The Bad Life – Chapter 9.1 – An Encounter with a Phantom

Author: nicotine

I had a long dream. Even though it was such a long dream, I couldn’t remember anything. It was merely a long and tedious dream, much like the five years I had to survive after escaping from Bluebell.

In the moment of dreaming, every second feels as vivid as reality, but the moment I realize it’s a dream, I’m cast out from the years I painstakingly built up. Even though it was a dream, I struggled and fought with all my strength to survive, but because it was just a dream, all my efforts vanish like a mirage the moment I open my eyes. They dissolve into bubbles, slowly sinking into the depths of memory. And as if mocking the intensity I lived through, an unchanged reality rushes in.

Those I thought were dead come back to life, and I, who thought I had survived, discover a trap tightly clamped around my ankle. An old, rusty trap I had been caught in long ago, one I had never truly escaped. It had been there so long it had become a part of me. Then I realize once again, belatedly, that the hand holding the chain attached to the trap is none other than my own.

Now, the one who would be troubled without the trap was me. Without the trap, I couldn’t explain myself. To the me who feels joy while being roughly handled by random men, poked and prodded, to the me who trembles with strange pleasure while being doused with disgusting streams of piss, that trap was absolutely necessary. I had to be caught in it.

But what was this thrill? It was a faint joy I had long forgotten. My heart pounded fiercely at this small, insignificant rush of excitement. It beat so hard that my ears trembled, and my temples throbbed.

Yes, they were truly dead. Hugh and George were truly dead. Their deaths touched my skin for the first time. The two boys who had collared me and taught me to crawl on all fours in submission couldn’t withstand the flames!

The hairs on my nape stood on end. My throat, which had felt so tight that no sound could escape, began to tingle. As if caressed by a delicate feather, my throat slowly opened. The sensation of sound stealthily climbing over my throat was vivid. The sound came a moment later.

<Ha, haha. Heh, hahaha.>

The sound, which had flowed out weakly like a deflated balloon, gradually gained strength. My mouth opened wide. I burst into laughter like a madman. It felt as though every sense in my body was flung wide open. Ironically, I had never felt so alive. Not in the sandy dust of Afghanistan or Iraq, not when I was shot and endured excruciating pain, not even when I mingled flesh and shared intimacy with different people each time—never had my senses been as sharp as they were now. They were dead, and yet they were alive. I was glad they were dead… and I was glad they had survived and found me!

I opened my eyes wide.

Right in front of me, Jerome was lying flat on the floor, his head tilted, his round eyes glinting, staring at me without a sound. He asked, as if deeply curious.

<What’s so funny, Raymond?>

It felt like I had finally reunited with Jerome. With all of them, one step too late, at last.

Only now did his face come into view. I gazed at Jerome’s smiling face. His face, bathed in radiant summer sunlight, seemed to glow. He had grown into a young man with a well-defined frame. Time had sculpted him into a man. Like me, Jerome had changed. That obvious fact was astonishing. No, it wasn’t obvious. In my memory, Jerome had been frozen, a ghost who could never escape Bluebell. I had never imagined him grown.

Jerome was dead.

That night, when thunder roared and a storm raged, Jerome was supposed to have died in the blazing top floor. His name had even been listed among the deceased. He was supposed to be dead. That was the natural order. The Jerome lying before me, meeting my eyes, speaking to me familiarly—his existence was impossible. Yet Jerome had survived, enduring the years just like me.

I reached out. At some point, my wrists were bound tightly with rope instead of handcuffs. With steady, unshaking hands, I placed my palm on Jerome’s cheek. I touched his warm, smooth cheek, then stroked his hair. Jerome’s round eyes slowly narrowed, and he blinked slowly, as if savoring my touch.

<How… how did you survive?>

I stared intently at the boy who had tenaciously survived.

Jerome smiled, his eyes crinkling. His hair, slipping through my fingers, was smooth and soft. The hair of a living, very healthy person.

I hadn’t been chased by Bluebell’s ghost. Just as it was back then, I was still bound to Bluebell. Time passed, but I didn’t realize it was passing. I lived, but I didn’t realize I was living. That was because I had ignored everything Bluebell had left me with. Bluebell was my everything, yet I had spent all this time ignoring my everything. Facing Jerome’s changed face, I felt more than anything that I myself had changed.

