Chapter 20 Jin #2
I toe out of my boots and shrug off my leather jacket, moving through the dark apartment by memory more than sight. I go straight into the kitchen for the cabinet where the liquor is kept.
The smell of burned flesh still clings to me. Joo-wan’s screams echo in my ears, and the faces of everyone in the chamber appear behind closed lids when I blink.
But I don’t regret any of it. I only crave more; I only want more destruction as I come home to the dark reminder why I feel this way.
I’ve never been a drinker. It’s always been an indulgence weak men seek.
Tonight is yet another exception as I pour myself some soju and swallow it down whole. Any discipline is on hold as I fill the glass again and then drink that too.
Two glasses turns into three and four. Four into the whole bottle.
I stand in the dark, not even bothering with the light, tipping my head back and guzzling down the soju bottle ’til the very last drop.
Then I go for another.
The late hour passes this way—with me drinking myself belligerent until the dark shadows in the room start to morph into other shapes.
I blink blearily and find myself in the hanok again. I’m peeking out of the wardrobe as a man in black grips a blade in one hand and moves toward my mother.
Tears stream down her face as she screams and presses her hands together in a prayer motion.
Begging him. Pleading for our lives.
But with a quick flick of his wrist, her throat is sliced open and she’s drawing her last breaths.
The blood forms in thick puddles. More blood than I’ve ever seen in my life, even to this day. It’s a syrupy pool of crimson that spreads across the floor.
When I rush forward to intervene, my mother’s gone. The woman lying in her place is Monroe, belly round and swollen and cut open.
There’s no life to be found in her beautiful brown eyes.
She’s dead.
Killed by the man standing over her. His mask conceals his face, the texture of it like the shell he names himself after.
He remains silent as I gape in horror at what he’s done. Once again he’s taken my loved one from me.
I lurch forward to attack only to come to my senses and realize it’s a hallucination. The hanok walls vanish for my cold apartment, and I’m suddenly drunkenly staggering down the hallway.
The blood is gone and so is Black Shell. Monroe’s dead body was nothing more than a disturbing image stuck in my head.
I stumble my way into the bathroom so fucking drunk I can’t walk straight. Twisting on the faucet, I splash cold water onto my face to shock myself back to sobriety.
But when I straighten up and look into the mirror, he’s looking back at me.
The Black Shell is in the reflection, once again taunting me. Inescapable in the twisted game he’s decided we’re playing.
I release a howl and slam my fist into the mirror before I can think better of it. My knuckles collide with the glass and shatter it into tiny shards that scatter everywhere.
Pain lances up my arm, finally the jolt I need to sober up. I blink and only find my disheveled self in the cracked reflection.
Wild-eyed, bloodied, a once disciplined man driven almost insane with rage and grief and the thirst for revenge.
It’s a man I never thought I could become, but it’s the man I’ve turned into.
I’ve been following her for hours.
From the moment she left her apartment in Seomyeon this morning to her journey into Jangnim-dong. I’ve been a shadow at her back—close enough to watch yet far enough to remain unseen.
I told myself I was protecting her. This neighborhood is dangerous, and she doesn’t know what lurks around every corner; she doesn’t understand the enemies that might target her simply for having been mine.
If I followed her—I lied to myself—I would be keeping her safe.
But it’s a form of selfishness I won’t outright acknowledge.
The truth is, I can’t stay away from her. I’ve tried my hardest, but every night I find myself outside her apartment building, staring up at her window, watching for the warm glow of her lamp to illuminate the glass.
Just so I know she’s safe and at home.
Most mornings, I’m ready and waiting to follow her throughout her day. The invisible presence she seems to sense lurking, but the man she doesn’t realize is still watching.
Monroe seems to think she’s rid herself of me and our relationship.
If she had any idea that I’ve catalogued her every move, watching her obsessively from afar, she’d probably be angry.
She’d claim I’m intruding on her independence and hope to start anew. She ended things, giving back the ring and telling me she couldn’t handle our relationship if I was so emotionally checked out.
You’d think I’d accept her decision and move on. I’d walk away and never look back.
But I can’t let her go.
Not in any long-term, meaningful way.
I’m as addicted and obsessed as ever. I need Monroe Ross—my Tokki-ya—like I need to breathe.
