I made my decision. Firmly, I said to Simon,“I appreciate your wanting to help, but I’ll refuse. I don’t need even your hands for this.”We were silent for a moment. I glared at Simon, tension coiled tight. His expression was inscrutable. When he suddenly moved, I stepped back without realizing.But Simon merely pulled a first-aid kit from the drawer. He placed it on the desk and looked at me calmly.“Sorry if I overstepped. But I’d like to help treat your wounds.”I couldn’t refuse even that kindness. In fact… I welcomed it. I relented and removed the gown. At Simon’s gesture, I lay face-down on the bed. Soon very warm, gentle hands touched me.He carefully smoothed the patches over the whip-marks on my back. I heard the rustle of adhesive as he covered each bruise with a patch. Simon tended my shoulder, side, torso, even my abdomen and thighs—his touch brotherly, though his eyes remained impassive.When he’d applied all the patches, I took Simon’s arm and sat up. He didn’t speak as I slipped into my gown. He left the room without a word—and when he returned, he carried a tray with both our breakfasts. We ate without exchanging a single word, but the air between us was unmistakably different. That shared secret had brought us closer.Over the weekend, none of our roommates went out. Instead, we gathered in the living room to do homework and eat together. At four o’clock, Jerome appeared as reliably as ever. He played chess with Hugh and discussed some computer program with George—talk I couldn’t follow.Simon and I watched TV dramas and played darts. My skill was mediocre, but Simon’s was abysmal—he lost five games in a row before quitting. Jerome didn’t speak to me or even glance over until he left at six.The weather stayed fine, so Simon, Hugh, and I went on walks—George remained on his sofa, of course. Simon guided us through the woods where he jogged. The path led deep into the forest, all the way to Kelly Bog. Simon’s jogging route, remote and peaceful, pleased me. After our walk, Simon and Hugh played tennis. I had no idea how, so I sat in the stands to watch.It was astonishingly tranquil. Yet I didn’t let my guard down. I didn’t forget my true purpose: revenge. Jerome’s absence didn’t mean I’d leave him be. I intended to repay every wrong he’d done.I dreamed of avenging myself with his own crop—a satisfying humiliation far worse than any lash. I wanted to see if he could maintain that cruel smile after being whipped.Before I knew it, another week had begun. Watching Jerome ride outside the school window, I finally grasped the plan’s outline.On Tuesday it rained. Perfect timing for my scheme. From morning I felt good. After my bath, Simon was waiting in my room. Since discovering my bruises, he’d applied patches each morning after I showered. He seemed puzzled by my eagerness but never asked. That day time dragged unbearably slowly.The instant math class ended, I dashed to the stables. The barn smelled damp and stale from the rain, but I didn’t mind. I found a sharp wooden rod and hid /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ behind a pile of straw bales at the stable entrance.Jerome rode come rain or shine, in his slicker if need be. I knew he would appear. It was only one o’clock—he usually mounted around two. I planned to jab the rod into his horse’s flank as he left. If he fell and the horse trampled him to death… well, I apologized in advance for that misfortune. In any case, I didn’t intend to kill him.Observing Jerome’s riding habits, I noticed one thing: whether or not he used his crop, he always held it in one hand while mounted. When a rider falls, he inevitably drops the crop. Then he either flees the startled horse or tries to calm it—rather than immediately retrieving the whip. That moment is when I’d snatch it, and under the misty veil of rain on the grounds, I’d use it to thoroughly humiliate Jerome.The plan went smoothly. Waiting for Jerome was no trouble. At the stroke of two, he arrived at the stable. As expected, the rain kept everyone away—he was alone. I held my breath behind the straw, watching him mount. He wore his stiff leather chaps, a vinyl jacket, and a cap. Once he swung into the saddle, my neck stiffened with anticipation.Jerome’s horse stepped slowly toward the entrance. Each clip-clop of its hooves sent my heart racing. The horse brushed the straw bales as if nothing was wrong—an easy target. Without hesitation, I drove the rod into its firm flank.The horse neighed in pain and reared, its forelegs high. Jerome slipped from the saddle, unbalanced. As the horse galloped toward the muddy courtyard, I sprang toward the fallen Jerome.Then—Jerome lashed my chest fiercely with his whip.“I wondered where you were hiding, Raymond!”I collapsed into the mud, shock and pain blurring around me. How on earth—Getting whipped before had been bearable. Now, seated in the mud, Jerome drove the crop into my chest again and again. I felt my flesh tear. I couldn’t scream; I just writhed, my mind clouded by pain and one burning question: how did Jerome know I’d ambushed him? No one else knew. I never breathed a word of my plan!I thrashed in the mire, fire in my chest. I glanced down at my soaked shirt—no blood, but the pain was unimaginable. My vision flickered black. Yet the lashes did not stop.The cursed whip struck three times: chest, lower abdomen, and between my legs. When it swept between my thighs, I thought he aimed for my genitals. The crop rasped against tender flesh, and I shivered uncontrollably in the mud, struggling to breathe. Jerome stood over me, unscathed.Tears streaming, hatred boiling, I glared at him. Jerome bent down slowly, examining my face as though appreciating a spectacle. And—he smiled again.