10. Monroe
Jin kissed me.
He held me down and glared as if he wanted to rip me to shreds. As he pressed the knife to my throat, I thought he would.
I was certain they were the last moments of my life. The last thing I would ever see before I died was the cruelty etched onto Jin’s cold, chiseled face. His dark, almond-shaped eyes burning with a hatred I didn’t understand.
What had I done to this man to deserve it?
Then… the knife slipped from his grip. He broke character for a fleeting moment before he recovered by clamping his hand down on my throat, cutting off my airway. It seemed for a wild second that he was about to strangle me to death instead.
In some ways, a much more agonizing, intimate way to die…
That’s when he kissed me.
Hard. Fiercely.
With the kind of hunger that made me gasp into his mouth. That was so damn immediately intense, it was a little frightening.
It was as if he was flooding me with every twisted emotion he had bottled up inside him. All the time he’d spent observing me, plotting my death, growing to loathe me and view me as some kind of prey, poured into this single moment.
This hot, impulsive, ravenous kiss between us.
He forced his tongue into my mouth. He squeezed at my throat and made it so I felt like I was flying. I was so dizzy, my mind reeling, that I no longer felt like I was trapped on the floor of my apartment.
I was spinning, suddenly consumed by the man who had tried to kill me.
His tongue lashed against mine, warm and dominant. We were still in some kind of aggressive fight.
Except this time, we were dueling with our lips and tongues.
A fire sparked inside me that rose to dangerous levels. It melted away any doubt or hesitation I had until I found myself kissing him back.
Just as hungrily. Just as desperately.
Hands pinned above my head, I was his for the taking.
…and, in that moment, I wanted to be.
I wanted Jin to take me, use me, do whatever he needed to do to end this.
His kiss was that disruptive to my psyche. It was an unmistakable point of no return, similar to the symbol he’d marked on the inside of my wrist.
I didn’t know what would come next, but I damn sure didn’t expect him to rip his mouth away from mine, collect his fallen knife, then stride out of my apartment like none of it ever happened.
I wake the next morning with my heart fluttering at the memory.
My lips still tingle from his kiss. I’m flushed and hot, yet somehow shivery and drenched in cold sweat at the same time. I’m lying sideways across the bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, my blanket twisted around my legs like a net.
The body aches make themselves known at once.
Not just the tingle from my lips. But the soreness at my throat and the ache at the back of my skull.
I dart to the mirror at my vanity table and admire the damage. Jin’s left a bruise along my throat from where he’d gripped me and almost choked me out. I can make out the purple imprints of his long, strong fingers as they blend against my brown skin.
My fingers touch the lump on the back of my head, from where I’d been tackled to the ground by him.
Up until that point, it seemed he was… almost going easy on me?
He let me get several hits in, scratching, punching, stomping at him while he only sought to restrain or subdue me.
One look at Jin and his physique and how he moved, and I could tell he had a prowess that was deadly. If he wanted to, he could’ve easily snapped my neck at any point or truly left me battered.
But he didn’t. He didn’t hit me once. He couldn’t even kill me when he finally seemed to trap me on the floor and pulled out his knife.
By his fearsome glare, he seemed to want to. Almost as if he was at war with himself over it.
He knew it was what he had to do, but it was also what he couldn’t do.
…but why? Why couldn’t Jin, with his tattoos inking his skin all the way up to his chin and all the way down to the tips of his fingers, kill me?
My mind flashes back to how lethal yet sexy he’d looked—an admission that makes me burn with shame.
But facts are facts.
The man was a fine specimen standing before me in my apartment, intruding on my most intimate space.
He was almost a foot taller than me, but he didn’t have the kind of brutish appearance some men do at that height.
No… Jin’s physique is cut by lean and wiry muscle. A perfect balance between strength and agility.
In better lighting, I could see that his hair was a beautiful, pure jet black, arranged in a style that was permanently messy and windswept, his bangs slanted across his brow. It partially concealed a scar that once seemed to reach down to his eyes, though had healed over time.
His eyes were as dark and pure as the color of his hair. They were unsettling and so natural, it’s what made them almost unnatural .
