The Bad Life

Author: nicotine

Ice-cold water poured over me from head to toe.

<Ha! Ha, hah…>

Panting heavily, I opened my eyes wide. No sooner had I opened them than another deluge of water splashed over me. Shuddering, I tried to sit up but hit my chin on the floor. I couldn’t move. My limbs flailed wildly. I was completely immobile. Grunting with effort, I barely managed to roll over. My head felt like it was splitting from a throbbing headache. I wanted to rub my eyes, but my hands were bound, making it impossible. Frowning deeply, I could only lift my head slightly.

It was pitch black, and I could see nothing. A chill ran through my body, and an ominous feeling raced from the nape of my neck down my spine. I couldn’t remember why I was tied up, where I was, or how any of this had happened. Blinking desperately, I scanned my surroundings. But it was too dark. At that moment, with a splash, another wave of bone-chilling water drenched me.

<Who… ugh, who’s there…>

I managed to choke out a single sentence. There was no response. I bent my knees, trying to sit up. It was no use. My ankles and knees were tied with something like rope, and my arms were pulled tightly behind my back, with my wrists and elbows firmly bound. After struggling, I finally managed to sit up. Pulling my knees close, I braced against the floor and barely lifted my upper body.

I shook my head vigorously. Water droplets trickled into my eyes. What in the world was happening? Where was this place? Why was I tied up here? Someone kept pouring water on me, so there was definitely someone in the darkness. There was certainly someone present, but I couldn’t sense any movement. Was it just me and the person pouring water, alone together? I couldn’t even hear another person’s breathing.

The only sounds were my own ragged breathing and the rustling of my body as I tried to get up from the floor. Both were noises I was making. My stomach churned with anxiety. I needed to recover my memory first. The last thing I remembered… before I closed my eyes… what was I doing? A vague, fleeting image lingered frustratingly in my mind, just out of reach.

When I straightened my upper body and raised my head, a sound came from the darkness. It sounded like someone rummaging through a pocket or the rustling of paper. Then, suddenly,

Chik

A match was struck. A small flame rose in a perfect circle in the darkness, unmoving. Holding my breath, I stared at the match. The faint light illuminated only the hand holding it. After a moment, the hand slowly moved to the side. I turned my head to follow. The match touched a piece of cloth wrapped around a wooden stick. It was a torch. As soon as the match made contact, the flame caught, pushing back the darkness.

The torch revealed faces hidden in the dark. It wasn’t just one person. Behind the men holding the torch, there were six or seven more faces. They were all familiar. They were the workers I worked with at the campsite. The moment my eyes met their gleaming gazes in the torchlight, my memory came flooding back. James had played a cruel prank. I had reunited with Simon. A mysterious man had intervened. And then, Jerome.

Belatedly, I noticed the hand holding the torch was covered in scars. Following the hand up the arm to the shoulder, I saw a tattoo of an alligator with its jaws open. It was Lasso. Why was Lasso here? Questions surged chaotically. Where had Jerome gone? Why were the workers here? Where was I? Amid the countless questions, one thing was clear: I could sense hostility in the workers’ eyes.

They sat silently in the darkness or stood with arms crossed, looking down at me with overwhelming menace. The hostility emanating from them was so intense it made my body tingle. The silence pressed heavily on the back of my neck, but I defiantly raised my head. I didn’t open my mouth. I resolved not to say a word until I understood the situation.

The only silver lining was that, aside from some aches, I wasn’t injured. I didn’t seem to be hurt. But Jerome… for a moment, my mind went blank.

Jerome was alive. How? He had definitely died. Five years ago, around this very time, he had undoubtedly died. Maybe I was seeing things. Jerome couldn’t possibly be in Laverham… he… damn it, nothing made sense. A memory of panicking in the boarding school library flashed through my mind. Were they trying to drive me mad again? Was this a plot by Simon and that stranger? Jerome…

Lost in thought, kneeling in a daze, I saw Lasso take a step closer. Startled, I looked up at him. Lasso approached in a few strides and crouched in front of me. He raised the blazing torch to his face and suddenly grinned.

