4. Monroe
I wake in a cold sweat, gasping for air.
For several seconds, my head swims as if I’ve surfaced too quickly from some horrible dark nightmare.
My heart pounds inside my ribcage twice as fast as it should, and the t-shirt I wore to bed sticks to my back. The sheets on my bed are damp too, which means I must’ve really been going through it. I never sweat in my sleep unless I run a fever or I have a terrible nightmare.
My money’s on the second option.
I lay motionless for a while, trying to piece together what I was dreaming about. Fragments come and go, broken pieces that feel vague in the morning light but I know were a part of my dreams.
Stuff like the neon glow of club signs and dozens of chattering tipsy people. The warm, humid air of a night on Haeundae Beach in July. The dark deed I witnessed in an alleyway I had no business going down…
It feels so vivid, yet I know it couldn’t have been real.
There’s no way.
Sleep fades and my eyes adjust to the pale morning light filtering in through the curtains. Streaks of it fall over my small, cozy bedroom, illuminating the bookshelves in the corner and the little vanity table I’ve set up for doing my makeup and working on lesson plans.
I’ve built a humble life over the past near-year in Busan. It’s not perfect, but I wouldn’t trade it for a ticket back home.
Home is tainted with memories of Eli and the fractured heart that still beats inside my chest.
I push myself up in bed, still slow moving.
First things first, some water for my dry, achy throat. I reach for the glass of water I keep on my bedside table and guzzle that down. You’d think it was the first drop of water I’ve had in my whole life the way I empty the glass in a few eager gulps.
In the bathroom, I pad over to the toilet, sliding my pajama shorts down my hips. My thoughts feel sluggish as I pee and think about how I can make myself some toast and coffee for breakfast. Something to fill my stomach, which feels twisty and unsettled.
I reach for toilet paper and then freeze. The discomfort in my belly doubles, making me instantly nauseous.
There, on the inside of my left wrist, is a mark.
The same symbol that was in my dream. That gang leader, Jin, had cruelly etched it onto the inside of my wrist, taunting me about being marked.
Now it’s written. Let’s see if you can outrun it.
His cool, smooth, heartless voice slithers in my ear, forcing an instant shudder out of me.
It wasn’t part of my dream at all. It was completely real.
I had been so upset that the minute I realized I was being let go, I ran like hell. My trip home is all a blur. You could ask me about the subway ride or my walk up to the floor of my apartment, and I couldn’t tell you.
It’s just blank space in my mind. So is anything I did once inside my bedroom. It’s as if I was catatonic, operating like a zombie doing things like undressing and peeling back the covers of my bed.
For a long moment, I sit on the toilet and stare at the symbol inked on my skin. I speak, read, and write Hangugeo. I’m no expert, but I’m passable enough to get by.
Languages have always fascinated me, and as a military brat, I made a point of learning the languages of the countries where my father was stationed.
But staring at the symbol on the inside of my wrist, I don’t know what the hell it says. It seems to be some kind of symbol signifying the Baekho Pa, resembling a tiger’s head in ink.
I rush to the sink, flipping on the water and grabbing the bar of hand soap.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I mutter under my breath, scrubbing hard at the ink.
I put my strength into it. Suds bubble across my skin, the water turning frothy. Yet as I scrub and scrub, the ink remains fresh and unfaded, staring up at me like a dark reminder of last night. I snatch a washcloth off my towel rack and start using that to scrub away at the delicate skin.
Soon my brown complexion is reddening, so irritated it hurts the more I scrub.
And still the mark doesn’t budge.
The black ink— muk , as Jin had called it—is imprinted on me seemingly permanently.
“No,” I cry between a choked breath. I shake my head and press harder with the washcloth. “How is this possible? Is this some kind of tattoo? What the fuck did he put on me!?”
The longer I spend trying to scrape the black ink off, the more I’m immersed in the events that took place last night.
I close my eyes and see Jin standing over me. His gaze was cold and piercing, the color of midnight. The rest of his face was angular and hard, as if cut by steel. Several strands of his dark hair had fallen across his brow, making him look even more menacing.
