“Again.” I threw another punch. But Christine easily caught my wrist.“You’ve been bothering me for a while now.”Christine whispered in her true voice—no falsetto, just a low tone that sent shivers down my neck.“You’ve got terrible hand habits. Who do you think you are, putting your hands on me?”I pressed my face close to hers and curled my lip into a sneer.“If you want to hit me, go ahead. .”That was the final straw. Without hesitation, Christine’s clenched fist struck my cheek with a solid crack. My head snapped so violently I nearly collapsed, but she grabbed my collar and held me upright. I couldn’t dodge or fight back—my body, wasted on weeks of alcohol and drugs, wouldn’t obey.Christine, clearly aware of my weakness, didn’t let up. She rained blows on my cheek without mercy. The moment she released my collar, I hit the floor. As she raised her stiletto heel to strike again, the staff swarmed in to pull her away. I lay gasping; one of Christine’s elbows had caught me in the ribs, and my breath was cut off.In my hazy vision, I saw Teddy rushing toward us. Pain overwhelmed me, and I blacked out.I woke to a familiar ceiling. Teddy’s bedroom. The navy-painted ceiling was bathed in the lazy afternoon light. A pounding headache throbbed as soon as consciousness returned—I couldn’t tell if I’d woken or come to. It’d been ages since I’d passed out from a beating.Lying there, I peeled back the sheet and examined my side. A large purplish bruise pulsed painfully. My ribs still intact felt like its only mercy. I pulled the blanket up to my chest and considered sleeping a bit longer. The mattress was plush, the bed inviting. But I didn’t close my eyes, nor did I get up. I just stared at the ceiling.In all the years I’d stayed with lovers, I’d never once missed their beds. I’d needed bases to investigate the Club, and whenever I found new leads I’d leave lovers behind with no regrets. I’d never felt nostalgia for those beds, their razors, their coffee cups or pets.But now I knew I’d one day long for this very ceiling—painted navy with afternoon sun, the cocoon of blackout curtains and Teddy’s steady arms to carry me home when I collapsed drunk. I’d miss his scent and the quiet kitchen mornings watching him cook.The apartment was silent—Teddy out shopping. When he returned, he’d grill me about last night’s fight with Christine, scold me, curse me, then patch up my wounds. I couldn’t let that happen. We were already too close.I sat up, pain lancing my side, and quickly gathered my things. My duffel bag was scattered around the apartment—my habit was always to leave no trace. In under twenty minutes, I was dressed as before.At the door, I paused. Should I leave a note? I looked at the kitchen table—normally Teddy and I would eat here soon. I glanced once more before turning away. Not a single mark would remain of my stay.On the bus, my condition worsened—withdrawal shaking me. I hugged myself, arms cold, as we left the city. After twenty minutes, I transferred buses and checked my phone. Mid-October. Nearly a month wasted in Teddy’s apartment.He’d be furious. He must know I’d disappeared—I’d given him no way to contact me. I’d drained his life-savings, left no money, a junkie disappearing like a ghost. Would he search for me like before? Laugh, find me, kill me? I forced a bitter smile.I could never be Teddy’s partner. Even if Jerome forgot me, or Simon stopped loving me, I couldn’t let them go. I wasn’t like Watson or others who could bury the past. I was persistent, incapable of forgetting. Ordinary life was not for me. No excuses needed; forgetting doesn’t erase the past. I was proof.I would drag them all into my mud. If they forgot, I’d remind them; if they buried, I’d unearth. That was my purpose; my chosen life—to never forget.Yet I was powerless. Eight years surviving alone, now I shivered with ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) chills. The bus rolled into a small coastal town. I climbed the hill to my destination, breathless, head splitting.The village was not the simple countryside but a row of upscale homes with private pools and expensive cars—a summer retreat. I rubbed my exposed arms against the chill and crossed the eerily quiet street.There it was—well-kept garden, luxury home. I rang the bell, elbows tight against myself.“Who is it?”Christine opened the door, frown deepening when she saw me. In a pink housecoat, her cheek pressed to an ice pack. Her swollen, red cheek made me grin.“Well, junkie fists aren’t half bad if they need ice.”“Are you joking?” Christine’s voice was sharp. I wasn’t playing. A migraine stabbed me like someone pounding my forehead. I pressed my hand to my head as Christine continued coolly:“What did you say yesterday? That it was over between us?”“Yeah. I’m not here to ask for help. You never even heard me out.”She scoffed, setting the ice pack on the entry table. Though less hurt than me, her makeup-free face and bruised cheek would have stung Christine’s vanity.Still, she didn’t seem inclined to let me in, but she would listen. Arms crossed, she lifted her chin. I forced myself past tears to speak quickly:“I want to know about them—the four boys. Who they are, where they came from, why and when they started this. What the Club is and who joined. How you got involved and how you escaped…”“You’ve got a lot of questions.”“I’m not asking about your experiences—just how you met them and got away.”She was silent.“Please. Tell me about them, and I’ll never bother you again. I won’t ask for help, I won’t appear in your life again.”Jerome and Simon had known every detail of my life. But could Christine explain theirs? Their lives could be told without me. I wanted to know their story so I could leap into it—return to the boys who abandoned me after that night at Labaham.I needed help. No one but Christine could guide me. I looked at her pleadingly. But in her steel-blue eyes I read refusal. Christine spoke, cold autumn wind rushing in behind her:“I don’t know.”I stared in disbelief.“I don’t want to say this, but you came to the wrong person.”“….”“I don’t know. Club? I don’t know. I told you before—I can’t help you. It’s over.”The door shut without hesitation.Why? Why? I stood dumbfounded before the closed door. I needed even the smallest clue. But it stayed locked.As I turned away, despair rushed back. My duffel bag felt like lead. I stood in that street of luxury and forced myself to think. I had almost no money. Where to next? Where to start over? The sky grew dark, and I headed back toward the bus stop.Eight years. I could no longer recall the faces of Cal or James—they’d blurred with time. But Jerome and Simon grew clearer every day. I could still remember the boys on Bluebell’s top floor as if I’d fled them last night.Where had they come from? What hellish grudge drove them? They’d left my life a puzzle, then vanished. In all those years I’d learned nothing—just endless maze walls. Now even Christine offered no answers. Would I have to retrace my steps, empty-handed, forever?My head pounded, tears fell. I wanted to lie down in the street. At last I saw the bus shelter. I sat on the cold ground, head in my hands. If I got on that bus, I’d vomit for sure. I’d brought this on myself.“Hey. You okay?”A small woman in an apron knelt beside me. I tried to wave her off and nearly gagged. Gathering saliva, I swallowed hard.“Your stomach upset? Want some cold water?”“No…ugh…”“Allan! Get over here!” she called. Across the street, a tall man in an apron hurried over. He lifted me to my feet; my head spun, but I half-leant on him.They led me into a diner opposite the shelter. At a corner table, they seated me and brought aspirin and cold water. They watched as I swallowed the pill, then spoke again.“You look bad. Shall we call an ambulance?”“No… I’ll be okay after a bit.”“Is there anyone to pick you up? I can call them.”“….”“Family, friend—anyone.”Teddy’s face flashed in my mind, but I shook my head. An awkward silence followed. Suddenly I felt ashamed—perhaps they regretted helping me, seeing me like this: a street junkie. Better to leave before I embarrassed them. I pushed back my chair and stood.“Thanks, but I was waiting for the bus…”

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