<…>

<…>

I couldn’t understand a word of it. Until that evening, Lasso had been friendly toward me. I didn’t know how much time had passed since I lost consciousness at the Irish pub. Swallowing hard, I tried to stay calm while observing Lasso’s expression. Lasso’s face was half-mocking, half-repulsed, and wholly hostile. I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to say anything rash until I understood the situation.

It was maddening. Simon had shown up, some stranger had appeared threatening to pull tongues or kill, then Jerome had come back from the dead. And now, colleagues I’d been on good terms with were showing hostility.

A chill ran down my spine again, goosebumps rising. Five years ago. A distant past. Back in boarding school, when I was clueless and manipulated by them, it felt like history was repeating itself.

Lasso, standing before me, reached out with his free hand and grabbed my cheek. Even though my throat wasn’t being held, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Lasso shook the hand gripping my cheek, causing my head to sway. Lasso continued.

Lasso stood up. He swung the torch backward. The light spread to the side where the workers were gathered. A man in a suit stood there. It was Jerome.

It was Jerome.

Jerome waved casually with a calm expression.

Jerome said smoothly.

<Besides, I almost missed seeing you forever, didn’t I?>

Jerome smiled, his face tinged red by the torchlight, showing his white teeth. That smile made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

His face was as smooth as it had been at twenty. The flames from that day seemed like a dream, and the boy stood before me in perfect condition. Jerome, observing me like a specimen, was impeccably dressed in a suit and polished shoes. It was just like when he was twenty, impeccably dressed in riding gear at school, wielding a riding crop without blinking. Standing motionless in the darkness, he felt like a ghost.

I still couldn’t believe Jerome was standing there, alive. If my body weren’t tied up, I would have rushed to Jerome and touched his cheek to see if it was as cold as a corpse or warm like a living person. The urge to know was unbearable.

Lasso said in a light tone. My body trembled at the words. The lack of predictability made it all the more terrifying. The workers’ faces, partially lit by the torch, nodded. Could all these workers be in league with Jerome? Why? How? It was incomprehensible. It was impossible.

There was no way I’d been deceived by the workers from the start… They wouldn’t have gathered at the campsite just to deal with me alone, would they? So, had the workers suddenly switched to Jerome’s side? That was equally hard to believe. Nothing made sense. I was just tied up tightly, in some unknown place, thrown there like a condemned criminal!

A man suddenly stepped forward into the torchlight. Astonishingly, it was James. His expression was calm, but I noticed his hand trembling slightly.

James said. His voice didn’t waver, but I could tell he was acting calm, as if on a film set.

Silence fell. It was brief. The next moment, the workers burst into laughter. Startled, James turned to them. Even Lasso, holding the torch, threw his head back and laughed loudly. The rough men laughed so hard the walls seemed to shake, then stopped abruptly, as if on cue. In the sudden silence, James looked at them, at a loss. I was fixated on James’s words: .

Lasso, still smirking, looked at James.

<But…>

James said hastily.

I cut Lasso off and asked. Lasso’s gaze shifted to me. The man’s cloudy eyes gleamed.

<Aha. Even in this state, you’re trying to weasel out.>

Lasso smirked and strode toward the back. The torch gradually illuminated the surroundings. That’s when I realized where I was. This was one of the log cabins at the campsite. It didn’t feel good.

From the wall, Lasso picked up a bag. It was unmistakably my old duffel bag. Lasso strode over and threw it at my face. The bag was heavy. It hit me, and I collapsed to the floor. Bundles of cash spilled out of the open bag. I was dumbfounded. Lying on my side, I stared in disbelief at the piles of bills scattered on the floor.

Now I was starting to get a sense of what was going on. Beyond the stacks of cash, I glared toward where Jerome was, but the torchlight didn’t reach that far. Instead, Lasso’s foot appeared in front of my fallen gaze. Wearing muddy work boots, Lasso pressed down on my head.

<…I’m sorry, Lasso.>

I barely looked up at him with just my eyes. More weight pressed down on Lasso’s foot, but I spoke regardless.