He was tall and built well, made of wiry muscle underneath that leather and those tattoos, but he didn’t have the physique of a brute. He was more predator, more about agility and accuracy. I could tell not only by his build but by how he moved and carried himself.
He had snatched my wrist up so quickly, I couldn’t blink fast enough.
A breath sputters out of me as I remember the sting of the ink and the taunting lift of his lips. He had almost grinned.
It brought him pleasure to bring me pain. For him to humiliate me in front of his men then send me off crying and terrified into the night.
He knows my name and where I live. What I do here in Busan.
He’s part of the Baekho Pa.
If he wants to find me again, he can easily do it…
My phone rings and makes me jump.
The jingly noise slices through the silent meltdown I’m having, sounding louder than I remember.
Staggering out of the bathroom, I snatch my phone from the bedside table. Kelly’s name glows on the screen.
Fuck.
But I shouldn’t be surprised—she wants to know about my date last night with Andrew.
I consider ignoring the call, then remember how persistent Kelly is. Once I tried ignoring her when I was home sick with the flu, and she camped outside my apartment door with soup and medicine, insisting I let her in.
“Hey,” I manage when I answer, keeping my tone casual.
“Finally! I was waiting for you to text me last night. Remember you said you would?” she asks. “Tell me everything! Did you two hit it off? He’s funny, right? You two would be so good together!”
I rub my temple and glance down at the puffy, irritated skin on the inside of my wrist. “It was… not great.”
“Uh-oh. I’ve got to hear the whole story. I’m heading to Unnie’s in a few. Come meet me. You need caffeine. And a sympathetic gal pal to vent to.”
“I don’t know,” I say, lowering myself to the edge of the bed. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Like what? It’s Saturday. You’re in South Korea. You’re supposed to be exploring, eating rice cakes, and visiting cat cafés—not hiding in your apartment like a hermit.”
“My mom’s coming to visit. I’ve got to get stuff in order.”
Kelly makes a soft scoffing sound that blends with her amused tone. “Monroe, your mom’s not coming for another week. That’s seven whole days to vacuum, do laundry, and wipe down your apartment ’til it’s squeaky clean. You can spare an hour for coffee.”
I stare at the floor, suddenly weighed down by everything troubling me.
But what am I going to say?
No thanks. I was marked by the vicious leader of a gang and essentially told I’ll be hunted down and killed if I even breathe wrong?
I swallow down the latest rush of nausea.
“Okay,” I mumble. “I’ll be there in a few.”
“Good! First round’s on me.”
Kelly hangs up, and I sit in silence, the phone heavy in my hand. I glance down at the mark for the hundredth time this morning.
It feels like it’s branded into me. Like I don’t really understand just what kind of fucked up trouble I’m now in.
I have to find a way to get rid of it.
…after coffee.
The bell above the door jingles as I step into Unnie’s and immediately spot Kelly.
She waves me down from a table near the back, grinning and sipping from her matcha latte.
She’s already made herself comfortable, her purse slung over the back of her chair and her phone out on the table as she scrolls through her social media feed.
I cut a path toward her through the cramped café.
Unnie’s is a staple, with air smelling like freshly ground coffee beans and cute lights strewn across the ceiling like constellations.
Jazzy music plays in the background, and the furniture is comfy and mismatched.
It’s one of my favorite spots in the neighborhood to come by and just sit and sip for a while.
Even better that the toasted almond croissants and milk tea are some of the best.
A couple sits by the window, fingers laced across the table. They look in love, meanwhile I must look a wreck.
I jammed a beanie over my curls and threw on the first semi-matchy clothes I could find in my wardrobe.
“Monroe!” Kelly calls brightly. “You look like I do when I’m hungover after too much soju punch. Let me guess—Drew talked your ear off and dragged dinner on for hours! I told him to go easy on you. He likes to talk.”
I slip into the chair across from her. “That’s one way to describe him.”
She snorts. “Translation: it was bad. Real bad. Here, I ordered you one of your staples.”
She nudges a large iced Dalgona Latte toward me. It’s definitely one of my favorites from Unnie’s, the sweet caramel drizzles and honeycomb shards are a great sugar rush when I need it.
Today’s one of those times.
I suck down a few swallows of it, trying to distract myself from the tender skin on the inside of my wrist—and the mark that’s practically been seared into me.
