“He needs it,” I say as I pull Roger into an empty dorm room. “Has this whole torture slave-fantasy that he wants to play out.”
Roger’s eyes sparkle in the lamplight that illuminates the room. He wants this. Bad.
He’s been rolling since Keegan’s death, making it even easier to play him than it was back then.
Once Brad sees him fucking Ian, it’s over. That’ll take him right back to the night he found out about what Keegan was doing behind his back.
Keegan’s death was amusingly simple. Initially, through checking his phone, I learned that he and Brad were hooking up. I planned on winning him over, but one night while I was going through his computer, I discovered he’d been arranging meetups with Roger on Facebook. From their exchanges, I could tell it was serious. Far more serious than what he was doing with Brad or me. To say I was jealous would be an understatement. My initial determination to win him came from discovering that he was hooking up with Brad behind my back, but when I realized I didn’t stand a chance against Roger, something dark within me sprung to life. Like when I watched Archon Jeffery tragically reach his end after I helped him take just a little more of his heroin stash than he was used to. Well, maybe not a little.
I confronted Keegan about his other interests, and as I expected, he made it clear that Roger was the guy he wanted to be with. Unlike Brad, I’ve always been good at calming the raging spirit within, and so rather than give Keegan what he expected, I acted sympathetic. Like a mentor. Someone he could confide in about his dilemma.
I worked on Roger first, telling him what I had discovered about Keegan. That he was fucking me and Brad behind his back. He was eager for a fight with Keegan, but I encouraged him to an even better way to get revenge. To just call it off without explanation. Tell him he didn’t want to see him anymore. After all, what right did Keegan have to an explanation when he had hardly been honest about his extracurricular hookups? So Roger called it off, never telling Keegan about what I’d told him. And when Keegan was at his weakest—broken-hearted and defeated—the door was open for me to soothe his wounds.
The next night, I went to Brad to tell him about what was happening behind his back. We drank and drank, and I drugged him with enough Xanax that I knew he would last just long enough to make a violent attempt with Ian, who I encouraged to ease his pain through another fuck with him. I listened at the door as they did their thing, listening to Brad getting his revenge on Keegan until Brad passed out. When Keegan came to me after, I caressed and loved him before binding and hanging him in my room. Then I pulled him down and dragged him back into Brad’s room so that when Brad woke, he discovered me, standing horrified over Keegan’s lifeless body, their choker around Keegan’s neck. Brad was mortified. And I agreed to be the good friend that I am and hide his wicked deed.
It was a game of dominos, and each one fell perfectly into the next until the very end when I created a believable hanging—the one that Keegan’s roommate discovered after the spring formal.
Brad would tell no one because of his involvement in the death, and Roger was easy enough to discourage once he learned of the suicide note I wrote—one that I claimed Keegan had left me to give him. I’d sprinkled some of the details of their relationship—things Keegan had shared when he opened up to me. These details would be enough to convince Roger of the validity of the letter. And of course, being a good friend, I wouldn’t let something like that get out to the world. His family, after all, would be horrified when they discovered he’s a faggot.
With Brad and Roger unwilling to share the truth, that left Keegan. And he’d never tell...
I was victorious. Against my friends who had captured Keegan’s interest, and against that little fuck who thought he could find better than me.
“He’s out in the shed in the woods,” I say to Roger. “The one where we take the newbies to give them a good time. Made me tie him up there for whoever I could grab to do the job. But I don’t trust anyone else to do it.”
“This is one of your boys?” he asks, obviously turned off knowing he’s getting sloppy seconds.
As I carried Ian to the shed, I noticed him stirring before he vomited down my back, surely tossing up some of the roofie Jesse had doped him up with. But it did what it needed to so I could get him to his torture chamber. Even better, his release assured me he might be somewhat coherent when Roger came for his surprise visit.
“We hooked up once,” I say. “I got this other guy I’m working on, so I figured you might have more fun with this one, you know?”
“You got any condoms?”
“Condoms? You think a kid like that wants a condom on?”
I can tell by the face he makes I need to soothe his concern.
“The guy’s practically a virgin. Only reason he wants something this fucked up is because he’s never tried it.”
“And he wants it rough?”
“Don’t be easy on him, or he’ll just hate you for it. Now, go on. Get to it. And have fun.”