Lasso asked, feigning curiosity.

<Let’s sort this out, Marin.>

Lasso pressed harder with his foot, sneering.

<…Yeah.>

The moment I answered, the workers behind me burst into laughter. Lasso asked again.

No sooner had I responded than Lasso, with the foot pressing down on my head, kicked me hard in the chest. My breath caught in my throat. Curling up, I gasped, and as soon as my airway cleared, I coughed uncontrollably. I figured they wouldn’t believe me anyway. I wouldn’t believe myself either. I had only said it to gauge their reaction.

The reaction I got was the worst possible. It was clear I wouldn’t get out of this easily. After a fit of coughing, I pressed my head to the floor, exhaling. Tears welled up involuntarily. Feeling their gazes, I suddenly turned my head. James was trembling, his face pale with fear, his lips tightly shut.

Lasso spoke.

<Marin, it seems you haven’t quite grasped the situation since you just came to, but everyone here is really pissed at you. If you don’t want to pay a steeper price than necessary, don’t act cocky.>

I asked in a hoarse voice. Lasso raised his hand with a snap. Three or four workers emerged from the darkness. One of them was holding a heavy monkey wrench the size of his forearm. Damn it.

<Wouldn’t it be good for everyone if we made sure a thief’s dirty fingers couldn’t be used again?>

Lasso said, holding the torch over my body.

<Don’t even think about screwing over your fellow workers again, friend.>

One of the workers flipped me over. I struggled, trying to resist somehow, but it was no use. It was absolutely impossible for me alone to overpower the strength of several rough workers hardened by manual labor. The rope binding my arms was untied. Naturally, I had no chance to resist. My arms were immediately seized, and while lying face down, both arms were stretched out in front of me. They pressed down on my shoulders and arms to keep them extended.

I shouted, spitting.

They forced open my clenched fists. I couldn’t hold out. Their fingers dug into my palms, forcing my fists open. They straightened each finger, pressing my palms flat against the floor. What was about to happen was all too clear, so I clenched my teeth to avoid biting my tongue. My whole body trembled.

The worker with the monkey wrench knelt on one knee in front of my hands. They gathered my fingers, except my thumbs, tightly together. As they forced my fingers straight, one worker said gruffly.

<Ha, ugh, ha, damn, you, damn, bastards…>

A heavy, cold piece of metal touched my fingers. In an instant, my body was drenched in cold sweat. The worker lightly pressed the monkey wrench against my fingers, as if measuring the distance, then lifted it. Each time he placed the heavy tool back down, my body shook uncontrollably. I clenched my teeth. The worker with the monkey wrench bared his yellowed teeth and grinned.

He raised the monkey wrench high and brought it down with all his strength onto my fingers.

My ears rang. It was because James had screamed. Another person was screaming too, but I couldn’t tell who it was in the darkness. How many people were hiding in the shadows? My tensed body slowly relaxed.

I opened my tightly shut eyes. A pair of neatly polished brown leather shoes stood right in front of my nose. I tilted my head back. The man in brown shoes was firmly gripping the worker’s arm. The monkey wrench was still raised in the air. I nearly pissed myself. Saliva dripped from my mouth. My vision flickered black, then slowly returned. The man in brown shoes was the stranger James had called <Mr. Acacia>, the one I’d met in the trailer. The man with eerily cold hands. The one who’d tried to rip out my tongue.

The worker roughly pulled his arm free.

<What? You’re interfering now?>

<I’m not interfering.>

Mr. Acacia said in a chilling, hissing voice.

There was an undeniable authority in Mr. Acacia’s unsettling voice. The workers, who had been brimming with bravado, all shut their mouths and stared at him. Mr. Acacia casually took the tool from the worker’s hand. He tapped the wrench against his palm and slowly began to walk. Since I was still pinned down, I couldn’t see Mr. Acacia anymore as he started circling around me.