Even my own voice felt unfamiliar. When had my voice changed like this? Since when had I learned to speak in such a low tone? When on earth had I become a man?

My unfamiliar voice awakened something in me. I grabbed Jerome’s hair tightly. It was as if life had been breathed into me; strength surged back into my body. My fingertips and toes felt solid. I gripped his hair roughly and slammed it down onto the floor with all my might.

Jerome couldn’t block the sudden attack. His eyebrow bone hit the floor hard, and blood burst forth instantly. In that moment, Jerome opened his mouth wide and laughed silently. I grabbed his ear as if to tear it off and yanked it upward roughly. As Jerome instinctively lifted his head with my hand, I slammed it back down onto the floor. His cheekbone tore. I slammed it down again. The veins in my forearm bulged.

Jerome, bleeding, lunged at me. We grappled and rolled, but with my hands and feet bound, I was at an overwhelming disadvantage. Jerome, straddling my waist, grabbed my bound wrists. I clenched my teeth to avoid biting my tongue, but no further violence followed. Jerome, blood streaming down his face, simply laughed. The blood flowing down his cheek entered his mouth, staining his white teeth red.

<You’ve gotten stronger since we were kids, huh?>

Jerome praised in an excited voice.

I glared at him murderously and grinned.

Jerome bared his blood-stained teeth in a beastly grin.

<You’re a liar.>

Jerome’s blood dripped onto my face. I licked the droplets that fell near my mouth and asked.

<So, do you hate me?>

<No. I love your lies.>

Suddenly, a rasping voice came from behind Jerome.

Jerome turned around. I craned my neck toward the voice. Ms. Acacia was standing there. She was dressed in a suit and wearing gloves, just as she had been when we first met yesterday.

Ms. Acacia’s gaze lingered on the droplets of Jerome’s blood scattered on the floor. Jerome let go of me and stood up. He brushed off his dusty suit a couple of times and walked toward Ms. Acacia.

Jerome asked.

<Where’s Simon?>

<Asleep.>

Ms. Acacia hissed like a crocodile. She didn’t seem the least bit hot, even in the harsh summer morning sunlight.

<Hmm.>

Jerome glanced back at me. He stuck out his tongue, licked his blood-soaked lips, and grinned at me.

Ms. Acacia ordered with an expressionless face. Jerome stared at her for a moment but left obediently without retorting. Ms. Acacia followed him without sparing me a glance.

Only after they left could I slowly take stock of my situation.

As before, Simon had apparently taken care of the cleanup. My body was clean. For someone who had been doused with piss on my face before falling asleep, there was no stench. If anything, there was a faint smell of soap. My shirt had been removed, likely because of the wound on my shoulder.

I hadn’t noticed at first because of Jerome’s presence the moment I opened my eyes, but once I became aware of it, the wound kept nagging at me. The spot burned with a cigarette was red and ugly, the flesh scorched and cooked. But the wound had been treated with ointment, giving it a dull sheen.

I shifted my gaze from the wound to my lower body. I was barefoot, but I was wearing pants. Staring at my bound feet, I noticed they were only slightly dusty, free of soot, and clean. Simon had clearly washed them. I exhaled slowly, lifted my head, and surveyed my surroundings.

As I had suspected last night, this was an unfinished log cabin. But at the campsite, there were few cabins completed enough to have roofs. This one was undoubtedly at the edge of the forest, the farthest from the workers’ quarters, in the most isolated spot. I was in an unfinished living room. It was a barren, spacious area with only an open window frame without glass and a dusty fireplace hearth that had only been outlined.

The cement floor was filthy with dust, and various items—plastic sheets, metal pipes, lumber, paint cans—were scattered around for interior construction. I was bound in the middle of the living room. My hands and feet were tightly tied with rope, and the rope was secured to a chandelier fixture embedded in the cabin’s ceiling. I tugged at my hands experimentally, but the fixture wasn’t going anywhere. They had made a mistake once long ago, and again last night in James’s trailer. They had learned from those mistakes.