I tried to disguise it with several bangle bracelets, but it’s not exactly subtle.
Kelly, clueless to my hidden anxiety, leans in, elbows on the table. “Okay, so spill. Give it to me straight. Did Drew look as good as his photo?”
I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half sigh. “Um, no offense. But… no. The man in the photo had a full head of hair. And height.”
“Oof,” she says, wincing. “Okay, sooo about that. He’s started losing his hair. He’s a little sensitive about it. And the height thing? I think in the photo you saw he was taller than the other guy. That other guy being five-three.”
“It did give catfish vibes. But I would’ve maybe overlooked it if we clicked. Which we did not. At all.”
“Nooo! I really thought you two would! Was it something he said?”
“Well, he kicked off the night by telling me he almost didn’t show up. He thought I might be the catfish because apparently hot single women don’t need their friends to set them up. They can get dates on their own. Then he said I looked better than my photo and acted like it was a compliment.”
Kelly groans, smacking her palm to her forehead. “Tell me Drew did not say that!”
“It only got worse from there. I don’t think I got to talk about myself for more than five seconds. The other hour was spent on him monologuing his way through every impressive achievement he’s ever had. I know all about NYU and how the CEO at Sungjin Solutions begged him to take his job offer.”
“Okay, so, Drew can be a little cocky. But he’s usually a lot of fun! And he loves splurging on the women he dates.”
“I didn’t get to mention how he invited me to his apartment halfway through his meal. For a so-called nightcap .”
“Which is code for,” she finishes for me, then groans again. “I am so, so sorry! I owe you dinner. Like… real dinner. Not Burger & Pasta dinner.”
I manage a soft laugh, though it sounds hollow to my ears. I wish my bad first date with Andrew was the worst part of the night…
“Honestly, I left pretty quickly,” I murmur, watching the ice melt in my Dalgona Latte. “I just wasn’t feeling it.”
“I get it. Sometimes it’s just wrong energy. No chemistry.”
Wrong energy. That’s one way to put it.
If only I knew I was about to put myself in the crosshairs of a whole lot of wrong energy moments later.
Ugh.
Why the fuck did I not pay more attention to where I was going?!
Maybe I should’ve seen the date with Andrew through. At least then I wouldn’t have been marked.
“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” Kelly asks.
I shrug, eyes still stuck on my iced drink. “Not sure. Probably clean up the apartment a bit. Maybe work on next week’s final lesson.”
“On a Saturday? Come shopping with me! You love the underground mall!”
“I’m going to pass. Maybe next time.”
For the rest of our coffee date, I’m distracted by the ink on my inner wrist. Every time I shift my arm and the bangle bracelets slide further up my forearm, I can’t help glancing down at the mark Jin left on me.
My thoughts are immediately drawn back to the alley, and it feels like he’s still peering down at me with eyes so cold it makes me shiver from the inside.
Whatever this mark is, I have to get rid of it.
Immediately .
Kelly and I get up to gather our things once we’re done at Unnie’s. She slings her purse back over her shoulder as she talks my ear off about some blind date she’s going on later tonight.
“See?” she says. “It’s not just you! I’m punishing myself too.”
I turn toward the glass doors of the café and then stop mid-step.
There he is. Right in front of me.
He’s standing across the street, still dressed in the same leather jacket, the same tattoos creeping up his neck. His hair’s in his eyes again, his lips in a tight, severe line like they were last night.
It’s him. It’s Jin.
I could pass out right now, the crippling anxiety choking me ’til I’m lightheaded.
Before I can decide what to do—if I’ll run for it or hide or beg like I did last night—a pair of delivery trucks roar by, blocking my view.
Once they pass, Jin is gone.
He’s nowhere else on the busy street, as if he simply evaporated like smoke.
“Monroe?” Kelly asks from my side. “You okay?”
I blink hard, realizing I’ve frozen in front of the café doors. I force a nod, then mutter something about needing to go.
Is it possible I’m now imagining him? Is he a figment of my imagination, or is Jin, the coldblooded murdering gang leader, really tracking me?
And is this what he meant when he said I had to outrun the mark he seared into my skin?