My briefly relaxed body stiffened with tension again. It felt like my throat was closing up. The tool in Mr. Acacia’s hand made me extremely uneasy. My body tensed, fearing he might suddenly strike the back of my head. All I knew about Mr. Acacia was his name. I couldn’t predict anything about him. I was terrified. There was something threatening about this man that I didn’t understand. There was a secret in his gaze that sent shivers down my spine.

Mr. Acacia silently circled around me once, then stopped in front of me again. Thankfully, he didn’t smash the back of my head with the monkey wrench.

<Let’s say we cut off this guy’s fingers.>

Mr. Acacia said slowly.

<What’s next? What do you mean, man? We dump him somewhere on the highway so he can never set foot in this town again.>

Lasso said, raising the torch. The torchlight sharpened the shadows on Mr. Acacia’s face, making his already grotesque features even more sinister.

Mr. Acacia said. Everyone fell silent, hanging on his every word. Even I was listening, as if entranced.

<Besides, that kind of punishment might not be as scary as you think for this Marine friend. Think about it… you all know he’s a veteran, right? Rolling around in that war in Afghanistan for years? With all he’s seen on that battlefield, do you think he’d blink at a few crushed fingers? Don’t you think we should take our time to make him reflect on his wrongs?>

<…So what are you suggesting?>

One of the workers asked in a disgruntled tone. I wanted to ask the same thing. What exactly was he thinking? What was going on in that bizarre head of his? After a brief silence, Mr. Acacia hissed.

<…Ha, haha. Hah. This bastard…>

I burst into a coughing laugh, looking up at Mr. Acacia. He stopped talking and looked down at me. I glared at him, letting out a hollow laugh.

Mr. Acacia said in a metallic voice.

Mr. Acacia bent down in front of me. He pulled a stack of photos from his pocket. The moment I saw them, my vision spun, and I couldn’t breathe.

No way. It couldn’t be… Those photos were burned by the headmaster right in front of me. There’s no way they could still exist. But the photos Mr. Acacia laid out on the floor, one by one, were from that time.

The pornographic films they took while raping me in my sleep. Long ago, at the boarding school, images of me, fast asleep on the bed, taking the cocks of other boys, were vividly captured.

The workers pinning me down were all looking at the photos. Lasso lowered the torch to illuminate them. Shameful memories were slowly coming back to life in front of strangers’ eyes. Mr. Acacia wanted to reenact those memories. A bone-deep realization hit me.

Nineteen photos were laid out on the floor in silence. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn’t. Shame pierced my chest like a finely sharpened needle, thin and sharp. My chest tightened, and breathing became difficult. Yet my vision was clearer than ever, letting me see those photos… The onlookers hidden in the darkness began to gather around the torchlight. They leaned in to look at the photos.

Mr. Acacia recited in a rough, rasping voice.

I couldn’t say a word. It was Lasso who spoke. Staring intently at the photos, he muttered.

<Damn… this bastard.>

His words made the hairs on my body stand on end. The tone and inflection in Lasso’s muttering were all too familiar. It was the voice of those who abused me.

Someone blurted out. My body trembled.

Mr. Acacia added quietly.

<Couldn’t break his habits and sold his ass, then got dishonorably discharged, right?>

<Ray…>

A small, muttering voice reached my ears. I barely turned my head. Matt was standing among the workers. I had no idea why he was there. His face was pale, drenched in cold sweat. Looking back and forth between the photos and me, he slowly backed away and vanished into the darkness. My chest was so tight I could barely breathe.

Silence fell. I closed my eyes. Mr. Acacia’s voice rang out, resolute and cruel, like a judge condemning a heretic.

I heard someone swallow hard. The strong, firm hands of the workers pinning me down took on a completely different meaning. I could feel sweat in their grips.

Then someone above my head spoke loudly.

<No, this isn’t right. Look, man.>

The voice sounded flustered.

At that, the workers began to murmur. I opened my eyes wide. I strained to turn my chin to look at the workers gathered above me. But I was flat on the floor, and they were all standing, so I couldn’t see their faces. Mr. Acacia fell silent, almost unnaturally. The workers whispered among themselves, stepping back from me. A sudden wave of relief rushed through me, blood flooding my face. For a moment, my vision darkened, but my breathing, which had been completely blocked, slowly returned.

