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Part 3
— What... what the hell is this? — Chet’s voice shook as he forced the words out, still trembling slightly. He glanced around as if the forest might somehow explain this strange feeling to him, even though he knew it was pointless. His face flushed even deeper as he noticed Eric watching him with that odd mix of fear and pity.
Chet’s gaze drifted down, landing on Eric’s crotch, and suddenly he felt something inside twist violently. Eric’s erection was pressing against his jeans, creating an unmistakable bulge. Chet felt like he was about to throw up from this wild, sick feeling, but at the same time, that strange, heated desire in the pit of his stomach flared up again, as if the forest itself was dictating the rules.
— Screw this! — he shouted, wiping his damp lips with the back of his hand, as though trying to erase the humiliating desire that seemed to be part of the curse. — I... I just don’t understand what’s gotten into me, damn it! — He jumped to his feet, though barely able to stand as his knees wobbled, his body feeling like it wasn’t even his own.
Face burning with anger and shame, Chet clenched his fists and tried to stand upright, though the weakness in his legs betrayed him completely. He was disgusted with his own thoughts, with his helpless body, with the pity in Eric’s eyes, who had barely concealed his own revulsion when he’d touched him. And this damn forest… He managed to get himself upright, breathing heavily, and was about to say something cutting to reclaim even a scrap of his old confidence, but just as he opened his mouth…
— Shh! — Eric raised a finger to his lips, his gaze focused on a dense patch of bushes nearby. His muscles tensed as if readying for an attack, which only irritated Chet more. What was this idiot doing, standing there in some battle stance when everything was quiet? But Chet didn’t have the sharp hearing Eric now possessed.
— Stop telling me to shut up! I told you that—
Suddenly, two monstrous creatures burst from the bushes — scaly, with long, slime-covered claws and huge, grotesque fangs. They hissed menacingly, their red eyes locked straight on Chet. A fear that was new to him but had become his constant companion this past week took hold, and without thinking, he bolted toward Eric, hoping to hide behind him. But just as he moved, his legs got tangled in the hanging vines, and he crashed to the ground.
— Eric! — his voice cracked into a high-pitched squeal, and he cursed himself instantly for this weakness, for how pitiful and desperate his call for help sounded, for the fact that he was even asking for help at all, feeling real fear — Eric! Help, damn it! These things are gonna… Shit! — Chet flailed helplessly on the ground, struggling to free the vine twisted around his ankle. Each time he had to call out for Eric’s help, he hated himself more and more for being stuck in such a humiliating role.