I wink, and he smiles and heads off to join Ian at his fate.
I pat a hard bulge in my pocket. After Roger’s finished with him, I have a special surprise for my little Ian: a syringe filled with suxamethonium chloride. A Google search told me all I needed to know about the shit. Untraceable. Would take care of the treacherous asshole in under a minute. It was just the trick, and when I told Finn I could sell some and give him a cut of the profits, he was eager to swipe a few bottles from Emory Hospital. Anything for a buck.
There’s enough in this syringe to kill three guys.
After Brad and I catch Ian in his deceit against me, Brad will console me back at the house. Then I’ll head back out to the shed and stick Ian with this syringe. When he dies, I’ll hurry back to Brad and tell him I went back to confront them, but discovered Ian’s corpse. Brad will tear Roger apart with his bare hands. And if he doesn’t succeed in finishing the job, I have plenty of this suxamethonium chloride to make him believe he did. Then we’ll hide the bodies, and Brad will have three deaths on his conscience. Three bodies that will haunt him for the rest of his life.
This is the final act, not just the end of Ian, but the torture of the guy I’m really out to get—the supposed friend who betrayed me twice. Who won twice.
But he won’t be winning after tonight.
I wake from my blackout.
Fuck.
How many drinks did I have? That shot Jesse gave me must have put me over the edge.
I recall my mission and stir to life, but my arms are over my head, my wrists locked in place. I struggle with them, but as my vision clears, I see they’re bound to a rod in a corner.
Where the fuck am I?
My head aches. A rancid taste fills my mouth. Like I just blew chunks.
I search around.
Decrepit shelves line an adjacent wall. Hay and wood chips are scattered across the concrete floor. In a window a few feet from me, I catch the reflection of an open door leading out to the woods. I’m in some sort of shed. A draft catches my attention, and I notice that I’m not wearing any pants. Concern rises within me, but I’m too disoriented to do much more than continue struggling with my wrists. Searching desperately for a way out, a powerful sensation sweeps through me before I vomit, the residue filling a gag in my mouth. Since it doesn’t have a way of seeping through the gag, I choke on it. I spit until it spills through cracks in the edges of the gag. As I try to remember how I ended up in this place, I recall moments of consciousness that seem like a dream.
I bounced up and down, looking around to see what was happening when I saw Aaron was carrying me over his shoulder. I assumed I blacked out outside and he was taking me back to the house. The bouncing was so intense that I became nauseated and vomited before blacking out again.
The memory assures me of who the real villain is here. Did he find out about Brad and me? Is this some sort of punishment?
My vision blurred, my senses numbed from what feels like a night of far too much drinking, I struggle to get free.
What feels like minutes pass before I hear a sound behind me. I turn and see Roger standing in the doorway, his face illuminated with moonlight. As he enters, I can tell by his slow movements that he’s out of it. Wasted. Stoned. He has a wicked expression on his face. The sort I imagine he used to give Keegan before he would fuck the shit out of him.
I squirm about, crying for help, but my intent must not be clear because he approaches and strokes his hand up and down my leg in a way that I know exactly where this is heading, and I suspect Aaron played a large part in how I ended up here.
My cheeks flush as my thoughts align with a horrifying realization. Aaron and Roger are working together. They did something to Keegan and convinced Brad that it was his fault. Now I’m their next victim.
Roger pets my leg, and I shift about, but he wraps his arm around me to hold me in place as he strokes his cock.
“Oh, you like it real dirty, don’t you, you nasty bitch?”
It reminds me of when I tried to get Aaron’s attention that first night when he bound me. I’m struggling, but I think that’s just turning him on even more. He wets his dick with some saliva and then forces into me.
As I cry out, I vomit again and work to spit it out through what little spaces are between the gag and my mouth.
The sensation in my ass intensifies. He’s big. A lot bigger than Brad.
As I realize he’s not giving in and my efforts are just making it harder on myself, I settle into the pain, assisting him because I know that’s the only way I’m going to make it through this without my insides being ripped apart.
“I know what he’s up to,” Aaron says. “Saw him heading out here. Acting all shady. It’s that fucking guy. He’s going to meet him out here.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “That’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
“Just be quiet for a minute, okay? If he fucking hears us, he’s going to run off, and I don’t want him to get the satisfaction of thinking he’s getting away with something.”