While I was looking around the cabin, I heard voices outside. Soon, about five or six people entered. Ms. Acacia and Lasso came in side by side, followed by a worker, and then Jerome. They paused their conversation and looked at me as they entered the living room.

I soon realized I had been mistaken. Jerome wasn’t the last. More people entered behind him. They were workers, carrying a mattress. The moment I saw it, I could guess what role it would play here. I let out a hollow laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The workers set the mattress down beside me. Lasso, stretching his neck, suddenly looked at me.

Lasso pointed at the mattress.

I climbed onto the mattress, but with my ankles bound, I couldn’t spread my legs. Sitting on the mattress, I looked up at Lasso and grinned.

One of the workers retorted. I spread my knees as much as I could with my ankles tied.

<What’s the point of making a scene? You’re going to screw me anyway. Let’s just get it over with.>

<Pfft!>

Lasso burst out laughing at my words. He looked down at me with a sly grin.

<Alright, then. I’ll untie you.>

<Lasso…>

One of the workers tried to stop him, but Lasso shook his head.

As I sat fully on the mattress, Lasso approached and knelt on one knee. No one spoke, the air thick with tension, as he untied the ropes around my ankles. I sat quietly, looking up at the faces of the workers surrounding the mattress. Ms. Acacia and Jerome stood a couple of steps behind them, so I could only see their feet. No one said a word even then. Lasso quickly undid the knots. I could see the tension in his shoulders.

The moment the knots came loose, I slowly lay down on the mattress. Lasso licked his lips with his tongue, his expression blatant. I didn’t take my eyes off him as he savored the moment. Lasso leaned over me, unbuckled my belt, unzipped my pants, and pulled them off. I compliantly lifted my hips to help him remove my clothes. Lasso grinned widely. I didn’t return the smile. I simply placed my bound hands on my stomach and spread my naked legs wide to either side. Lasso sat between my legs. He grabbed my knees, lifting them to expose my hole. He spat on it several times.

One of the workers grumbled.

<It’s tastier when you loosen it. It grips nice and tight without hurting…>

Lasso replied with a sly chuckle. I kept my mouth shut.

Lasso’s finger entered my hole. I wiggled my toes, trying to relax. Lasso was somewhat hasty. He shoved two fingers in at once, thrusting them in and out, then recklessly added another finger, stirring it around. It hurt, but I endured it. It would hurt worse later. He loosened my hole just enough to avoid hurting himself, then immediately pressed his lower body against mine. After rubbing his cock a few times to get it hard, he penetrated me in one thrust.

<Ugh…!>

I clenched my teeth, but a groan escaped. It hurt so much that tears welled up.

<Hn… Ngh…>

Lasso asked smugly. Instead of answering, I wrapped my legs around his waist. I subtly pressed his hips with my heels, urging him deeper, and Lasso laughed with satisfaction.

I waited. Lasso seemed to thrust leisurely at first, but that didn’t last long. Soon, unable to contain his excitement, he started slamming his hips frantically, thrusting his cock wildly. That was what I was waiting for. His face flushed red, panting heavily, completely absorbed in his thrusts, I swiftly looped the rope around Lasso’s neck.

The rope binding my wrists had been tied with enough slack to reach the chandelier fixture. In an instant, I wrapped the rope around Lasso’s neck twice and pulled hard without hesitation.

<Kghh! Ack!>

Lasso groaned and collapsed onto me. I tightly wrapped my thighs around his waist to keep him from escaping, pulling my arms up above my head. Lasso’s head, flushed red with blood, looked like it might burst any moment. I yanked my wrists upward, tightening the rope around his neck, and shouted.

Lasso flailed his hands, clawing at my face and neck, but I didn’t care. I was determined to snap his neck with the rope. But the workers surrounding the mattress were faster. One of them kicked me in the side.

I nearly lost my strength but held on like a stubborn mule. I just wanted to hold out until I could choke the life out of this horny bastard. But with three or four workers kicking me and strangling me, there was no way to resist. They cursed harshly, grabbing my hair and dragging me. I could feel Lasso’s cock slip out of my hole.

