My Pretty Face Hides a Deadly Secret

Do you have any dark secrets? I do. No matter how hot it gets, Mom never allows me to look unkempt in front of other people. Even after I start college, she still makes me wear undershirts when I go swimming. A classmate who can't stand me steals my undershirt and mocks me, saying I look like some pretty boy, all flimsy and effeminate. I refuse to take that lying down and want to duke it out with him. But when he looks at me, it's like he sees something terrifying. He whirls around and bolts. Later, he applies for a leave of absence. My dorm mates plan to visit him and ask me to go along. But the moment I reach the doorway, he grabs a broom and drives me away. "Get out, you freak! You're a monster!" he roars. Then, he turns to my dorm mates. "You'd better stay away from him. Otherwise, you'll be dead before you even figure out how it happened!" What he says completely baffles me, yet his words come true before long. Right before sitting for the grad school entrance exams, one of my dorm mates asks me out to blow off some steam. I go with him and end up drunk. When I wake up, I find him lying in the bathtub, the water dyed red with his blood. His body is already cold. Chapter 1 Right before the grad school entrance exams, my dorm mate, Shawn Lodge, suddenly decided he wanted to let loose and relax for a bit. I didn't want to be a buzzkill, so I agreed. That night, I went out drinking with him. As we drank, he slung an arm around me and curiously asked about my conflict with our other dorm mate, Andy Court. I just shook my head. I had no idea why Andy was so hostile toward me. Shawn stroked his chin and gave me an inquisitive once-over. "I heard he was so freaked out after seeing your body that he ran around campus in just his boxers. Louie, let me take a look." I broke out in goosebumps all over, feeling grossed out. I shoved him hard. "Stop being disgusting." But Shawn was curious by nature, and once he wanted to get to the bottom of something, he wouldn't let it go. All night, he kept pouring me drinks. I pretended to be drunk, planning to satisfy his curiosity so he would finally drop the subject. When we got to the hotel, he nudged and shook me a few times to make sure I was really out. Then, he pulled my shirt up. I thought it was weird letting another guy look at my body, but since it was Shawn, I figured it wasn't a big deal. He had a girlfriend; he definitely wasn't into me. Once I talked myself through it, I actually felt pretty calm. But as soon as he lifted my shirt and saw me clearly, he completely freaked out. He stumbled backward, bolted into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him. I wanted to check on him and ask what he had seen, but the alcohol finally hit me. My head was spinning, so I decided to sleep it off and ask him when I woke up. That night, I slept especially deeply and even dreamed about something from my childhood. Back then, I'd just finished an entrance test to move from kindergarten into first grade. After I passed the admissions exam for the best private elementary school in our area, my family was over the moon. Dad, in particular, was thrilled. He suggested a little family trip to celebrate my acceptance. So the three of us went to a newly opened hot spring resort. Mom wrapped a towel around me and held my hand as we headed toward the hot springs. Dad came over and said he wanted a bottle of water; he asked Mom to go grab one for him. Mom thought it would only take a few minutes, so she told Dad to keep an eye on me, then went to get the water. I followed Dad into the hot spring. I felt a bit scared sitting in the water, so I clutched the towel tightly around myself. "Louie, you're already eight. You're a young man now. Let go of the towel," Dad said. He was always busy, and we barely got to spend time together. It was rare to have any kind of father-son quality time, and I didn't want to upset him. So, I loosened my grip. Dad praised me and said I was a good kid. I leaned against him while waiting for Mom to come back. Dad trailed his hand through the water and flicked it onto my shoulders. Then, he said, "Louie, let me scrub your back." He was in high spirits as he started moving his hands over my back. I didn't stop him. I just leaned forward against the stone wall so it'd be easier for him to reach. When his hand moved to just above my tailbone, he kept rubbing back and forth over that spot. It tickled a little, and I pushed at his hand. "Dad?" I called. He stared at me with eyes full of terror, then suddenly jumped back like he had been burned. "You monster! What are you? You're not my son!" Chapter 2 Dad's eyes were filled with terror, like he'd just seen something horrifying. I was scared out of my mind and had no idea what to do. I looked crestfallen and slowly moved closer, wanting