The Bad Life Chapter 18.3 - The Monster’s Mask

Soon the white masks discovered me crawling and sent jeers my way.

<Why, are you curious about the taste of our stud horse’s cock too?>

<You couldn’t get your dick up at all, but that trained your ass, huh?>

<Shall we bring that bastard over and graft him onto our stud horse? Like in the video….>

At the last remark I heard, I froze. All the white masks turned to look at me. Only then could I finally see Jerome’s face, which had been surrounded layer upon layer by people. Jerome’s expression was one of despair for a moment. I had never seen such a face on Jerome before. We blankly looked at each other through the gaps in the crowd.

Suddenly, a strange thought occurred to me. If tonight I had obediently followed the plan Jerome had set up, if I had done that, then perhaps none of this would have happened… It was an absurd thought. But from the beginning, Jerome might not have intended to sell me off to Timothy… If only I had faithfully played the bait role as Jerome had said… If only I had met Simon….

At that moment, as if reading my thoughts, Jerome shouted toward the empty sofas.

<Simon!>

Jerome shouted.

<Are you just going to stay quiet like that? When he’s offering Raymond to me?>

Only then did I notice the white mask who had been left alone on the sofa. At Jerome’s shout, the white mask who had been sitting silently for a moment slowly rose to his feet. Even though he was wearing a mask, there was no way I could not recognize who it was. It was too late, far too late, but from now on, it was time to obediently follow Jerome’s plan. Trying to forget Simon’s face that had ignored me, with my back to Jerome, I slowly crawled toward Simon.

Simon with the white mask flipped over slowly approached. His appearance with the mask made him look no different on the surface from the many other people wearing masks. He was one of the gentlemen with his hair swept back and dressed in an excellent high-end suit. But the moment I recognized it was Simon, he became a completely different existence from the numerous white masks. Starting from his gait, his tall height, broad shoulders, all evoked Simon, and it even seemed like I could see his face beyond the white mask.

Finally, Simon stopped his feet right in front of my nose and just looked down at me without a single word. Because of the impeccable suit enveloping his whole body and the white mask perfectly covering his face, Simon looked as still as an inorganic object. Nothing of what he was thinking or feeling was conveyed. He seemed completely unaffected by what was happening in the room. The clamor of people shouting to drag me over, Timothy watching intently, none of it seemed to reach or be seen by him; he just looked at me.

<Simon….>

Unable to endure the silence, I called him. The white mask was still silent.

I could no longer bear the sounds coming from behind. Gripping Simon’s ankle and tilting my head back fully to look up at him, I whispered lowly, barely moving my lips.

<Help me. Please.>

<…….>

<Simon, help me.>

Instead of returning an answer, he slowly bent at the waist and stroked my hair. Burying my face in his knee, I mumbled weakly.

<Help him….>

The hand that had been softly stroking my hair suddenly stopped. The moment I looked up at Simon, a rough hand abruptly grabbed my hair. He began dragging me away just like that.

<Simon! Simon! No, Simon!>

I thrashed and called him. Simon did not respond. It hurt so much as if all my hair would be pulled out that I had no choice but to push against the floor with my legs and follow him. Simon dragged me out without hesitation. Timothy watched with his pale blue eyes gleaming eerily until we disappeared from sight. Even after they vanished from view, the sounds of them laughing and reveling while abusing Jerome continued to linger in my ears.

As I was dragged mindlessly, at one point I was in <The Club> where people were gathered. <The Club> was already in chaos. The masked people were either squealing and causing a commotion while high on drugs or engaging in orgies here and there with their genitals exposed. Simon passed all of them and threw me in the middle of the salon. Groaning weakly and barely raising my body, once again I was in the center of gazes.

In that place, I was the only one without a mask. The white masks tilted toward me as if puzzled, and soon low exclamations flowed out.

<The parrot mask!>

The men in white masks who recognized me strode over. They might have been the ones who had beaten me senseless right before I lost consciousness. I did not know. Everyone had white masks flipped over, so I could not distinguish them. I just turned to look at Simon.

<Simon.>

He looked at me intently and then stepped back one step without replying. Like a bystander. Simon did not move an inch. The hair I had turned to look at him with was grabbed. The men in white masks had already surrounded me before I knew it. I no longer had the strength for that. I had no strength to fight back. I was too exhausted.

I twisted the wrist gripping my hair to pull it away and stepped back one step, two steps. My back touched someone, and startled, I turned around. A man in a white mask dusted off my jacket and then suddenly kicked my stomach with his foot. As I staggered and lost my balance, another foot kicked the top of my head. The moment I fell helplessly to the floor, hard shoe heels poured down without regard.

I had been in such a situation before. When I had no power to change things. When I could not do anything alone. Eight years ago, I had cried out to Jerome for help. Just like Jerome had done back then, Simon had simply refused. Yet I fell into the same sense of betrayal as that time.

Just like Jamie had been in the first <The Club>, I was grabbed by the ankle and dragged wildly around the salon. People spat on me, poured glasses of alcohol, and jeered. During the dragging, all my clothes were torn. The cufflinks Jerome had bought me had disappeared somewhere. When I came to, I was completely naked, being dragged here and there over the carpet and marble floors. Whenever we stopped briefly, people with masks flipped over rushed in without regard for gender.

