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Do I know these guys? Are they in my class? And, more disturbingly, how many of my classmates are in this fraternity? During my first year there were rumours of a secret association that was active in necromancy and all that shit, but I never gave it any attention. I was too busy surviving in a world that couldn’t have been more different from my own. Gone was the safe spot in my basket that Edouard had created for me. Gone was he who had controlled every single bit of my life ever since that day the transaction was sealed with a collar. The moments I had laid between his thighs, craving every crumb of affection he would give me. I was starved, like the runt Maman used to call me. Perhaps she was right after all. And just as I thought I had it all, everything was taken from me the day Father Benoît caught me, and disgraced me in front of the entire church community.
In front of me, on the inky-black horizon, booms up the castle like it’s some ghost building. Getting there means leaving the bushes, and hopping right back on the trail, which I’d rather not do, but I have no choice. When my feet hit the sandy underground, I nearly trip over again. Steadying myself, I hear the horse snort. My heart thunders in my chest, spreading tension and anxiety through my entire system.
“Come on, sweetheart, run,” Alexandre sings.
Allez, court. Court!
I can’t run any faster. Following the final meters of the trail, my lungs are burning, and my itch from the dust. Those cloaked guys must have made their round collecting the torches, because there are none left over here, this part of the woods blanketed in heavy darkness. I can’t trust my surroundings. Not the uneven forest ground, that now dilates, not the wiggling shrubs, definitely not the horse, and not the… Suddenly a violent push takes my breath away, and I fall onto the ground with a loud thump.
“Fuck!” I cry out. My palms reach out for balance, and the opened skin scratches painfully in the sand, the scratch mingling with cascading forest ground. “What the hell?” I roll onto my back and look at the other guy who’s looming over me, his dark gaze twisted into a furious scowl. I have lost my knife in the darkness, and I search for it, blindly, while panic grips my gut in a tight knot.
“You aren’t going to win tonight,” he hisses. Then he slaps me in the face. Hard. Wincing, I try to crawl away backwards, but he lifts his foot and plants it on my stomach. Pain blooms into my system. Abandoning the search of my knife, I grab his foot with both my hands and push him away. He lands on his back, his momentarily fall giving me the break I need to clamber up and onto my knees. Searching blindly, I hear him approach from behind. A turn over my shoulder is enough to see he’s back in my peripheral vision. “Ecoute. Listen!” I call out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I just want to make it out of here.”
“If you don’t want to win, then let yourself be eliminated. Because I want to win. I need to win.” His snarl and accusation bring back my own doubt. Through wincing eyes, I stare up at him. He’s wearing an identical school uniform and that black, lace mask. He’s the other participant, the one who’s still standing in this Wicked Chase. Although at this stage, Sick Chase would be a better fit. And he’s got a point. Now that I know who’s wearing that golden mask, who has come out here tonight supposedly claiming his chosen one, there’s no better argument than to show Edouard I’m no longer his. By stepping out of the game. I guess I carry more pride than I’ve given myself credit for. “How do you get eliminated?” I ask him.
He snorts, and his face contorts into a grimace. “Have you not been listening? You simply accept the other gift they have for you.”
I blink lick my lips, while my heart rattles in my chest. Could it really be that easy? Could something ever be that easy? Alexandre knows what gift is waiting for me. But…I hesitate.
Those first months here in college were absolutely dreadful. I felt alone and afraid. I missed Edouard with every fibre in my system. Sorrow flooded through different phases. First there was pain, then there was sadness. Questions, so many of them. Why didn’t he come back for me? Even if it was his dad who sent me here, surely he’d miss me too? Then came anger. It was that anger that helped me to survive in this world of the ultra rich. With time, I mentally buried Maman, and the trailer park, and the drugs, and the misery. Mentally tore myself from Edouard and his safety, his iron control over me and my needs.
Over the past two years, I had left it all behind.
And now… right when I’m about to graduate in less than twelve months, I am getting caught up in the web of the privileged. I can’t afford that. Maybe Maman was right and I’m too needy, too fragile, but then, I’m no longer my mother’s child. I have become a lonely warrior, beating life like the battle it is. Starting with…
“Come on,” the other participant taunts, approaching me with those fisted hands once more. “I know you want to just give in. Go home, man. Enjoy a good summer.”
I strike before my brain catches up, and punch him in the jaw. He backs off, eyes large with surprise, before they morph into something else. Something more sinister. He strikes again. And again. Fiercely, brutally, he punches his fist into my stomach, making me leap forward on a howl. He doesn’t stop. Fed by desperation, he pulls on my hair and tilts my head up, until we’re facing each other once more. We’re both panting, pain and exhaustion filling my system.
