded heavily.

Without realizing it, I jumped to my feet. The shards of the broken mug dug deeply into my soles, but even the pain felt numb. The surprised one was Mrs. Stella. As I mindlessly took a large step toward him, blood gushed out. My vision spun dizzily. Not because of the pain, but because of the shock. The sensations grew distant, and the wounded foot seemed neither to hurt nor to be visible or audible. In that instant, my sole stung. The lady had pulled out a glass shard. I gripped tightly the arm of Mrs. Stella, who was bending down to examine my foot.

I tried to speak, but I did not know what to say. A debt? That word sounded like Jerome had suffered something at <The Club>. But what kind of person was Jerome? What was the mad face of Jerome who had swung the horsewhip at me without hesitation? What was the face of Jerome who had chased after me on horseback and laughed until he was out of breath? I did not know the powerless, weak face of Jerome. I could not even imagine it. Stunned by the shock, I flapped my mouth for a while before finally pouring out the question.

The lady just blinked his calm gray eyes, with no answer. Tearing at the lady’s arm that was silently looking into me, I shouted. I could not even remember how long it had been since I had raised my voice like this.

The lady spoke in a tone so slow it was painful.

<Well, I don’t know the details either. For one, Jerome was very different from my situation… and it was such a special case. Anyway, the parts about self-harm or suicide attempts were similar.>

<No, that’s not… that’s not it….>

Panting, I gripped Mrs. Stella’s hand tightly.

Only then did Mrs. Stella, understanding my words, furrow his brows and instead ask back.

Those words ignited the hatred that had sunk deep into my stomach like a spark. Suddenly, anger shook my head, blurring my vision. Heat rose to the top of my head, and clutching my chest, I panted. I hated the voice in which the lady spoke about Jerome. It was loathsome the way he called Jerome’s name like that. The voice that spoke of him as if affectionately pitying him was chillingly repulsive. Unable to contain the boiling rage, I yelled in fury.

<Why am I curious! Why, because I owe a debt to Jerome! Because Jerome was <The Club> itself! All the things you went through, I suffered them not from <The Club> but from that bastard! That bastard raped me! Gang-raped me! That son of a bitch tortured and abused me!>

Unable to contain my anger, I collapsed to the floor with a thud. The glass shards embedded in my soles dug even deeper into the flesh, but I felt no pain at all. I glared murderously at Mrs. Stella, who did not waver. He merely narrowed his gray eyes, without even a hint of surprise. After a moment, he muttered in a low voice that made the back of my neck prickle chillingly.

<You’re the one who killed the youngest young master. So it was you.>

<…Huh, heuk. That… I don’t…>

At those words, my sole stung. Mrs. Stella had pulled out a glass shard. With an indifferent face, he placed the bloodied glass shard on the table. The blood flowing from my foot trickled down along Mrs. Stella’s hand. It was my blood, but it did not feel like mine. I felt no pain. The only thing I felt was anger.

Mrs. Stella, who had been staring at the wound, clicked his tongue. He twisted my ankle to pull it away.

<It’s fine. This kind of thing…. I need to know about Jerome. Right now!>

<It’s a long story, so it’s not too late to hear it on the way.>

The lady brought a heavy coat from the coat rack at the entrance.

I did not put it on. Mrs. Stella, who was putting on his own coat, frowned and urged <Hurry up.> Instead of putting on the coat, I flung off the shirt I was wearing. I wrapped the shirt tightly around my bleeding sole and tied it off firmly.

<There? Now it’s fine.>

I glared at Mrs. Stella’s gray eyes.

Silence flowed. Stubbornly folding my arms, I looked up at him. Finally, Mrs. Stella seemed to give up. He set the coat down on the table and sat next to me. But in the next moment, the man hoisted me onto his shoulder just like he had done in the room earlier and stood up.

<Mrs. Stella!>

Before I could do anything, Mrs. Stella easily hoisted me onto his back, draped the coat over one arm, and snatched the sweater hanging over the sofa with the other hand. As I was carried to the entrance like baggage, I flailed, but as before, it was futile. When the lady opened the front door, rather than anger, I was startled and curled up.

The weather had changed before I knew it. The last weather I remembered was the mild early winter sunlight, but at some point, it had become so cold that the back of my neck prickled. Mrs. Stella put me in the red truck I had seen exactly once before. Huddled tightly from the cold, he handed me the coat and sweater to hold against my chest. Whether my body was weakened or the weather was excessively cold, chills made my teeth chatter. I hurriedly pulled on the sweater and coat.

Author's Thoughts

There are numerous stimulating scenes involving rape, gang rape, violence, abuse, and drugs. Please practice discretion as you proceed.

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