“You dared such a dangerous trick,” he said, voice calm. “Raymond, remember this: never touch my horse. Understood?”I had no strength to answer—pain stole my voice.He continued, “I won’t deny your courage. Ambushing in the rain—so classic. I admire that.”The crop’s leather loop stroked my cheek.“But, Raymond, classics are easy to see through. I trust you learned that today.”With that, Jerome walked away. It took me ages to pull myself up. But more than the pain, humiliation gnawed at me.My clothes were caked with mud and freezing. My teeth chattered as I limped toward the dormitory. The matron, stoic as ever, raised an eyebrow as he passed. He said nothing. I trudged up the stairs, mud and rainwater dripping onto the expensive carpet.Entering our room, I found the three boys by the fireplace. George hunched over his laptop; Simon and Hugh read books. George and Hugh’s eyes widened at my sight. Only Simon sat impassively, watching me.George was the first to speak.“What on earth happened? Did you slip in the mud?”Hugh sprang up, half-laughing, half-concerned.“Wow, Raymond, you look incredible—like the best version of you yet. Want a towel?”“No. I want to wash immediately.”Hugh, stunned by my scars, stepped aside with a grin.Despite my precautions, mud and water marks stained my back. The fire warmed the room, but I couldn’t raise my body temperature. Entering the bathroom, I sank into the empty tub—still fully clothed—shivering.A knock sounded. Before I could answer, Simon entered. We locked eyes. He shut the door behind him and secured the latch.“I want to help.”Simon said slowly.“Let me help.”“….”“You said you didn’t need my hands…”Simon stepped closer. Like a drowned rat, still trembling from cold, I stared at him. Simon gently brushed wet hair from my forehead—his touch astonishingly warm.“It’s not the truth. You need help.”I was too weakened to refuse. The helplessness Jerome inflicted weighed on me. How had he uncovered my plan? Was he truly unbeatable? He was just a twenty-year-old boy like me. There must have been a misstep—I disturbed something in the straw, and Jerome’s familiarity with the stable let him sense it instantly.The stables were Jerome’s home ground. By ambushing him there, I’d overestimated myself and paid the price. I’d gained fresh wounds—on chest, abdomen, and between my legs. The worst humiliation lay between my thighs.I watched Simon unbutton my soaked shirt, his face growing alarmed at each bruise.I, too, was shocked by my own reflection. The whip-strikes on my chest and abdomen were starkly visible. With trembling hands, I removed my trousers—my inner thighs bore the same dreadful welts, skin raw, blood-tinged scabs forming. Yet Jerome had not drawn a single drop of blood.Simon shook his head firmly.“This is enough. We can’t handle this ourselves. I’m reporting it to the headmaster. This violence… this is abuse. One-sided brutality.”His words struck my pride—but he was right. I’d never landed a proper counterattack on Jerome; he’d assaulted me without mercy.Simon’s voice trembled slightly as he spoke. His composed demeanor cracked, revealing shock and even fear in his dark eyes. That in itself spoke to the severity of my injuries.But I had shed such fear weeks ago. I stepped out of the tub, stood before Simon, and said icily,“Fine. If you want to help, do it.”Simon flinched at my cold tone.“If you report to the headmaster, be my guest. He’ll verify your wounds and contact your guardian. They’ll use treatment as excuse to expel you—and your mother will lock you up in the mansion again. Simon, if you want to help, go ahead. But know it’s just hypocritical self-satisfaction.”Silence fell. Simon looked at me, conflicted, then lowered his gaze. Rarely, he dropped his shoulders and buried his face in his hands. We stood there like that for a long moment—until Simon moved first.With set lips, he began filling the tub with hot water. Steam quickly filled the room, bringing faint warmth to my chilled body. When the water was ready, Simon looked at me. I knew what he meant.I poured water over myself and slid into the tub. The heat washed over me, making me shudder. The new wounds stung sharply. Simon perched on the tub’s rim, watching me quietly.“I want to help you.”He spoke softly.“However you wish.”Simon stayed to tend to my bath. I worried what Hugh and George might think, but Simon’s care was so skilled and comforting that I set aside minor concerns. It truly felt like professional caregiving. When I asked, “How are you so good at this?” Simon said nothing.When I emerged, George and Hugh looked at us with wide eyes. Hugh teased,“So you bathed together? What were you up to in there?”Unexpectedly, Simon answered,“We bathed together.”Without another word, Simon left the room. I shrugged at Hugh, who looked a bit embarrassed but didn’t press further. George remained silent.

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