I’d rather have my fingers cut off. I couldn’t relive what happened at school. There were far more people to deal with now than back then. And these were all grown, rough men. Tricking them like I did with those boys back then was impossible. Everything, from start to finish—no, this whole situation—was utterly, completely, absolutely impossible. I bit my lip and stayed quiet as a corpse. I tried not to tremble. To stay unnoticed. I desperately hoped they’d agree to just cripple my hands and get rid of me. I prayed they’d forget about me and keep whispering among themselves.

The torch that had been illuminating the photos slowly rose upward. This was because Lasso, who had been crouching to look at the photos, stood up. A foreboding sense of dread suddenly washed over me.

Lasso, holding the torch among the workers, spoke.

<Well, with women all over the place, there’s no need to bother with his ass.>

<It’s filthy.>

The voice that had initially objected spoke in agreement.

<Yeah, yeah… exactly… you can get women anytime. But this kind of thing, you can’t find easily.>

<…What the hell are you talking about?>

Lasso said.

Lasso’s words cast a heavy silence over the group. With that single sentence, I realized immediately. Lasso was trying to incite the workers. He was acting as if he were on Mr. Acacia’s side. Like a traitor… He was steering the situation to go Mr. Acacia’s way. I could feel the momentum shifting.

In a daze, I looked up at the photos spread out on the floor. For five years, I had given up everything, every single thing in my life, and lived only to escape those memories. No matter how far I ran, whenever I looked back, the specter of Bluebell clung to my heels like a shadow, and now it had finally caught my ankle. The photos that had turned to ash were laid out before my eyes once again. The boys I thought I had burned to death had returned as men.

I hadn’t escaped a single thing from Bluebell.

They were alive, and they had thrown the dice at me once more. Could I survive this time too?

Dozens of hands, belonging to who knows who, rushed at me and flipped me over. I met the gazes of the dozen or so faces looking down at me. I could read blatant lust in their cold, ruthless expressions.

A worker mocked as he yanked my jeans down and pulled them off.

I didn’t respond. My jeans, soaked from the water poured on me earlier, got tangled at my ankles. I hadn’t had time to put on underwear when I was frantically trying to escape earlier. There was probably still some of the gel Simon had applied left in my hole. That was a small mercy. If they went at me roughly, it would’ve torn me apart. Instead of pulling my pants off completely, they yanked my legs up, exposing my hole completely.

The shame, sharp as a needle, stabbed at my chest. Even just breathing made my body tremble, my breaths uneven. The mockery didn’t stop. Rough hands, hardened from manual labor, pinched and kneaded my ass, lingering around my hole.

A finger suddenly entered my gel-slicked hole. My body jolted. Hands rushed to pin me to the floor. I couldn’t move an inch.

<Oh, this thing knows how to clench. Look at this.>

The finger slowly withdrew.

Someone playfully grabbed my testicles hard and pulled. I couldn’t breathe. Clothes rustled, and the sound of a zipper being undone echoed. The hands holding me tightened even more. My knees were pulled up to my ears. I could feel their unfiltered gazes pouring onto my exposed ass. One of them, in an excited voice, said.

I shut my eyes tightly, then slowly opened them. There was no need to close them. I glared at the faces of the men visible between my spread legs. Staring at them as if I could tear them apart, I spat out.

A hard, erect cock thrust in without warning.

A domineering voice came from above, and the next moment, the inserted cock began to move. The worker pounded into me recklessly, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust.

That was the beginning. I didn’t move once from the position with my knees pinned by my head. They spread my ass and took turns raping me, sliding their cocks in and out. Aside from kneading or slapping my ass, they didn’t touch anywhere else. Occasionally, they’d roughly pull or step on my balls for fun, but that was it. I gritted my teeth, enduring as my body shook with each thrust. Every worker came inside me. Eventually, I could feel the excess semen dripping down my ass. My hole gradually loosened, easily taking in any cock. I counted them as they raped me. There were fourteen in total. Fourteen men took turns, thrusting their erect cocks in, shaking, and coming inside.

