Bad Life

“Get out.”
The workers fled the cabin without looking back. I spat twice more and wiped my mouth with the hem of my shirt.
I caught my breath and looked at Simon. He still wouldn’t meet my gaze—instead, he began cleaning up the mess I’d vomited.
After he swept away the refuse, Simon grabbed the water bottle rolling on the floor and went to the bathroom. I watched him, panting. He acted as if nothing unusual had happened—he didn’t peek into Hammerhead’s hiding spot. Please let Hammerhead stay hidden.
Simon returned with water and splashed it across the floor, then tossed the full bottle at me without glancing my way. I caught it reflexively. Simon then cleared the dishes.
“Simon.”
He busied himself organizing the first-aid kit with his back to me. Silence stretched between us—I had no real expectation of an answer. I sat quietly, rinsed my mouth, and drank. The tension from Hammerhead’s abrupt arrival eased slightly, but I knew Hammerhead was still somewhere in the cabin. He could be discovered at any moment.
I shifted my gaze to Simon, pretending casual interest. He continued to tidy the mess without looking up. Something felt different—normally he’d come over to wipe my face and watch me rinse. Then I remembered: Simon was angry.
“If you say you love me,” he’d said. “I will save you.”
I crawled forward on my knees and gently pressed my cheek against Simon’s back. He halted his work. I pressed closer, nuzzling and stroking his back. Wrapping my free arms around his waist, I rubbed my nose against his neck and kissed him. Simon stood frozen, then I bit gently at his earlobe and pressed my lips to his ear.
“Simon.”
No response—he seemed to hold his breath. I tightened my embrace, brushing my lips to his earlobe again. Simon trembled, and exhaled softly at last, as if caught. His body shivered with sensation. I whispered once more:
“Simon.”
Simon finally nodded.
“Are you angry?”
He shook his head.
“Why?”
I trailed my hand along his abs and chest, stroking slowly and whispering,
“I hurt you.”
“I’m not angry,” Simon repeated. Yet his hand, covering mine, trembled faintly.
“Really? Why?”
I kissed along his neck.
“My lover ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ was hurt by me?”
Simon took my hand gently and, in a calm voice, answered,
“Because you’re not Raymond.”
That froze me.
“Raymond never hurt me.”
Simon clasped my trembling hand with his warm, large one. I stared at his profile, unsettled, and asked,
“Who is Raymond?”
“My lover.”
He spoke evenly.

“We are lovers.”
“Then who am I?”
My voice shook despite myself. I wanted to break free from Simon’s embrace.
“You…”
Simon hesitated, fiddled with my hand, then admitted,
“I don’t know. Who are you?”
Terror flooded me. As I tried to pull my hand back, Simon gripped it tightly and yanked me close against his back again. He held my hand so firmly it hurt, then asked into the empty air,
“Where is Raymond?”
Goosebumps erupted across my skin.
“Let go, you bastard!”
I yanked my hand free with all my strength, ignoring the scratch Simon’s nails left on my wrist. Crawling back on my rear, I broke away—but Simon turned and tackled me. I twisted to avoid him, only to have the leash catch around my neck. I scrambled up and backed away, and Simon clutched my ankle. I fell and kicked him fiercely in the face with my other foot. He absorbed some blows, dodged others.
Simon hauled me up by the ankle and dragged me across the floor. I kicked wildly at thin air, clawing the concrete with my fingernails in desperation. His warm body heat pressed into me, sickening me. Simon threw himself atop me and pinned my arms. He seized my wrists and pressed them against his ear, his pupils gleaming with a ferocity I’d never seen.
“Tonight at last,” Simon murmured in a voice trembling with ecstasy, “Raymond will stay by my side forever.”
I recoiled and glared at him. Simon stared down at me, then rose abruptly and left the cabin without a backward glance. My body trembled long after he vanished.
The cabin grew silent. I forced myself upright, and Hammerhead—who had hidden motionless—emerged. His face was pale and drawn, and he looked at me with disgust. I could understand his loathing, but I was too broken to care.
“Get lost.”
I spoke weakly.
“Just pretend you didn’t see anything…”
Then Hammerhead spoke, voice betraying recognition:
“Goodman, you know… you stole all the boys’ money back at the dorm.”
I had no energy to deny it.
“You came here just to get caught and do this?”