He ducks as he guides me through the foliage, dodging low-hanging branches as we creep alongside the old shed. It’s a place I’m familiar with from hooking up here with some of my own tricks.
I hear what sounds like someone panting in the shed. Someone’s hooking up in there, but Aaron’s made a mistake if he thinks it’s Ian. We’ve agreed to be exclusive. Haven’t even hooked up with Jesse or Aaron since our last conversation.
Aaron walks past the edge of the woods and approaches the shed, looking into the open doorway.
He’s still. Silent. He doesn’t look like he’s seen something that contradicts what he thought was happening, but like he’s caught Ian in the act.
I creep from the woods and check inside the shed.
“Motherfucker,” Aaron mutters as he steps aside. It’s clear he just can’t look at it anymore, but I’m stunned.
Roger’s fucking someone, but the shadow in the corner is so dark that I can’t be sure it’s Ian.
I try to convince myself that it can’t be.
The pain within me hurts so much. I keep reminding myself to relax. Any resistance I offer is only going to make it worse. I know I can take the pain. I’ve taken worse than this before. My chest burns with a painful ache—from the emotional, not the physical pain—as this guy invades my body.
Tears stream down my cheeks.
It can only last so much longer.
Aaron must’ve found out about Brad and me, but this seems like too severe a punishment for what we did. And far outside the realm of hazing. It’s the sort of thing I’d expect to see on the news about a fraternity prank gone awry.
I peer into the window and see Brad’s reflection as he stands in the doorway.
I’m relieved, but the pained expression on his face makes me realize that he’s not interpreting the situation correctly. He thinks I want this. Is it because I’m not resisting? I start to squirm, feeling the sting in my hole as my muscles lock, and I fight for my freedom. If I can just make enough movements, he’ll see that I need him.
Help me, Brad!
He doesn’t move from the doorway.
I chew at my gag like a dog chewing at a bone as I desperately try to loosen it enough that I can cry out. That I can get his attention. If I can just get him to hear me...
Roger’s backwards cap bounces with his body. With his shorts at his ankles, he shoves into a guy in the corner.
It reminds me of when Aaron told me Keegan and Roger were fucking. Roger can give Ian what he wants. What he needs.
“It’s not him,” I mutter. But though his face is cast in a shadow, I know from his legs and the polo he’s wearing that it’s him. His hands bound over his head, he tosses his head back and forth, clearly delighting in having Roger inside him. He’s gagged, and I wish I could believe he didn’t want it—that Roger was taking him by force—but it’s not like Roger would have fucking dragged him back here and tied him up. There are enough fucked up guys like Ian that he wouldn’t need to resort to that.
Heat surges to my face. I want to run in there and beat the crap out of Ian, but as Aaron moves closer to me, his face locked in a cringe, I realize there’s nothing I can do. Unleashing my rage will only let Aaron know the truth about what we’ve done. And at this point, why lose a friend over an asshole like Ian?
I swallow my pride.
Fuck you, Ian.
This is my curse. I find fucked up guys who evidently like what Roger and me have to offer.
Why did Ian bother leading me to believe he wanted more when he could have just as easily chosen Roger? Or did he want to fuck both of us? That’s what that greedy son of a bitch Keegan wanted.
I hurry back to the woods, tears shifting in my eyes. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I wasn’t so close to Aaron. I don’t want him to see me lose my shit. We hurry through the woods together, Aaron huffing and puffing.
“That motherfucker,” he whispers. “I could fucking kill him.”
I feel abandoned. Alone. The one person who saw those dark parts of me betrayed me.
I hear a cry come from the shed.
I stop, and Aaron and I turn back.
“God, he must be loving it,” Aaron mutters with spite.
Then I hear another scream. An audible, “Help!”
A million thoughts beg for my attention, but I don’t have time to process them. All I know is that Ian is in trouble and Roger is a fucking dead man. I race back to the shed. Not thinking. Hardly breathing. In what feels like a moment, I grab the back of Roger’s polo, yank him off Ian, and throw him onto the concrete floor. He glances around like he doesn’t even know where the fuck he is. When he looks to me, he doesn’t even seem to know who I am. Let alone know what he’s been doing to Ian.