They hurled insults, mocked, and jeered endlessly, but I didn’t respond. Like the cheap whore they said I was, selling my body for nothing, I silently took it all. The shame dulled over time, and at some point, I felt nothing. I didn’t even wish for it to end quickly. Honestly, I thought it’d be better if it went on forever.

I wanted them to keep raping me. I didn’t have the strength to face what came after. I didn’t have the strength to live as I had for the past five years… So, I’d rather they kept raping me…

No… maybe, just maybe, I had always wanted this. To willingly offer my ass to faceless men, to have them treat me like garbage. More vulgarly, more lewdly, like their cheap prostitute, like a toilet for their filth.

Hadn’t I been longing for all of this? For five years, I struggled to escape Bluebell’s ghosts, but wasn’t every sexual encounter I’d had over those five years just like Bluebell’s? They raised me to be a perfect whore, and I faithfully grew into a perfect slut.

Look. Didn’t I make fourteen men reach climax in my ass? …God, it was thrilling… I loved how they climaxed inside me. I loved how they filled me with their cum. I just loved it. And at some point, I got hard.

A foot in work boots spread my legs apart. The workers burst into raucous laughter. Then the boot painfully crushed my cock.

<Hng, ugh…>

A moan escaped as the boot pressed on my cock. Whistles rang out. A few mocking remarks flew, but I couldn’t make them out. The boot rolled over my cock in circles.

<Ugh, nngh… no, don’t…>

My hips bucked involuntarily. My ass twitched, clenching my empty hole.

<Hey, you bastard…>

The torch came closer. It wasn’t Lasso, but another worker. A guy I sometimes smoked with during lunch breaks. The one who drove the backhoe.

<No, I—ugh, damn, your foot, ahh…!>

The foot crushing my cock moved back and forth rapidly. I thought I was going to die. Without realizing it, I rocked my hips, matching the boot’s movements. It felt insanely good. The rough sole of the boot rubbing and crushing my cock sent waves of pleasure through my body like an electric current. My neck tingled, and my toes curled tightly. Harder, rougher, more cruelly… My mouth fell open. I clenched my empty hole tightly and came. The climax felt like it pierced through my head. I threw my head back, unable to even moan, trembling as I shot my load. It felt so good, the pleasure was killing me… The pleasure, an unimaginable pleasure, tore through my mind. I convulsed with my mouth open, then slowly calmed down.

The torch was above me. Eyes hidden in the darkness watched me reach climax from start to finish. A delayed wave of shame seeped into me like the pleasure had. I wanted to feel ashamed. Desire clouded my eyes. I wanted to be humiliated. For so long, ever since leaving Bluebell, I had, in truth, missed it, my shame…

Their gang rape.

Mr. Acacia’s hissing voice broke the silence. No one answered.

With Mr. Acacia’s words, a long silence followed, and no one spoke as the torch moved away. Soon, everything was swallowed by darkness. I heard the workers leaving. The sound of boots dragging, clothes brushing, lingered for a while, then suddenly all sound stopped. It was as quiet as when I first opened my eyes.

I lay collapsed on the floor, slowly regaining my breath. My overheated body cooled slowly after the climax. It was quiet. Only my breathing could be heard. What comes next? I blinked slowly. No thoughts came. Only the afterimage of the pleasure I’d just experienced still dominated my mind.

The sound of shoes broke the silence. One step, then another, drawing closer. At first, it was one person, then a second joined, and then a third, until the sound of three pairs of shoes approached. A single voice pierced the utter darkness.

<So, Raymond… I told you not to leave without permission.>

It was Jerome. His playful voice was just like when he was twenty.

The sound of a zipper being undone came from the darkness. I pressed my cheek against the cold floor and closed my eyes. But what came next wasn’t what I expected. A hot stream of piss poured onto my face.

<Ugh, nngh, no, stop!>

I tried to turn my head to avoid the filth. A foot reached out from the darkness and pressed down on my shoulder. Unable to move, I had to keep my face under the stream of piss. A foul stench filled my nose. I gagged and coughed.