“It’s not like that. Just go.”
I looked down at my wrist, still red from Simon’s nail marks.
“Don’t mention what happened today to anyone. Not until you die.”
Hammerhead trembled but continued to glare as he backed away.
“Seriously, since then you’ve been here…”
“Go!”
I roared in frustration. Hammerhead flinched, then wordlessly fled the cabin.
Silence reclaimed the space. I lay back on the concrete floor, exhausted, Simon’s words echoing:
“Tonight at last Raymond will stay by my side forever.”
I remembered the workers’—and Simon’s—warnings:
“Leave him alone today.”
“You aren’t supposed to touch him today.”
I collapsed, staring up at the log-beam ceiling, thinking of James, Matt, and the knife I’d left at Bluebell. If tonight was my last night… Weariness swept over me. If this was the end, could I finally see those four faces again? Could James and I run away together somewhere?
Footsteps sounded at the front door, but I didn’t move. I no longer cared who entered.
Hammerhead’s face suddenly appeared at mine, pale as death. He thrust out his hand—a pocket knife—into my view. I lay still; he set the blade by my ear.
“I figured you’d want some peace of mind…”
He muttered, then hurried off.
I picked up the small pocket knife. Could I use it on myself? Better to die swiftly by my own hand than face their murder tonight… Holding the blade tight, I closed my eyes. Quiet enveloped me, and sleep beckoned.
BANG! Like thunder, the door slammed open. I bolted awake. I’d apparently slept on the concrete floor until dark.
I sat up, and the knife clattered from my hand. I had no plan for it—I instinctively stuffed it into my sneaker. As soon as it was hidden, light spilled into the cabin’s hallway. The thunderous noise had been the door flung open violently.
Workers carrying torches appeared in the corridor—torches in midsummer. I stared, confused, as they strode in without hesitation. One torchbearer illuminated me; two others unlocked my collar and hauled me to my feet.
Panic gripped me. They hauled me outside, gripping my arms. Each step toward the circle of men made my heart pound harder.
Outside, over a dozen men clustered in the night, all dressed in black that obscured their features. Some slung rifles over their shoulders; others gripped tools, their shapes only faintly visible in the torchlight. My stomach turned cold. Their collective frenzy pricked my skin with dread.
This was madness I’d seen on battlefields: blind, raging madness. My spine stiffened. They dragged me to the center, where George stood surrounded by torches, exalted and maskless, his hideous face alight with ecstasy.
They threw me down in front of him. Gasping, I struggled upright. George knelt, gently raised my wrist, and fitted a metal bracelet around it.
“It’s a satellite GPS tracker,” he informed me.
“What…?”
“Simply put, it’s a tracking device.”
“Why…?” I asked, dazed.
“Still half asleep,” George said with mock gentleness.
“From now on, we hunt.”
I scanned the circle of men in black, rifles and torches in hand. They weren’t workers today—they were hunters. My limbs froze. I glanced at the heavy tracker on my wrist, the intermittent red blink of its light.
George stroked my hair affectionately.
“Raymond, you remember beaters, right? You saw plenty in Virginia. You worked as a forest ranger in hunting season.”
“…”
“When the royals go hunting,” George said, glancing at Jerome standing solemnly behind him—his face flickering in the torchlight—
“they release game into the woods beforehand. Then they drive them toward the hunters, enjoying the chase. Know why?”
My jaw trembled. I bit my tongue to stay silent.
“To heighten the thrill.” George whispered,
“Hunting is like hide-and-seek. You must know something’s hidden, or there’s no fun.”
George rose. The hunters parted, creating a path to the forest. The dark woods beckoned. George hissed,
“Hide.”
No sooner had the word left his lips than I bolted wildly into the trees.
Even with the blade under my sole, I didn’t notice the pain in my foot as I ran. Death pressed at my throat. I tore through underbrush, slipped, fell—and sprang up again, running blindly forward. I glanced back in alarm but saw no torches in pursuit. My lips trembled, my heart thudded in my ears. When I could no longer run, I tripped over a fallen log and crashed down.
I had no strength to rise. I lay face-down on the log, pain shredding my lungs. I struggled to push myself up, but how could I outrun them forever? With the tracker on my wrist, they would always find me. George would at last fulfill his long-held desire. Escape was futile.
Fighting to breathe against the weight of despair, I realized…