The Bad Life Chapter 9.2 - An Encounter with a Phantom

<The stables? When you bastards made me take a horse’s cock?>

Simon didn’t respond, but it was as good as an affirmation. A hollow laugh escaped me.

<Which part of that mess made you feel my love? You bastards, you, you fucking piece of shit, you made me fuck animals!>

<You.>

Simon said quietly.

<…>

I felt like I was going to vomit. Simon was now sitting between my legs. As he wiped my thighs, he looked up. His face was utterly serene. I wanted to tear his face to shreds. Glaring into his pitch-black eyes, I sneered.

<What? I’m good at lying. You know that, don’t you?>

<I know it’s a lie.>

Simon replied, lowering his head. He slid his hand under my thigh, slowly wiping down to the back of my knee. He knew it was a lie, yet he still thought of me as his lover. For five years… I no longer had the energy to talk to this lunatic. I flopped back onto the mattress, but Simon didn’t care. He stood, rinsed the towel, and came back.

Each time the cold, wet towel touched me, my body flinched. Simon gently stroked me with his warm hand, as if to reassure me, and carefully wiped my body. The silence dragged on. He creeped me out. At the same time, he seemed like an absurd fool.

He was different from Jerome. Jerome wasn’t an incomprehensible type of person. To some extent, I could predict his actions. But Simon, who called me his lover while calmly wiping away the traces of others’ gang rape…

<What, what are you doing!>

I jumped as Simon’s finger suddenly slipped inside me. He pressed my lower abdomen to hold me still, moving his finger freely.

<Get it out, you bastard!>

<There’s no sign of a condom.>

Simon said in a chillingly low voice.

<That kid cleaned you up earlier, didn’t he?>

Instead of answering, I kicked Simon’s shoulder and sat up sharply. Simon backed off compliantly but flung the towel he was holding.

<Every time. Every time… you… back then too…>

In that moment, I realized Simon had been holding back his anger all along. From the moment he saw Matt and me embracing, Simon had been furious.

<You’re kind to people who can’t save you.>

Simon’s voice was low and unwavering.

<Matt, was it? That kid can’t do anything. He’s as helpless as your friend who burned to death five years ago.>

The moment Simon’s beautiful lips mentioned the events of five years ago, I’d been desperately trying to suppress hit me like a massive hammer to the back of my head. Just the mention drained the blood from my face. Clear saliva pooled in my mouth, making me feel like I’d vomit. Until now, since the fire five years ago, no one had ever brought it up… because I hadn’t met anyone who knew about it.

<Should I kill Matt like you killed your friend five years ago?>

Simon added quietly in a monotone voice.

<To be precise, your friend was killed by you.>

<What… what did you say… just now…>

My body froze. Simon and I stared at each other without blinking. His black, impossibly black eyes were looking at my face—no, at something inside me, something I’d desperately hidden and ignored for five years, something deeply internal… Simon spoke, moving only his lips, his face as pale and ruthless as a possessed doll.

<I told Carl Purse. I said that during the break, I’d shove a horse’s cock up Raymond’s ass until it ruptured and killed him. I’d take pictures of the body and spread them like porn for perverts. Your friend chose to stay at the dorm.>

<No…>

The voice coming from my throat felt alien, like it wasn’t mine.

<No… that’s a lie.>

<I’m not good at lying like you.>

Simon’s eyes were so black they looked like doll’s eyes. Those inhuman eyes never left me, not for a moment. He scrutinized every detail of my expression.

<Carl Purse was swept up in the explosion. Room 201 was right above the kitchen.>

<…>

Suddenly, I realized hot tears were streaming down my cheeks. Simon reached out. He leaned toward me and gently wiped my tears with his warm hand. Simon kissed the corner of my eye and whispered.

<Sad?>

I couldn’t breathe, as if I’d suffocate.

<Don’t be sad.>

Simon whispered, as if asking.

<Did I make you sad?>

I couldn’t control my body’s trembling. I nodded slowly, and Simon kissed my wet eyelids. He whispered in the same indifferent tone as before.

I gasped and pushed Simon’s body away. Simon backed off willingly but stayed close, watching me silently. I couldn’t keep meeting his eyes. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face with my hands. The tears streaming down my cheeks were hot. My chest felt like it was being torn apart.

Honestly, I no longer remember Carl’s face. I tried so hard to forget him that, at some point, I truly did. Not just his appearance or voice, but the face that cried begging for my forgiveness, the face of the boy who pleaded to run away to France together—I can’t recall them, no matter how much I want to atone. My chest felt like it was being ripped to shreds. Gasping, I pressed my fingers hard against my eyes.

I’ll never be forgiven. I’ll never atone. I should never have spoken to Carl. I shouldn’t have shared secrets with him. When he found my porn films, I should’ve said I liked it, that I was a filthy whore who enjoyed being gang-raped, I should’ve, oh, Carl…

I killed you.

<Carl Purse’s death was interesting.>

Simon said.

I shook my head, my face still covered with my hands. Stop. Don’t say any more. I don’t want to hear it. But no sound came out. I could only shake my head, lips trembling. Tears slipped through my fingers and ran into my mouth. It felt like a red-hot iron was slicing through my ribcage.

<He didn’t die easily.>

Simon said.

The flames that burned fiercely in the rain unfolded in my closed eyes. Carl is there. Carl is dying. In the inferno that consumes the storm, Carl dies alone. I collapse in front of the flames, screaming. Burn more, burn fiercer, more greedily. I yearn for it to cruelly devour every living thing.

<A pillar collapsed, crushing him. His lower body was completely mangled, but the fatal wound missed him.>

Simon said.

I pressed my fingers harder against my eyes. Remember. Please remember. Remember Carl’s face. What he looked like, how he smiled, the face he made when he cried to save me, how much he loved me, remember…

I can’t remember anything. All I can recall are the boys on the top floor.

<Crushed under a boulder, he watched the flames approach slowly, screaming in pain before burning alive.>

Simon said.

I couldn’t listen anymore. I kicked Simon with all my strength. He grabbed my ankle. I removed my hands and glared at him. Simon, holding my ankle tightly, looked down at me. His eyes were too cold, but the hand gripping my ankle was burning hot.

<I saw the body. I saw the eyelids melted, the charred round eyeballs stuck in their sockets. The corpse’s fingernails were all gone. Probably from trying to claw out from under the boulder. Carl Purse was the one who survived the longest in the fire. No one else endured that long in such agony.>

Simon said.

My body trembled like it was convulsing. I was cold. Listening to a story of someone burning to death, I felt like I was freezing. My hands and feet shook from the chill. My fingers and toes were numb from the cold. I hunched my shoulders and looked up at Simon.

Simon let go of my ankle. He wiped my tear-streaked face with the towel. He glanced at his wristwatch.

<Raymond, rest. I have to go back to work. I’ll come back after.>

Simon kissed my cheek with his warm lips and left. I watched him disappear, then curled up on the mattress and sobbed. Only then could I make a sound. Only after Simon was gone did a low cry escape. But I couldn’t cry loudly. That kind of sound would never come.

Naked, wrists bound, lying alone on a mattress meant only for rape, I cried for the friend I killed. I can’t remember anything, but my only friend, that poor boy… In the moment I finally mourned and grieved for him, I was this vulgar, shameful figure. This was me. This was exactly me.