Mr. Acacia’s rough, raspy voice said coldly. The foot pressing on my shoulder lifted. I rubbed my face on the floor, groaning softly. Whether I opened or closed my eyes, it was vivid darkness. I could see nothing. Nothing was visible. I felt abandoned, rolling alone in the dark. Tears welled up. Damn it, the pleasure still lingered. That, more than anything, was painful. As painful as it was, I couldn’t help but love it.

I hunched my shoulders and cried silently. Pressing my forehead to the floor, sobbing, a large, warm hand touched my shoulder.

<Raymond…>

It was Simon. He muttered softly.

<Oh, Raymond…>

Simon’s hand, touching my shoulder, moved to my bruised neck, then lovingly caressed my piss-soaked face. He gently stroked my foul-smelling face, brushing the tears from my eyes, and finally leaned down to kiss me. He didn’t care about the piss soaking my face. Even with the filth, Simon sucked on my lips without hesitation. He kissed my nose and forehead, licking the tears pooled at my eyes. Simon rubbed his nose against mine, and as if that wasn’t enough, he pressed his cheek against mine with a desperate tenderness. His warmth was overwhelming. With our cheeks pressed together, I could tell Simon was crying. He wet my cheek with his tears, rubbing his face against mine like an animal seeking affection, over and over.

<Raymond, I thought I’d lost you forever.>

Simon whispered in my ear, gently pulling me into an embrace.

<Get… away…>

I shuddered, barely spitting out the words. The warmth of his cheek against mine felt revoltingly vile. It was as repulsive as an alligator’s tongue.

I twisted my body, frantically trying to break free from Simon. Simon held me tightly, soothing me as if calming a hysterical child. His warm arms, his large, warm hands, were so repulsive I couldn’t bear it. No matter how hard I tried to escape, he clamped me firmly in his embrace with both arms. Finally, my strength gave out, and I panted in fear, lying still in his arms as he persistently held on.

In the end, I could only cling to him and cry pitifully. In the darkness, the only thing I could lean on, the only thing supporting me, was Simon’s warm, strong embrace. At first, I shed tears silently, but unable to hold back, I sobbed.

Simon rubbed my back and pressed his lips to my wet hair, gently comforting me. I was still afraid of and repulsed by Simon, but at the same time, my body relaxed in his unyielding embrace. Simon was still crying too. Our filthy tears mingled, soaking each other’s clothes.

A light flickered in the darkness. It was a lighter flame. I saw the tip of a cigarette burning. Moments later, the sound of smoothly oiled metal clicking together rang out. A light came on. It was an electric lantern. Mr. Acacia was holding the lantern, shining it on us.

I blinked blankly, nestled in Simon’s arms. Mr. Acacia took a long drag on his cigarette filter, exhaled, and hissed.

The electric lantern swung to the side. Jerome’s face, previously hidden in the darkness, was revealed.

I remember the laugh Jerome let out once. In Bluebell’s dormitory room 401, that afternoon when they first raped me while I was awake, Jerome laughed at me as I held a knife to my own throat. His face, trembling with uncontainable joy and ecstasy, thrilled at the sight. When he tied my neck to the reins and threatened me, he laughed as if it was the most fun he’d ever had, watching me tremble in fear. And now… five years later, facing Jerome’s face in the darkness, pale and floating with only the corners of his mouth pulled tight in a silent smile, I couldn’t breathe. His snake-like green eyes gleamed as he bared his teeth and whispered softly.

<Raymond… I was wondering where you’d been hiding, how you’ve been living.>

Mr. Acacia exhaled cigarette smoke lazily and said.

Jerome sat close, carefully studying my face. Simon hugged me tighter, as if to shield me from him. Jerome didn’t even acknowledge Simon’s reaction.

