Bad Life

Talking to a wall wouldn't be this frustrating. I felt foolish for getting worked up over Simon. I wheezed and glared at him.

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

Whether I was speechless or not, Simon diligently went about his business. He wiped his forearm and elbow, then moved to his other hand and began cleaning between his fingers again, meticulously.
I mumbled helplessly. I always thought of Simon as a nerd, but this time, no matter how eccentric I was, I couldn't follow his train of thought. Well, there are all these crazy people out there. They reunited after several years and raped each other, threatened to cut out her tongue, caught her when she ran away, and had others gang rape her, only to be jealous of a guy like Matt? Because I'm your lover? I was shocked and my nose was stuffy.

Simon replied, absorbed in cleaning his arms.

Simon ignored those words indifferently. The anger that had been extinguished was rekindled. I was so angry that my whole body was shaking.

This time, I was speechless, unable to say anything. Simon seemed to genuinely believe that. I was wrong, so I deserved the punishment I deserved.
Where and how should I begin to tell him? Will he understand if I tell him? Will he convince me if I explain? My body still trembled, but Simon remained calm. He was a different kind of lunatic than Jerome. I had no idea how to deal with Simon's madness, and I could never understand him.

After wiping his arms, Simon turned around and began wiping my back. He meticulously cleaned the nape of my neck, shoulders, back, armpits, and sides. Simon's hands, occasionally brushing against my skin, were warm and soft. Strangely enough, under his calm, gentle touch, my trembling gradually subsided.

Simon, having finished wiping my back, returned to the front. He leaned in close and began wiping my chest and abdomen. There was not a shred of sexual connotation in his touch. He watched her hand wiping the dried semen from her abdomen and asked,

Simon answered without a second's hesitation. The unexpected clarity of the answer caught him off guard. He was even more bewildered when he said it with his own mouth.

Simon didn't answer, but it was as if he had agreed. He let out a hollow laugh.


Simon spoke softly.

<… … .>

I felt like I was going to vomit. Simon was now sitting between my legs. He lifted his head from wiping my thighs. His face was utterly serene. I wanted to tear Simon's face apart. I glared into his pitch-black eyes and sneered.

Every time the cold, wet towel touched me, I flinched. Simon gently stroked my warm hand, as if to reassure me, and then carefully dried me. The silence continued. I found him creepy. On the other hand, he seemed like a ridiculous fool.

He wasn't like Jerome. Jerome wasn't the kind of person who couldn't be understood. To a certain extent, his behavior was predictable. But when it came to Simon, who kept talking about being his lover while calmly wiping away the traces of other people's gang rapes...
"What, what are you doing!"
Simon's fingers suddenly thrust down, making me jump. Simon pressed down on my lower abdomen, wiggling his fingers wildly.
"I told you to take it off, you son of a bitch!"
"There's no sign of a condom."
Simon spoke in a chillingly low voice.
"That kid cleaned up after me earlier."
Instead of answering, I kicked Simon's shoulder and jerked my upper body upright. Simon backed away obediently, but I tossed the towel I was clutching.
"It's always like that. Every time... You... even back then..."
At that moment, I realized Simon had been holding back his anger the whole time. Simon had been furious ever since he'd found Matt and me embracing each other.

Simon's voice was very low and harsh.

The moment the story of five years ago left Simon's beautiful lips, I'd been trying to forget hit the back of my head like a giant hammer. The mere mention drained the color from my face. Clear saliva pooled in my mouth, as if I were about to vomit. Until now, since the fire five years ago, no one had ever mentioned it… . Because I hadn't met anyone who knew about it again.

Simon added softly, his voice flat.

My body froze. Simon and I stared at each other without blinking. His black, so black, eyes stared at my face, no, at something inside me, the intimate part I'd desperately hidden and ignored for the past five years... Simon spoke, his lips moving without moving. His face was pale and cold, like a possessed doll.

The voice that came out of his throat felt strange, as if it wasn't mine.

Simon's eyes were so dark they resembled doll eyes. His inhuman eyes stared at me, unwavering, for a single moment. He observed my expression, every detail.

<… … .>

Suddenly, as I regained consciousness, I realized hot tears were streaming down my cheeks. Simon reached out. He leaned over me and gently wiped them away with his warm hands. Simon kissed my eye and whispered.

I couldn't take a breath, feeling like I was suffocating.

Simon whispered.

I couldn't control the trembling in my body. I nodded slowly, and Simon kissed my damp eyelids. He whispered in the same indifferent voice as before. "But you were the one who broke my heart first."
I gasped and pushed Simon away. Simon obediently pulled away, but he never moved away, instead staring at me from a very close distance. It was difficult to maintain eye contact with Simon. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my face with my palms. The tears streaming down my cheeks were hot. My heart ached as if they were being torn apart.

To be honest, I no longer remember Karl's face. I had been consciously trying to forget him, and at some point, I truly did. Karl's appearance and voice, as well as the face that had cried, begging for my forgiveness, the face of the boy who had begged me to leave for France with him—no matter how much I wanted to recall and atone, I couldn't recall it. My heart felt like it was being torn apart. I gasped and pressed my fingers hard against my eyes.

I would never be forgiven. I would never atone. I should never have spoken to Karl. I should never have shared my secrets with him. When he found my porn, I should have told him I liked it, that I was a dirty whore who liked being gang-raped. Oh, Carl…
I killed you.

Simon said.
I covered my face with my hands and shook my head. Stop. Don't say any more. I don't want to hear it. But no sound came out. My lips trembled, and I could only shake my head. Tears flowed through my fingers and onto my lips. It felt like a red-hot iron was slicing through my ribcage.

Simon said.
The flames that had been raging in the rain spread across my closed vision. Carl is there. Carl is dying. Carl is dying alone in the blazing fire that consumes the storm. I collapse before the flames and scream. May they burn more, may they burn more fiercely, more greedily. And he longs to cruelly devour all living things.

Simon said.
He pressed his fingers hard against his eyes. Remember. Please remember. Remember Karl's face. What he looked like, how he smiled, how he cried to save me, how much he loved me. I must remember, I must remember…

I can't remember anything. All I remember is the boys on the top floor.

Simon said.
I couldn't hear any more.
I pulled my knee hard and kicked Simon. His ankle was caught. I pulled my hand away and glared at Simon. Simon held my ankle tightly and looked down at me. His eyes were icy, but the palms holding my ankles were burning hot.

Simon said.

My whole body convulsed. It was cold. Hearing someone burn to death was freezing cold. My hands and feet trembled with the cold. A chill ran down my spine, making my fingers and toes numb. I hunched my shoulders and looked up at Simon. Simon let go of my ankle. He wiped my tearful face with a towel. He glanced at his watch.
"Raymond, rest. It's time for me to go to work. I'll be back when I'm done."
Simon kissed my cheek with his warm lips and left. I watched him disappear, curled up on the mattress, and sobbed. Only then could I make a sound. Only after Simon was gone did a low sob escape. But I couldn't cry out loud. That sound never came out.

Naked, my wrists bound, lying alone on the mattress prepared solely for rape, I wept, remembering the friend I had killed. I don't remember a thing, but the friend I killed, my only friend, that poor boy... In that moment of mourning and remembrance for that boy for the first time, I felt so base and shameful. This was me. This was me.