In an instant, I was thrown off the mattress. Kicks rained down on my body. Amidst it all, a high-pitched laugh echoed through the ceiling of the log cabin. It was Jerome’s laughter. That sound seemed to breathe life into me. I grabbed the ankle of a worker who aimed a kick at my chest and stood up. As the worker fell, a gap opened among them. I slipped through the gap, kicking at the workers who lunged at me.

In a flash, we were in a standoff. Two workers stood in front of me, one was sprawled on the ground, and another was supporting Lasso. As I stood, I could finally see Ms. Acacia and Jerome. Ms. Acacia’s face was chillingly cold, and Jerome, leaning on her shoulder, burst into laughter.

<So, who’s next?>

I sneered at the workers.

One worker pulled a heavy wrench from his tool belt.

<I’ll smash you to pieces!>

As the worker gripped the wrench and took a step forward, someone unexpected stopped him.

<No.>

The workers turned to look. I stared at Ms. Acacia. She looked straight at me and took a step closer.

Ms. Acacia took another step closer.

She took another step closer.

Taking one more step, Ms. Acacia stood side by side with the workers, looking at me. I held my breath without realizing it, staring blankly at her strange lips.

Ms. Acacia whispered in her eerie, rasping voice.

Before Ms. Acacia could finish, Lasso, his voice hoarse from being choked, roared like thunder.

His lower body still exposed, Lasso gripped a screwdriver and charged at me. He thrust the screwdriver as if to stab my stomach. But before he could reach me, Ms. Acacia blocked him. For some reason, though fuming with anger, Lasso stopped when Ms. Acacia herself stood in his way. Instead, he glared at me with eyes that looked like they might pop out. How cute. I smirked at him and stared at Ms. Acacia.

<No. Killing you outright is too easy. It’s better to make you realize being tamed is the better option…>

Ms. Acacia said softly in her eerie voice.

Something was off. There was something unsettling and suspicious. I felt an inexplicable familiarity from Ms. Acacia. Her way of speaking, her tone, the words she used—they all felt oddly familiar. I had definitely heard them somewhere before. I must have spoken with this man before.

But his face was unfamiliar. It was the kind of striking face you wouldn’t forget once you saw it. But where? Caught in an unsolvable question, I asked.

<Me?>

Ms. Acacia let out another chilling laugh. She laughed so hard it seemed the log cabin would collapse, then answered with an expressionless face.

<I’m your pimp. You’re my whore.>

Ms. Acacia pulled a small gun from inside her suit jacket. Without hesitation, she shot me. It was a tranquilizer gun. I yanked out the small dart embedded in my stomach and threw it away. But my legs gave out in an instant. Damn it, the next time I open my eyes, I might really be missing a couple of fingers.

I collapsed onto the floor, glaring at Ms. Acacia. Her expressionless face grew closer, and I finally slumped onto the cement floor. My eyes closed.

Too much had happened in one night. I was tied up in a trailer and raped, locked in a closet, escaped, got injected with something and passed out on my way out, dragged to a campsite where I nearly lost a finger, but instead was gang-raped by fourteen men and passed out again. In that one night, I reunited with Simon, whom I thought I’d never see again, and Jerome, whom I thought I’d killed, came back alive. When I opened my eyes in the morning, I fought with Jerome and nearly got gang-raped again. Beaten to near death, I was shot with a tranquilizer and passed out, and now, I’ve finally come to.

It was a very long day.

I barely opened my eyes. It didn’t seem like I’d been unconscious for long… The air was swelteringly hot. Golden summer sunlight poured intensely through the open window frame without glass. I blinked slowly, staring at the cement floor bathed in sunlight. It seemed like midday. For some reason, my groin felt uncomfortable, so I looked down.

<Ugh, fuck…>

It seemed I’d been gang-raped while unconscious. My lower body burned and ached. I was completely naked. I spread my legs to check. Dried semen was crusted messily. Trying to sit up, I felt semen trickle out from my hole. What a fantastic feeling.