“Have you fucking lost your mind?” I ask. “It’s just a game, you’re taking this way too seriously.” I don’t recognize him, this student, but I can scent his despair. It’s an odor I have carried along for so long.
“You can’t win.” he snarls in return.
I huff out a pained laugh. “I don’t want to win.”
“Liar!” He shoves me away with a disdained curl of his lips. “You’re still here, aren’t you? You could have left so many times before, but you didn’t. You want to win. But I know who you are, what you are.” For the shortest of seconds I fear that he might know of my past, of what I was to Edouard. “You’re nothing but a poor kid who has come here with the support of a sugar daddy,” he spits, much to my relief, although his words make my chest tighten with hurt. And with determination. “What did you do to be paid a ticket of gold, hmm? You’re not one of us. You’ll never be one of us!”
“Yet here I am,” I snarl. “And if what you say is true, then by winning this game, I will change my future. And no one will ever talk about my past anymore.”
The horn blows once more, followed by the distorted sound of laughter. Their voices, everywhere around us through the amplifier in the obsidian shades. It’s enraging that I have somehow become the main attraction of their amusement.
Life isn’t fucking fair. I never chose to be born in a one-parent family with a mom who loved her drugs more than she loved me. Who so easily gave me away rather than going to the police and reporting her problem.
“So maybe you are right, after all. Maybe it’s people like you who make me determined to win a stupid game such as this one.” I sneer, surprising myself with those truthful words. It’s true though. I remember wondering, after I signed that NDA, who would have chosen me.
Liar. Deep inside, I always knew it would be him. My core yearned for him, begged for him to come back to me. To scoop me back into his arms and cage me, nurture me, and keep me.
“You heard the man. There’s only a party for one of us. So if you want it to be yours, I suggest you fight me for it.” A flicker in the forest ground makes me bend forward to…there! I grab hold of the knife, relief washing over me. The cool metal feels fucking amazing in my warm, sweaty hand. Clambering back to my feet, I know I’m going to win. I can feel it. Maybe a stranger could have put me down all those years ago, but not here. Not now. Only…he doesn’t come closer. “Nothing?” I taunt. “You’ve got nothing to say now? Well, in that case—” I point with the knife toward the castle. “I’m going that way.”
The moment I turn him my back he shoves me to the ground and we both go down in a wrestling mess of grunts and slaps. He’s strong, but despair makes his movements sloppy. I deliver one cheap kick between his legs and he howls, hands grabbing his junk, and I get up, forcing myself not to take pity but to leave him with another kick to his leg, a move that doesn’t win a beauty prize, but immobilizes him regardless. Then I turn and run away.
“You’re as crazy as he is!” He calls out after me, and despite the fatigue and my throbbing muscles, a hysterical grin forms on my lips. Yes, I guess I am. We were always a good pair. A match made in paradise.
“Well done!” Someone calls out, and in the shadows I swear I see the flicker of a copper mask. I ignore it, my body too tense with adrenaline, and instead run over to the path where the wooden barriers welcome me back to the official land of Monterrey Castle. Passing the football fields, I head for the internal courtyard. Out there, in the forest, I felt disoriented. This here is my safe haven, the gardens, a place I often hang out in between classes. I leave my favorite bench a flitting touch of the tips of my fingers as I urge past, then run toward the reception hall, its door usually guarded by Claude, the porter. He, too, has left for the summer. Only when I close the door shut and press my back against glass, locking out the outside darkness, I can breathe in relief. In, and out.
“I’ve made it,” I heave. Which is not entirely true. Because the Wicked Chase has changed its rules tonight, and is now continuing inside the castle walls. Scanning the familiar, though empty surroundings—the large hall with its glorious ceilings and heavily adorned walls. On my left, the door that leads toward the canteen, with its spectacular view over the gardens. On my right, the impressive double spiral staircases. A dim light spreads through the entire open space, making it eerily dramatic. This castle is filled with so much history, has so many tales to tell. While I stand there, waiting for my breathing to even out and the pain in my waist to decrease, I wonder how much of the rumours are true. I wonder why I showed up here tonight in the first place. I wonder how life would be if I could have accepted my cravings. Would that have been enough to turn down the Dictator’s offer to get me out of there after Father Benoit turned me into a public disgrace? My need for submission, the desire to put all my trust in the hands of my owner.
Even the thought makes me wince. I won’t ever give in to this again. Jamais. I was raised a good, Catholic boy. This is not written in the bible. It’s not allowed.