to cling to him. But Dad kept backing away from me. His leg cramped, and he stumbled straight into the hot spring. I rushed over to pull him up, but he struggled with all his might. I didn't know what to do, so I shouted for help at the top of my lungs. Dad was barely breathing by the time he was dragged to safety. Even then, his eyes had locked on me with a deathly stare, and he kept mumbling under his breath that I was a monster. Then, with that hateful look still in his eyes, he died. I never figured out how Dad had suddenly come to hate me or what it was that he'd seen. After his death, Mom took over the company and left me in the care of my maternal grandma Nana. She came home less and less. One time, by accident, I got home and overheard Mom arguing with Nana. Nana told Mom to get rid of me, saying that since Dad's side of the family couldn't care less about me, there was no need for Mom to keep looking after me. Mom was persuaded by those words. She and Nana planned to dump me in the mountains back in our hometown, where I would be left to fend for myself. I pushed the door open and dropped to my knees in front of Nana. I begged her not to abandon me. "Nana, I'll be good. I'll behave. Please don't leave me." Mom looked at me with heartache and told me I would be going back to our hometown to live with my paternal grandmother, Gran. I begged her again and again, but she didn't budge. There was no way I could've fought back against the adults' decision, so in the end, I was sent to the countryside to live with Gran. Gran treated me well. She lived in a rural village, but she wasn't ignorant. She told me stories and taught me practical skills. The only issue was that because of her age, she often muttered that it was a good thing Dad had at least left an heir for the Slater family. From the way she talked, I felt more like a tool for carrying on the family line than a grandson. After that, I kept a polite but distant attitude toward Gran. When I finished middle school, Mom had no choice but to take me back to the city to be with her because there wasn't a high school in the village. By then, I had grown up. All Mom did was give me some money every month for living expenses. She didn't bother with anything else. Growing up without a father's guidance had left me a little timid and withdrawn. It wasn't until college, when I was with my dorm mates day in and day out, that I slowly made a few close friends. Shawn and Andy had been good friends even before college, but because they were in different majors, they gradually spent less time together. Shawn was straightforward and generous. I, on the other hand, believed in keeping the peace, and I always yielded like I was a ball of dough that anyone could knead. I didn't have a temper and was a pushover. But whenever someone tried to bully me, he would stand up for me. I grew more and more dependent on him, and Andy decided I'd stolen his best friend. He stubbornly came looking for trouble with me. His class had swimming class before ours. Remembering Mom's warning, I went early to the locker room. As I put down my clothes, I noticed a phone call, so I answered it. While I was distracted, Andy slipped in and stole my undershirt. I figured getting into the pool without it just once wouldn't be a big deal. But when I walked out of the locker room, I saw Andy dangling my undershirt in front of me, taunting me with it. We were young and hot-blooded, so I lost my temper on the spot and wanted to fight him right then and there. Andy suggested we settle it with a swimming race. I agreed. Thinking my jacket would slow me down, I took off my top in front of people for the first time in my life. Andy was stretching at the side of the pool. When he saw what I was doing, he started to mock me. "I didn't think you'd be even paler under your clothes, pretty boy. You're really—" He stopped abruptly. His face suddenly drained of color, as if he'd seen a ghost. I sneered and walked toward him. "Go on. What were you going to say?" "Ah! You freak! You're a monster!" Just like Dad back then, Andy pointed straight at me and called me a monster. Before I could get a word out, he bolted out of the pool area in nothing but his underwear. I hurriedly threw my clothes back on and ran after him, asking the classmates who had rushed over if they had seen anything. They all shook their heads and said they hadn't seen anything aside from Andy freaking out and sprinting away like a madman. I gave chase, wanting to at least throw some clothes over him. Chapter 3 But it was too late. Quite a few young women who came to class that day saw Andy sprinting across campus in superhero boxers. It was an eyesore, sure, but since he hadn't actually hurt anyone, the university administration only gave him a verbal warning. After that incident, Andy came down with a high