I sat up awkwardly. For some reason, my feet were free. But the rope between my wrists and the chandelier fixture had been shortened slightly. I tugged at the rope with my wrists experimentally, then left it alone. More urgently, I needed to clean out what was inside. My hole burned, but since it happened while I was unconscious, my body didn’t hurt too much. The places where the workers had beaten me before I passed out throbbed a bit. At least, then and now, my resilience was a blessing.

I knelt on the floor. I brought my bound hands between my legs. It would hurt to insert my fingers. Gritting my teeth, I was probing my lower body when—

<…Need help?>

<Ah…>

I jumped and turned at the sudden voice behind me. Matt was sitting on paint cans lined up against the wall.

<Matt?>

Why the hell is this guy here…

A memory flashed in my dazed mind—Matt’s face, pale as a ghost. It came back to me. Come to think of it, Matt was here last night. It was when those photos from boarding school, taken by the boys, were exposed. Matt had seen them.

I didn’t know what to say and just stared blankly at Matt. He stood up and approached hesitantly. My voice came out belatedly.

<…I’ll help.>

His face, haggard from just one night, knelt slowly behind me. It was easier to accept help. I put off questioning for later and turned my back to him, bracing my bound hands on the floor.

Matt’s fingers were gentle and delicate. He let the semen inside flow out without irritating my swollen hole. I could tell this act was very familiar to Matt. Instinctively, I sensed he had a hidden past he hadn’t shared. I couldn’t make sense of what was going on. A mountain of questions piled up, but I suppressed the urge to ask and waited for him to finish cleaning me up. They had left a filthy amount of semen, and it took Matt a while to get it all out. Afterward, he wiped me down with a handkerchief.

As soon as the cleanup was done, I whipped around. My sudden movement made Matt freeze, his eyes wide like a startled rabbit. I grabbed his nape and slammed him to the floor, pinning him down. Matt coughed, tears streaming down his face. I wasn’t even squeezing that hard, yet he was being dramatic. I sat on his waist and only then released his neck. Staring down at Matt’s pretty face, brimming with tears, I asked.

<I, I’m just, uh, just…>

Matt turned his head to the side, mumbling. Seeing this guy, barely twenty-one or twenty-two, trembling and on the verge of crying stirred some pity in me. I sighed and softened my tone slightly.

<Don’t cry. Do I look like I’m in the mood to care about your situation right now? How do you know Jerome? Did he drag you up to this campsite?>

Matt didn’t answer, only letting tears flow freely.

<Hey. It’s not even a hard question. Don’t tell me you’ve been in cahoots with Jerome from the start? Huh?>

<N-no! It’s not, it’s not like that… Je-Jerome…>

Matt swallowed his sniffles and stammered incoherently.

<I, I was just, trying to catch a train to leave… I s-sold the car… But that guy… he said he didn’t know, didn’t know the way…>

Matt burst into sobs. I stared at him intently. It didn’t feel like a lie. But what about the workers? What about Lasso? Hadn’t they acted friendly for weeks, only to suddenly turn on me? Still, seeing him cry like this dulled my urge to interrogate him harshly. I sat on the mattress, sighed, and tossed out a request.

<Huh? Uh… yeah. I have one… hold on…>

I lit the cigarette, turned my back to Matt, and took a deep drag. Staring at his pathetic face made me feel both sorry for him and like I wanted to smack him. We smoked in silence. It was midday, and no construction noises came from outside. The workers were probably napping, exhausted from the heat.

Now was the chance to escape. But I had no clothes, Matt sitting next to me was a mystery, and just sitting still made my lower body throb. Besides, they’d let me slip away once in the trailer. There didn’t seem to be anyone watching now, but who knows what traps they’d set.

It made sense to pry information from Matt and make a plan. The problem was, he was too dazed to think straight. Pressing him about what he was doing here might be pointless. Honestly, what did it matter what Matt was up to or whether he knew what kind of guy Jerome was? If I escaped, I shouldn’t see any of them again. It’d be better to ask about the campsite’s situation, figure out how to get out, and maybe threaten him…

I glanced back. Matt mumbled, his face vacant. His hand, holding the cigarette, was trembling.

Matt nodded, his eyes full of tears again. But he wasn’t as incoherent as before.