I keep my eyes on him as I untie Ian and remove the gag from his mouth. He coughs and spits vomit across the wall before him. Then he collapses against me.
“Ian?” I ask.
He appears nearly as disoriented as Roger. His eyes wander about like he’s having a hard time figuring out where he is. His face is bright red. He trembles against me like he’s about to have a seizure. He heaves, then vomits. The mess runs down my arm as I hold him close. I help him sit on the floor and turn to Roger, who’s still looking around like he’s trying to make sense of what’s going on.
“You’re Aaron’s boy,” he says as though he’s just now realizing who Ian is. He starts to his feet, his shorts at his ankles. As he tries to take a step, he trips on them and falls back to the floor.
Aaron hurries into the shed. “Roger? You sick shit!”
Roger glances around as if he’s surrounded by an army of invisible demons, and Aaron kicks him in the face so that he rolls against the wall.
These bitches really fucked everything up, so I have to revise my plan.
Brad’s pissed and has enough rage in him to take things too far. Especially on the guy who he believes took things too far with his pet boy. If I can encourage him to unleash that rage on Roger while I pump Ian full of this suxamethonium chloride, then I can convince him that whatever Roger slipped him before dragging him out here must’ve killed him. Same ending. Just a little more inconvenient than I anticipated. I can fix this. I just need to make sure Roger doesn’t say a damn thing.
I drop onto my knees and punch him in his face repeatedly. A few hits in, and it’s clear that my efforts combined with how fucking baked he is will do the trick.
Brad hurries over, squats down, and grabs Roger by his shirt collar. He pulls him to his feet and forces him against the opposite wall, knocking a rake and shovel to the floor. He curses Roger has he lays into him.
I hurry to Ian, retrieving the syringe from my pocket. He trembles as he presses his palm against the wall. He’s definitely out of it enough that I can get away with this without Brad noticing. But as he turns to me, his disoriented expression sharpens.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I say, lowering my voice to keep him from feeling alarmed. I kneel beside him.
He stirs and jumps to his feet, moving around me cautiously, though unsteadily. Like he’s about to trip.
“Brad!” he calls. The sound of Brad pelting Roger fills the shed.
“Brad, help!”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“What’s wrong?” Brad asks, dropping Roger so that he falls limp onto the floor.
“He brought me out here,” Ian says. “Aaron did.”
“He’s out of it,” I say to Brad. “Roger obviously doped him up with something. Look at how he’s moving.”
Ian holds his hands out before him. Like he’s trying to balance just to stay on his feet.
Brad looks to Roger, who rolls around on the floor, moaning in pain.
“He did all this!” Ian exclaims as he tries to point to me, but ends up pointing at the door.
I approach him quickly and snatch his arm. “I’ll get him back to the house.”
He struggles against me, but he’s weak from the roofie Jesse slipped him. I maintain my grip and force him with me toward the door.
“Brad, please!”
Brad steps in my path.
If he tries to stop me, he’ll end up pumped full of this shit because right now, he’s the strongest. The one I’ll have the hardest time taking out. I can handle the defeated Roger and drugged Ian on my own. And if I have to kill them all, I will.
It looks like I won’t have my sweet revenge on Brad after all.
I pry Aaron’s hand off my arm. “It’s him,” I say. “He brought me here.”
Brad eyes me suspiciously. I’m sure it’s because of how out of it I still am, which is fair because I’m liable to fall over any second now.
Roger shuffles about on the floor.
Aaron looks like he’s about to jump at me. He turns to Brad. “You saw what Roger did to him. He’s fucking confused.”
“Ian, Aaron didn’t do anything to you,” Brad says.
“He roofied me. I passed out, but I woke up for a moment, and he was carrying me out here. Roger may have done it, but Aaron’s the one who brought me here. They’re at least working together.”
“He’s lost it,” Aaron says. “Look at him. He’s still hopped up on whatever Roger drugged him with. Ian, you must have dreamt that.”
Brad eyes Aaron uncertainly.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Aaron asks. “After everything I’ve done for you, you’re going to stand there and think that I had something to do with this? I’m not the sicko. I’m not the one who fucking...you know what you did. And I had your fucking back, so have mine for once in your fucking life.”