Suddenly, Teddy and Christopher came to mind. Had the guys managed to escape without getting caught? What about Jerome, who had been injected with two shots; would he be okay? What about the injury on his arm? Even in the gaps of the mercilessly pouring violence, such thoughts arose. It was because the violence evoked them. It made me recall Jerome, forced to erect below from the drug and mate with a beast, and Christopher, covered in filth in the restroom and mocked. But the thoughts did not last long.

The violence continued mindlessly. They twisted and pulled my nipples insultingly, trampled my genitals with shoe soles, and spanked my buttocks hard. When I twisted my body to refuse, I got slapped on the cheek and the toe of a shoe jammed into my side. They forcibly pried open my mouth and poured alcohol wildly. As I coughed and turned my head, <If you didn’t want to drink, you should have said so earlier!> they shouted, knocked me to the floor, and kicked my stomach with their feet until I vomited all the alcohol. Blood flowed from my nose, my mouth tore and blood trickled from the corners. My whole body flushed red from the marks of violence, scratched here and there with wounds and bleeding. My buttocks were beaten with paddles and whips until they were red and on the verge of tearing.

Perhaps satisfied with beating me to their heart’s content, finally they left me alone. There was no rape. I was completely exhausted, unable to twitch a single finger. More than the throbbing and pain all over my body, I felt like I would faint immediately from exhaustion. As I barely avoided fainting, Simon appeared in front of me. Even with the mask, I could recognize him. He gripped my hair and dragged me somewhere again. I was thrown in front of a large television. Everyone was watching that television. I followed their gazes and looked at the television.

[Ugh, heu, heuk, Ray, ah, ugh….]

My eyes snapped open. On the television screen, two men were rolling on the floor covered with vinyl. A red-haired man thrusting his hips shallowly and the brown-haired man pinned beneath, legs spread, panting heavily.

<No.>

I was speaking. It was me from eight years ago.

<Please… don’t do it….>

In the television screen, Matt was raping me. The me in the screen looked up at Matt with dazed, unfocused eyes. Matt gathered my knees, pushed them up to my shoulders, and thrust hard. My face in the screen was like I had lost my mind. Like a doll with cut strings, I shook every time he thrust from below, and when Matt ejaculated, I tilted my head to the side and lay sprawled with my limbs flung anyhow on the floor.

George appeared in the screen. He injected me. After that, the gang rape began. From the speakers, the panting sounds and flesh slapping sounds came through explicitly. The thigh tattooed <Incest Child> was close-upped. I blankly stared at the sight of a penis inserting into my hole.

<This damn bastard even filmed porn?>

A low voice came to my ear. The white masks who had been watching the television had gathered murmuring around me before I knew it, looking down at my collapsed form. A hand reached out. Hands reached out. Countless hands touched me. I blankly looked at the television in front of me.

<Aeuk….>

Someone from behind gripped and spread my buttocks, swollen red from being hit with the paddle. A groan escaped involuntarily. As I gritted my teeth and clenched my fist tightly, without warning, a penis thrust in from behind. The rear, which had been loosened just enough for fingers to move in and out, tore. At the chilling sensation of blood flowing down my thigh, I shuddered. The man who had burrowed into the stinging and burning rear began thrusting roughly. I bit my molars and clenched my fist until my fingertips turned white. Then, a certain voice made me snap my head up.

<Kid, what exactly are you supposed to be watching? It’s all the same here or there.>

The bored questioning voice was calm and gentle. I had never heard it directly, but it was a familiar voice I had occasionally heard through the television. Not far away, Simon with the mask still flipped over and a woman were standing. She was a middle-aged woman beautifully made up, also wearing a white mask. The mask she wore was the same white mask as the others. Nevertheless, I could tell. I could tell. Our eyes met. There were brown eyes just like mine inside the mask. The moment seemed very short… and also like it would never end.

The woman staggered back one step. I thought I wanted to say something, anything. I had to. I tried to speak. The moment I opened my mouth, the man behind thrust roughly.

<Hawk! Ah!>

The groan pushed by his weight flowed out like a wail. The man behind pulled my upper body up into his embrace and quickly worked his hips. This, could not happen. This should not happen. Such a filthy sight, I could not show it, this, like this, no, it could not be, it could not be like this. But the man behind panted like a beast and rammed his penis indiscriminately. Other men standing beside groped me freely, fiddling with my nipples and navel. On the television in front of me, the video of me being gang-raped played.

In the end, my mother nearly collapsed right there, her legs giving out. Simon, supporting the falling mother, handed her over to someone. Simon did not leave. He watched me without taking his eyes off even for a moment. The men ejaculated deep inside and pulled out. They laid me on the floor and spread my legs again.

<Heuk, ah, no, don’t… can’t… now stop, stop….>

The expressionless white masks looked like laughing faces. The men did not stop anyone.

Every time I briefly fainted and woke, there were still men mounted on top of me. Each time, Simon was standing in some corner of my vision. From some point, he started to feel like a ghost. I doubted if Simon even existed. He kept wandering around the periphery, but until now, he had not said a single word. He had not taken off the mask either. In fact, was that masked man just an illusion? I no longer called his name. I no longer asked for help. Occasionally, when our eyes met, I just stared at the white mask. The ghost-like man watched from beginning to end as <The Club> cruelly defiled me and finally disappeared. No, it was not that he disappeared; as I lost consciousness, I lost that man along with it.