Jerome reached out. He gently cupped my cheek as I leaned into Simon’s arms, turning my face toward him and observing me with gleaming eyes. Unlike his smooth face, his hand was rough. His knuckles were thick and hard, his fingertips so coarse they felt gritty. But the touch on my face was delicate… His hand slowly caressed my forehead, cheekbones, nose, lips, ears, and jaw, cold and somehow unsettling. Each time his hand touched me, my body flinched and trembled.

Jerome noticed my reaction but only smiled faintly. He touched the dark bruises on my neck from Simon’s choking, then moved to my shoulder. He pulled up my short sleeve to examine the scar from a gunshot wound. As if he already knew it was there… Mr. Acacia knelt beside Jerome. He brought the lantern closer to the scar. The gazes of all three men landed on the wound.

Jerome asked abruptly. I stared at him blankly, then slowly nodded. Jerome turned to Mr. Acacia with a mischievous grin.

Mr. Acacia met Jerome’s smile with his usual murky blue eyes. He slowly turned to me. Mr. Acacia said coldly.

<Let’s find out now.>

Without hesitation, Mr. Acacia pressed his lit cigarette onto the scar on my shoulder.

<Aaagh!>

My body jolted upright. Mr. Acacia calmly ground out the cigarette on my shoulder as if it were an ashtray, then tossed the butt away.

<So, Raymond, which hurts more?>

<Ugh, ha, hngh, ha… ah… ah, ha…>

Tears fell. My body tensed with strain. Simon hugged me tighter. Not to protect me. To hold me still, to make the torture easier, to restrain my body.

<Don’t know? Want to try again?>

Mr. Acacia lit another cigarette. I stared blankly. Our eyes met as he took a deep drag. Exhaling smoke, Mr. Acacia burst into laughter. Just like in the trailer, his face muscles didn’t move, but his mouth opened wide, letting out a chilling, metallic laugh. It was eerie. Strange. He was like a man wearing a mask. After a bout of laughter, Mr. Acacia hissed gently.

<Don’t be too scared. There’ll be plenty of chances later… even so.>

Mr. Acacia stopped speaking. The electric lantern went out. We were plunged back into darkness. Mr. Acacia said quietly.

<Ugh, hngh, ha, cough. Cough, cough, hngh…>

I couldn’t tell if they were really observing silence. Everything was shrouded in black. No one spoke. I alone whimpered like an animal in pain, blinking frantically and writhing. The cigarette burn on my shoulder stung and throbbed. The pain made my body go limp, only to convulse and stiffen again as if stabbed in the side. Through it all, Simon’s arms held me like iron chains.

Tears kept coming. I wanted to hold them back, but I couldn’t. My ears rang, and my throat felt constricted. My head ached as if it were being squeezed, and my chest was so tight I wanted to run somewhere, anywhere. I wanted to escape the darkness. But it wasn’t me who escaped the darkness—it was Mr. Acacia. He stayed silent for a long time, then left without a word.

I heard the sound of his shoes fading. Then it was Jerome. The hand on my shoulder was withdrawn. After a brief pause, Jerome stood up. The sound of his shoes echoed in my ears as he left. Only after they were gone did Simon move.

His large, broad palm stroked my cheek, then cautiously touched my arm. He lightly gripped my elbow, slid his hand down my forearm, and wrapped both my wrists. I didn’t resist as Simon put handcuffs on my wrists. I couldn’t. My body felt heavy, like waterlogged cotton. The only thing I could control was my eyelids.

He carefully laid me on the cold cement floor. The pants caught at my ankles were removed. He spread my legs and settled between them. Simon leaned over me.

His monotone voice reached me. But beneath that indifference, I could sense a surge of passion. He was still crying… Simon’s tears rolled down my cheek and into my ear. Simon continued.

Simon pressed his forehead to mine. His tears flowed down my cheek as if they were my own. I finally realized. Those tears didn’t come from sorrow but from ecstasy. The vile, lascivious joy of release. Simon was excited at the thought of reuniting with his lover. His lover was none other than me, and yet not me. Simon had met me but hadn’t truly met me. Now he would. I closed my eyes. As I fell into a faint-like sleep, I felt Simon’s fingers gently spreading my filthy hole.

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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