<And?>

<I, I sold the car and was going to catch a train. I was drinking at the pub for a bit and met Jerome. He bought me drinks… bought me drinks, and, and then…>

Matt, flustered, couldn’t continue. I nodded, trying not to sound irritated.

<…Jerome said he was going to Ravenham. Said he had business at a film set… Ray, I swear, I really didn’t know. I thought he was just, just some good-looking guy, maybe an actor…>

<Well… he said it was his first time here, that he didn’t know the way… and maybe I could help… But, Ray, you need to know, that guy, how kind he was, how well he treated me, really—>

<Yeah, I get it. I get it, but why the hell did you follow him to the campsite? Didn’t it cross your mind to run when you saw that psycho stick a needle in my neck?>

Matt clamped his mouth shut. A large teardrop rolled down his cheek. Looking at his silent face, I felt like I’d already heard his answer. His eyes, red from crying, finally spoke after a long pause.

<…It’s okay now. It’s not too late, Matt. You can still fix this.>

Before I could finish, he shook his head.

<No. I can’t. I can’t. Really, Ray, you don’t know…>

<Don’t know? I don’t know?>

The harsh voice I’d been suppressing burst out.

<Fuck, I don’t know? How could I not know? You’re the one who doesn’t know, Matt. You don’t know what kind of bastards they are. What they’re capable of. You’re the one who knows nothing. About what I have to go through now, about the gruesome death I’ll face if I fail to escape—you don’t know a damn thing. How could a dimwit like you know? If you did, you wouldn’t be whimpering; you’d be untying this rope right now!>

I waved my bound wrists in front of Matt’s face, yelling. Terrified, Matt lowered his head and sobbed. I was wrong. Convincing this guy would be harder than chewing through the rope with my teeth to escape.

We sat in silence for a while. For now, Ms. Acacia and Jerome were nowhere to be seen. From the conversation I overheard this morning, Simon was probably at the film set, and the workers weren’t here either. But someone might be guarding outside, eavesdropping on me and Matt.

I chewed my lip, thinking hard. The situation was bad. Really bad. Worse than my time at Bluebell, and they wouldn’t let their guard down now. Plus, I knew nothing about the current Simon or Jerome. And Ms. Acacia, that enigma, was a whole other story…

Before I passed out, Ms. Acacia had called me an untamable dog. She said an untamable dog could only be set free or killed. They had no intention of letting me go. So, were they going to kill me? Why? Back then, they wanted to turn me into a dog. Was this revenge for Hugh and George’s deaths?

<I’m sorry…>

Matt mumbled, tears dripping. When I didn’t respond, he scooted closer and climbed onto my lap. With my bound wrists raised, he slipped his body into my arms. Matt, small and skinny, fit perfectly in my embrace. Clutching my shirt tightly with both hands, he whispered.

<I… I messed up… I’m sorry, Ray, I’m sorry…>

<…I, I can’t, if I do, those people…>

<Instead, I’ll take care of you… okay? I’ll… protect you…>

Out of words, Matt rolled his eyes and pressed his lips to mine. Even as tears streamed down, he licked my lips and kissed me repeatedly. I stared at him dumbfounded, then turned my head to avoid him. Giving up on his help, I said curtly.

As my tone softened, Matt gave a shy smile. He adjusted his awkward posture, leaned back comfortably, and started chattering.

<Uh, well… Jerome asked how I knew you. I told him we came to find work together, but things didn’t work out for me, so I was heading back alone…>

Matt shook his head sheepishly, then gave a sly smile. Seeing this clueless young man loosen up the moment I showed a bit of kindness made me sigh endlessly. I could picture exactly how Jerome had manipulated him.

Matt paused, tilting his head.

<…Anyway, that weird-voiced guy was waiting with the workers. After that, you remember everything. I swear, Ray, I didn’t know they’d… they’d do that to you…>

Matt’s glassy tears fell again.

Matt was only about twenty-one or twenty-two. Not much different from when I was trapped at Bluebell’s boarding school. Young, naive, and reckless. From stealing my car and money to the days we spent together, I’d gotten a decent read on this clueless young man. He’d been swept up by Jerome. It was infuriating and frustrating, but I also felt sorry for him. Once caught up in this, he wouldn’t escape unscathed either.