fever that wouldn't break. He repeatedly muttered "monster", even in his delirium. He spent over two weeks in the hospital before he finally recovered. Every time his parents brought up going back to campus, he reacted with sheer terror. When they asked what had happened, he refused to say a word. With no other choice, his parents filed for a leave of absence on his behalf. Because of what happened to Andy, my classmates were all a little afraid of me. They felt I must have done something that had frightened him so badly that he'd caught a fever and even dropped out. But I never figured out what he actually saw. … I jolted awake from the nightmare, the alcohol in my system mostly worn off. I went to the bathroom and knocked on the door, but no one answered. I kicked the door open and rushed inside. The moment I stepped into the bathroom, all I saw was red. The metallic smell of blood enveloped me. Shawn's eyes were as round as saucers, and his face was deathly pale and frozen in terror. He lay in the bathtub, his body stretched out stiffly, half-floating on the surface. His body was soaked in a red liquid that filled the tub. Maybe he had been in there too long—his body was rather swollen. I ran over, my hands shaking as I tried to pull him out of the tub. The water was ice-cold, and so was his body. It was rigid and devoid of warmth. I suspected he was dead and jerked my hands back at once. Then, I dialed emergency services and the police. The paramedics took one look and saw Shawn was already gone. They didn't dare take the body because they were afraid of getting involved. As they turned to leave, they warned me to turn myself in as soon as possible. As I argued with them, the police arrived. After photographing the scene, the forensic doctor lifted Shawn's body from the tub. I turned my head away, too scared to look, until they zipped him into a black body bag. Then, they had me confirm his identity and contact his family. I took one look at his chalk-white face, then immediately dropped my gaze. Before I even knew what was going on, I went from the person who called the cops to the prime suspect. I sat in an interrogation room with handcuffs on my wrists. "Talk. Why did you kill him?" The officer's tone made it sound like my guilt was a done deal, and it made me really uncomfortable. I looked up at him in a bit of panic, repeating myself over and over. "I didn't kill him. It wasn't me. I was drunk. I don't know what happened." The officer slammed his palm on the table. "If it wasn't you, who else could it be? Confess, and you'll get a lighter sentence. You're still young, so don't be stupid." Something about his questioning felt off. I tilted my head back to stare at him, my temper flaring as I shouted, "Are you trying to force a confession out of me? I said it wasn't me! Why won't you believe me?" I was torn up inside because of what had happened, too. I buried my head in my arms, clutching my hair with both hands as I threw myself down on the table. Then, above me, I heard a soft sigh. "All the blood in his body was drained, and his genitals were chopped off. They weren't found at the scene. Even if you hated him, you shouldn't have… What kind of grudge did you hold against him to have killed him in such a cruel way?" "What?" My head shot up, and my eyes widened in shock. I covered my mouth and gagged. The officer was taken aback and tested the waters. "Don't tell me you're going to say it really wasn't you. The security footage shows that only the two of you came and went from that hotel room. The murder weapon was a fruit knife found in the bathroom. That knife only had your fingerprints and his." He tossed the forensic report in front of me. I stared at the conclusion, unable to accept it. "But it really wasn't me. He was my friend. Why would I kill him? Why would I cut off his…" The officer froze for a second, then asked hesitantly, "It really wasn't you?" I smiled bitterly and nodded. "It really wasn't me. We were drinking together tonight, and he was the one who took me to that hotel. I was already drunk by then. How could I have killed him?" "But you two were the only ones who entered that room. It's not like he committed suicide, did he? If someone wants to die, there are plenty of quick, straightforward ways to do it. Why would he choose something as painful as slitting his wrists? And why would he cut off…" The survival rate for wrist-slashing wasn't that low, and the process was agonizing. The blood loss sent people into shock and unconsciousness, and the chances of being saved were pretty high. Shawn's genitals had also been chopped off after his death, which meant the killer had serious psychological issues. Faced with the officer's questions, I had no way to explain myself. I even started to wonder if maybe I really had killed someone without knowing it.