She is the air I breathe. Without her, I’m suffocating.
Mild humidity hangs in the air as I trail her through the winding streets of Jangnim-dong, the afternoon light fading into the gray of early evening.
This neighborhood is a festering wound on the underbelly of Busan—cramped alleys reeking of garbage and piss, graffiti-covered walls, and certain clusters of men with hard eyes who track Monroe’s every move like the predators they are.
It makes my fingers itch for my blade as I watch from afar and she scurries toward Dok-su’s bar.
What the hell is she doing here?
There’s a level of confidence to her gait as she strides down the block and heads toward the same bar I had weeks before. Regardless of how bad the neighborhood is, she walks with a purpose, chin lifted and shoulders squared like she’s daring anyone to fuck with her.
Despite my fury, a flicker of pride passes through me. My brave little rabbit, walking into the lion’s den without a trace of fear.
It’s both reckless and foolish. But also impressive.
A reminder why this compassionate yet bold woman caught my attention in the first place.
I had initially written her off as na?ve and stupid. Then, after tailing her and spying on her life, I discovered other sides that made her human.
That impressed me and held my attention.
I’ve always marveled how my rabbit could be kind enough to help orphaned children but fearsome enough to fight back against men out to kill her.
She was the first—and only—person to make me realize compassion was not only a weakness. Kind people were not all weak and foolish guppies.
She could stand on her own when necessary and even help black-hearted assholes like me learn to feel.
My instincts are set on edge as I watch her disappear inside the bar. For half a second, I consider following her inside and even confronting her about her whereabouts.
Then I remind myself this was supposed to be covert. She’s not supposed to know I’ve followed her.
…that I’ve been stalking her again.
I count the minutes she’s inside Dok-su’s bar, fully prepared to burst in and interrupt should anything even mildly suspicious happen.
The last time I was here, the drunkard of a bar owner sent me to an abandoned warehouse where I encountered Black Shell and got my ass kicked more handily than I’m used to.
Questions about why Monroe would even show up here clutter my head. It’s a grimy establishment with dirty windows and the stench of cigarettes. It’s where pathetic men go to drink their days away.
What would even drive Monroe to come here if she’s not looking into Black Shell and my past?
Clever little rabbit.
A part of me is angry she’s put herself at risk like this, poking her nose into affairs that have nothing to do with her and could put her into serious danger.
Rationally, I recognize she would argue it’s her right to do such things. She is no longer in a relationship with me and owes me no explanation about what she chooses to do with her time.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t still keep a close eye on her.
I wait in the shadows across the street, back pressed against a damp wall, eyes fixed on the bar’s entrance.
Minutes crawl by like hours. A group of drunk men stumble past, laughing too loud, and one of them glances in my direction but quickly looks away when he sees my face.
Smart. I’m not in the mood for distractions.
Finally the door swings open and Monroe emerges, expression troubled, phone clutched in her hand.
She pauses on the sidewalk, glancing up and down the street like she’s getting her bearings, and then she starts walking—away from the bar and down a narrow side street that’ll take her back to the subway.
I push off the wall and follow.
I’m as silent and unheard as any predator in the wild. Years of training ensure my gait is smooth and undetectable as I come up from behind.
She doesn’t suspect a thing; she can’t even sense she’s being followed as I close the gap between us, soon to overtake her.
If I truly meant to let her go, I would recognize this is stupid. It’s foolhardy to follow her like I am. But as I rush up behind her, the same impulsive need that’s driven me to make other wild, unpredictable decisions as of late overtakes me.
She’s ten feet ahead. Then five. Then close enough I can smell her coconut conditioner on the humid air; the same scent that’s been permanently embedded in my bedsheets ever since she left.
I snap forward and overtake her at once.
My arms wrap around her from behind, one hand clamping over her mouth before she can scream, wrenching her back against my chest as I lower my lips to her ear.
“Don’t scream.”
Monroe reacts immediately, survival instincts kicking in before conscious thought does. Her elbow drives back toward my ribs, but I’m a step ahead of her, anticipating the move.
I twist to avoid it, responding to her body language a half-second before she commits to the motion. Her heel comes down toward my foot next. Another predictable reaction I swiftly dodge, shifting my weight and letting her foot stomp uselessly against the pavement.