A thought surged, making my head spin, but I quickly shook it off. For the past five years, I’d been pushing away. To distract myself, I impulsively kissed Matt, who was right in front of me.

<It’s fine. It probably would’ve happened even if you hadn’t gotten involved.>

I hesitated, then added.

<Why…? Why are you used to it? That’s crazy.>

<That’s why you need to help me get out.>

I rubbed my nose against Matt’s cheek, muttering. A faint, bittersweet smell of tobacco wafted from him.

<B-but…>

Matt squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled.

<I’m scared… Jerome told me to keep an eye on you… to make sure you don’t escape.>

<So, Matt, are you going to join them? Are you going to beat me and rape me too?>

<No! Never, no—>

I licked Matt’s stammering lips. I rubbed and licked his lips, pretending to be pitiful. Matt let out a low moan as he subtly pressed his body closer. Could I coax him into untying the ropes like this? Even a lie might work. If I said I needed to use the bathroom or groaned as if my guts were twisting, he might, in his confusion, untie the ropes…

I quickly wrapped my arms tightly around Matt’s waist as he eagerly clung to me, squirming. Maybe this simple guy could be swayed by just a kiss to help me escape? That hope was starting to form when—

A cold voice suddenly cut in. I felt Matt freeze in my arms. Damn it. Irritation surged. I’d just gotten him to relax. I buried my forehead in Matt’s shoulder and let out a quiet sigh. When I looked up, Simon was standing across from us.

<Why? I was just acting like the whore you wanted.>

<…>

<…>

Simon didn’t answer. He must have rushed over right after filming, as a faint scent of makeup wafted from him. He was holding a small washbasin under his arm and a towel in one hand. Here to clean me up again, it seems. Psycho bastard.

But it had been a while since I’d seen Simon angry. Back at Bluebell, he always seemed calm, but he’d get mad sometimes. Sometimes…

I shook off again.

Matt, at a loss, rolled his eyes. Too scared to look at Simon, he glanced at me as if asking what to do. Holding on wouldn’t do either of us any good. I gestured with my chin for him to get up, lifting my arms slightly, when Simon, who had been standing still, strode over. Before I could react, Simon’s large hand grabbed Matt’s hair and yanked him up mercilessly.

<Aaagh!>

Matt shot upward with a scream. Simon threw him to the floor without hesitation. As I watched, stunned, Simon kicked Matt. Even as Matt curled up after being brutally kicked in the stomach a couple of times, Simon didn’t stop.

Matt, choking and gasping, was too terrified to resist. The sound of his sobs snapped me out of it, and I jumped to my feet.

Only then did Simon stop kicking. He looked at Matt coldly, like he was a bug, then turned away. When our eyes met, his face was as impassive and stoic as ever. Having beaten Matt without changing expression, Simon approached me as if nothing had happened. Matt’s crying didn’t seem to register as Simon calmly spoke.

<Sit. I’ll clean you up.>

<…>

<Hurry. I only came out briefly to clean you, and I have to go back soon.>

I stood still, glaring down at him. Simon looked at my feet for a moment, then stood, picked up a bucket from the corner of the living room, and went outside.

It felt like I’d been holding my breath the whole time. I exhaled slowly and approached Matt. He was curled up tightly, shoulders shaking as he cried. When I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and gently turned him toward me, Matt leaned into me like a child.

<I’m s-scared, Ray, sob, ugh.>

Matt whimpered, swallowing his sniffles.

I glanced back instinctively. The log cabin seemed empty except for us. I leaned down to Matt and whispered.

<It’s scary. I know. I’m scared too. I don’t want to be here. I want to escape. So pull yourself together and get up. Get up and untie this.>

I held out my tightly bound wrists. Matt didn’t even glance at them. He sat up, wiping his tear-soaked cheeks, and lifted his t-shirt to touch the spots where Simon had hit him. I wanted to grab him by the collar out of frustration but held back. Pushing this already frightened guy further might make him bolt entirely.