“He didn’t have your back,” I say. “Aaron, tell him about Keegan’s letter.”
I turn to where I was tied up. My pants are on the floor, tucked in the corner. If I can show Brad that letter, he’ll have to believe there’s more to all this than me being hopped up on some drug. I head for my pants, working hard to navigate as the world seems to keep moving around me.
“Brad, what the fuck?” Aaron asks. “I don’t know what that kid’s talking about. Do you really think I would do this to you?”
I fetch the letter and take it to Brad, stumbling and struggling through a haze. As Brad reviews it, Aaron approaches him. “Brad, don’t believe this kid.”
Aaron pulls something out of his pocket. A syringe. I call to Brad, but not before Aaron’s sticks him with whatever that shit is.
“No!” I shout. I don’t have time to think, so I just leap forward, tackling Aaron to the floor so that I fall on top of him, beside Roger, who’s still recovering from his injuries. I thrash about wildly. As much as I had the upper hand in my initial attack, one blow from Aaron knocks me to his side. He rolls on top of me and throws another punch that makes the shed spin around even more than it already is. As he’s about to hit me with another, Brad grabs him and pulls him off me. They wrestle as I struggle to get to my feet. I have to help Brad, but considering the state I’m in, I’m not of much use to anyone right now.
Brad throws a punch that knocks Aaron against the wall. Aaron falls to the floor.
“What is fucking wrong with you?” Brad shouts. He starts toward him, but stumbles and collapses. “What the fuck did you stick me with?”
Aaron stands and heads for Brad.
I search around for the syringe. It’s a few feet away from me. Mostly full. If the little bit that Aaron got into Brad was enough to do this to him, what’s left has got to be enough to stop Aaron too.
I pick it up as Aaron turns and grabs a shovel from the corner of the shed. He starts for Brad.
“You fucking asshole,” he says. “Did you think you could run around behind my back over and over again and get away with it? I’m not an idiot! But you are. You’re so fucking easy to play, it’s ridiculous.”
I run at him, but as he notices me, he redirects the shovel’s path and strikes me in the arm. The power of the blow knocks me to the floor. I check my hand for the syringe, but it isn’t there. Must’ve dropped it when he hit me, which doesn’t surprise me considering what little control I have over my body right now.
Aaron stoops down before me and picks the syringe up off the floor.
“Did you really think you could take me on, you piece of shit pledge? Who the fuck did you think you were?”
I’m in too much pain to have to deal with this on my own. But it’s clear that Roger and Brad can’t help.
“You ruined all this. You’re the reason it all went to shit.”
He kneels beside me and sticks the needle in my neck.
“Fuck!”
I imagine him fucking me and how much I never even wanted it. How he filled me again and again when all I wanted was Brad.
My thoughts drift back to my brother Jacob. Me standing over him, looking into his eyes as he stared off. The eerie part of it all was that, even though I understood what happened, a part of me felt like he would shake back to life at any moment.
That’s what I was going to look like soon.
My dark desire—to end all the pain and suffering—resurfaces. Maybe Aaron could be my savior. The one who frees me from the unbearable stings of existence.
But as I see Brad lying across the floor, motionless, I know I have to live. Not for me, but for him.
“We had some good times, at least,” Aaron says, offering a kiss on my cheek, his hand tense against the syringe.
“Fuck you,” I say as I kick him in the crotch so hard that his hands instinctively retreat to aid his balls.
I grab the syringe and yank it out of my neck.
This is my last chance. I lunge at Aaron. He gazes at me horror-struck as I drive it into his eye and squeeze. He grabs my forearm and struggles against me, screaming out as I pump him full of a few ounces of the shit. He slams a fist into my face and knocks me back.
I throw up across the floor again. Still screaming out, Aaron pulls the syringe from his eye and tosses it aside.
I look to Brad who trembles on the ground. He needs help.
Aaron starts for me again when he stumbles–just the way Brad did—and collapses onto the floor.
I shiver. Adrenaline rushes through me, my body warring with whatever drug continues to disorient me.
Aaron lies still, his body shifting slightly until it finally stills. I look into his lifeless eye. It reminds me of Jacob. That look. That feeling that it isn’t over. Even though I know it is.