I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with eyes so dark, so cold and penetrating…
The rest of his face was sharp and chiseled. High cheekbones and a slim, angular nose. A jaw in proportion to the rest of his features, that was so distinct I could watch the muscle clench when it filled with tension.
He wore what’s quickly become his signature leather jacket, paired with jeans and aged, well-worn boots that have been broken in many times over.
He was intimidatingly handsome and dangerous all at once.
I chastise myself as I step into the shower and try to wash away last night. I do what I did when Jin first marked me, grabbing a loofah and scrubbing at my skin in hopes I’ll get rid of all the evidence.
The bruises he’s left behind. The feel of him on my kiss-swollen lips. Even how he tasted and smelled.
None of it goes away. Just like the mark on my left wrist, constantly reminding me of what he promised that night in the alley.
Now it’s written. Let’s see if you can outrun it.
Ten words that have made my life a living hell over the past two weeks.
I step out of the shower wrap up in my satin robe, tying it at the waist.
For the first time since last night, I explore my apartment.
To say it’s a mess is an understatement. A single glance around shows every last moment of our altercation.
The shattered pieces of my vase are on the floor by the door. The area rug in the living room is twisted and kicked away.
I spot the can of air freshener I’d desperately reached for and sprayed into his eyes.
All of it is an immediate trigger that makes me groan and cover my face.
How could I kiss the man who had violated me? He marked me, stalked and followed me, and now he was breaking into my apartment to murder me!
“What the fuck, Moni?” I whisper to myself.
New questions emerge in my head. More than just me scolding myself.
Will he be back? And if so, when?
Over the next two days, it’s what I think about most.
We’ve reached the part of the summer in South Korea where the seasonal rain floods the peninsula. We’re getting more than usual, the raindrops pelting down on and off at all hours.
I don’t leave my apartment. Luckily, I have enough food and supplies to last me a while.
The world outside feels more dangerous than ever. It feels like I’ll step outside my apartment building and Jin will be there again, watching and waiting…
It sounds stupid.
He doesn’t need to wait outside when he knows how to get inside .
But the confines of my tiny apartment are the only sanctuary I have.
By day three, I know I’ll need to head to one of the shopping districts to purchase a new phone. Jin left mine with a spiderwebbed screen that doesn’t even light up anymore and with the touch features barely responsive.
I’m able to read my messages on my MacBook, which includes one from Kelly inviting me to lunch at Café Dalbit.
I agree, mostly because of the new phone I need and the comfort of someone else’s company.
“What is up with you lately?” Kelly asks once we meet up outside the small café serving light Korean dishes. She gives me a hug, then stands back to eye me. “You normally look so put-together. But lately…”
I sigh. “Thanks, Kelly.”
“You know what I mean! Usually I’m the one with bags under my eyes and random bruises from my latest fall down the stairs.”
“Let’s grab a table.”
We place our orders, two bowls of what’s known as rose cream pasta in Korea, with frothy iced lattes to sip from. Kelly looks put-together in a sunny yellow spaghetti-strap dress and a fishtail braid, her cheeks naturally flushed from the heat.
Meanwhile, she was right… I do look a mess.
I’ve worn a hoodie in an attempt to disguise the bruising on my throat— and the mark on my wrist—and put on the baggiest, most unflattering pair of jeans and old sneakers I own.
But it’s still wet and rainy out, and once lunch is done and I’ve bought my new phone, I’m headed straight home. Back to my refuge.
“You said you need a new phone?” Kelly asks.
“Mine is done. I dropped it and cracked the screen.”
“Rough,” she says, brows ticking up. “You must’ve dropped it from, like, the 9 th floor of your apartment for it to crack that much.”
“Um, yeah… it was really high up.”
“Technology and I are on the outs too. You wanna hear about my Tinder date the other night?”
I nod, even though my brain is running two tracks behind.
Kelly launches into telling me all about the guy she’d swiped right on.
“So this guy—Peter or Paul or something with a P—shows up wearing Crocs. I don’t mean the ironic, stylish kind.
I mean lime green ones with the ventilation holes like swiss fucking cheese.
He had a weird red stain on the front of his shirt.
I think it was some kind of sauce. I swear he just rolled out of bed.