He looked at the red marks on his stomach from the beating and became teary again. He gazed at me pitifully with watery eyes.

<…Yeah. It hurts. I know. I’ve been beaten plenty too.>

<Yeah…>

Finally, Matt’s eyes turned to the ropes. He just stared at my bound wrists. A bad feeling crept in. I instinctively knew what he was thinking. Damn it, he’d never intended to untie me. But right now, Matt was my only option. I couldn’t give up.

Matt mumbled weakly.

I looked straight into Matt’s eyes.

Before I could finish, footsteps approached the log cabin. Matt, trembling with fear, began to shake. I clenched my teeth and turned around.

Moments later, Simon appeared in the living room. He was carrying a bucket filled with water. The moment he showed up, Matt, who had been clinging to me, scrambled away. I glared incredulously at Matt as he crawled backward and pressed himself against the wall.

Simon looked at us steadily, then approached slowly. He set the bucket down in front of me and silently gestured to Matt. Matt, eyes brimming with tears, hesitated, likely terrified of being hit again, but shuffled toward Simon. Simon didn’t raise his hand again. Instead, he pointed silently at the door. Quick to understand, Matt vanished from sight.

I was glaring at Matt as he scurried away. My chest swelled with rage, and my face burned. When I turned to Simon savagely, he was calmly soaking a towel in water. He noticed my gaze but acted as if nothing had happened.

<…>

Suddenly, I felt drained. Then and now, no matter how angry I got or how much I lashed out, they never so much as blinked. My rage fizzled out like a lie, leaving only exhaustion.

There was no explanation. Simon approached silently and began wiping my hands slowly with the damp towel. The boy I’d reunited with after years, like Jerome, had grown considerably, exuding a more masculine aura. His already large hands from back then were now almost like pot lids, easily wrapping around my not-so-slender forearms. His face, still wearing makeup, was neat and clean. His unreadable expression was unchanged.

I glared at him and slapped his hand away. Simon paused but then grabbed my wrist again as if nothing had happened and resumed wiping. I slapped it away again. Only then did he look up, meeting my eyes with a blank face.

<So?>

I glared at him silently. Simon, unfazed, took my hand again and started meticulously wiping between my fingers. Staring at his focused dark eyes, I sneered.

<So, you’re officially playing pimp now? After they come and screw me, you clean me up, get me ready, and make sure I’m spread and waiting? Is that it, Simon?>

Simon didn’t answer or look at me.

Talking to a wall would be less frustrating. I felt stupid for getting worked up over Simon. I glared at him, seething.

<…And what the hell does that have to do with you?>

Whether I was speechless or not, Simon diligently continued his task. He wiped my forearm and elbow, then moved to my other hand, carefully cleaning between the fingers again.

<Lover?>

I muttered incredulously. I always thought Simon was a weirdo, but this time, even for a weirdo, I couldn’t follow his train of thought. What kind of crazy bastard was this? After years apart, he rapes me, threatens to cut out my tongue, catches me after I escape, and lets others gang-rape me, all while getting jealous over a guy like Matt? Because I’m his lover? It was absurd and infuriating.

Simon, focused on wiping my arm, replied.

Simon brushed off the comment. The anger that had died down flared up again. My whole body trembled with rage.

This time, I was truly speechless. Simon seemed to genuinely believe it. That I’d done something wrong and deserved the punishment.

Where do I even start with this guy? Would he understand if I explained? Would he accept it? My body was still trembling, but Simon was calm. He was a different kind of lunatic from Jerome. I didn’t know how to handle Simon’s madness, and I could never understand him.

After wiping my arms, Simon moved behind me to clean my back. He meticulously wiped my nape, shoulders, back, underarms, and sides. His hands, occasionally brushing my skin, were warm and soft. Absurdly, under his calm touch, my trembling began to subside.

After cleaning my back, Simon came around to the front. He moved closer and started wiping my chest and stomach. There wasn’t the slightest hint of anything sexual in his touch. I watched him scrub off the dried semen on my stomach and asked.

Simon answered without a second’s hesitation. The unexpectedly clear response caught me off guard. I was even more thrown by the claim that I’d said it myself.

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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