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You met a boy a few weeks ago and he’s everything. From his dazzling smile to his kind eyes and his warm personality, he’s what many would consider ‘perfect’. When he calls you late at night it’s to hear you talk, not to summon you to his side. His gifts are the type you can show your family rather than hiding them within your closet. He even compromises. For the first time in years you’ve been given a voice. And the best part of it all is that he wants to go steady with you.
As in your boyfriend.
You, with a real, proper boyfriend. If only your younger self could see you now, living the life of a romance protagonist – grand gestures and all. He’s on the flashy side but it’s in good faith. No harm, no foul, even if sometimes it’s embarrassing when done in front of your coworkers and friends. At least he’s open with his feelings unlike your last… fling. You can’t even call it a relationship; he’d never acknowledged you as anything other than his little mouse.
Clenching your hands around the steering wheel, you inhale fresh air into your tired lungs. Your exhale comes too soon, too fast. Inhaling deeper, you let loose the anger you have toward him. Not in an explosive outburst but with a gentle sigh. Negativity breeds negativity and you’ve had your fill. Good things are on the horizon for those who seek them out and you’re ready to reap the seeds of change you’ve sown. It’s only getting better from here on out, that’s what your life coach says, and this year it actually feels true.
And so you had packed up your things, deleted his number, and met someone better.
You’ve been born anew and given a second chance.
Manifest your dreams.
It’s a mantra (one of many taught to you through some online self-help program that costs more than your mortgage) that you repeat to yourself. Over and over the words loop inside your brain as you pull up to your house. The ‘spend money to make money’ has yet to prove true but you plan to add a garage once it does. For now you settle for parking in the driveway and going through the motions as you put up the sun shade. It darkens the vehicle, makes it cosier.
Taking out your phone you check for new messages, brave enough to face the repercussions of your actions now that you’re alone and detached from the world. To your relief there’s nothing from either man. Perhaps he’s letting you go without a fight, maybe even moving on to his next toy. While that does alleviate some tension, it’s only temporary. Your stomach is quick to fold in on itself, stretching and contorting at the cruel realisation that you can’t ascertain just which of the two you wish the statement were true for.
Brilliant streaks of purple and orange paint the sky as dusk approaches. If you stay in your car any longer, night will fall and the air will turn bitter. Grabbing your bag, you slip your phone back inside before walking up the narrow pathway to your quaint home. It’s nothing extravagant but it’s yours and there’s not very many things you can say that for. The porch features a rickety chair, two (dead) potted plants, a welcome mat that’s years overdue for a replacement, and… roses?
Blood red petals greet you upon your approach. Most have blown away but some still linger, welcoming you home. Aside from the glass vase holding the bulk of the flowers, there’s some shoved in between the main door and the storm door. It’s just the buds, as well as a plethora of loose petals. In a way they beckon you to enter. Grabbing the vase, you indulge them.
The petals tumble around your feet the moment the storm door creaks open. It’s a stark contrast; the ruby red dripping onto your fading black shoes is reminiscent of an artsy noir film. Despite the queasiness it invokes, you can’t help but smile. This is exactly the kind of outrageous display your (dare you say it?) boyfriend is prone to. Taking a deep breath, the sweetest aroma caresses you. It’s everything you could ever wish for.
He’s everything you could ever wish for.
You reach for your phone to shoot off a text to your boyfriend when a cold gust whips down the street. Violent and sudden, it steals several lawn chairs and flamingos, snapping them in half as they slam against cars and fences. The rose petals and their enticing fragrance are blown away without a trace. Picking up in velocity, the wind slams the glass storm door into your side, threatening you to go inside or face its wrath.
Sometimes it’s best to relent and just weather the storm.
Pushing open your main house door, you turn back to grab the storm door lest it be torn from its hinges. It’s a game of tug-o-war. Forced to abandon the rose vase on the ground, you dig in with your heels to get the upper hand on the torrential winds. Leveraging your body against the threshold, you apply what little knowledge of physics you recall from school to create a fulcrum between the wall and your knee. It does the trick and the door shuts with a thunderous crack. With no energy to fight further, you close and lock the house door as well.
The house is plunged into darkness. Unlike the car, it’s not comforting in any way, shape or form. Even though it’s been your home for several months now, there’s something unnatural about the way the shadows sit. You toss your handbag into their hungry grasp. It thuds against the couch.
While the storm has yet to reach peak levels of destruction, it may have still killed the electricity. You pray it hasn’t. Finding the switch through pure muscle memory and instinct, you flip it on and--
Light floods your small living room. Licking up the length of your spine, shivers wrack your body into a tremor. Everything is red. In the seconds it takes for your eyes to adjust, you’re reminded of Seonghwa. He liked you best when you were red: red lips, red lace, red eyes, red cuts.
Even when you distinguish the sea of red on your beige carpet to be roses, tears sting the corners of your eyes. This isn’t right. Petals litter your floor, lining a path up toward your bedroom. A pair of teddy bears await you at the top of the stairway. One is holding a rose while the other is made of roses.
Step by step you make your way to the top.
You don’t bother to wonder how he got inside. When Seonghwa wants something, he gets it. And who else but Seonghwa would go to this much effort just to torment you? Playing with your heart is a pastime he can’t help but indulge. Love is, after all, a game to him. You’re a game to him.
Picking up the fluffy bear, you sniff the rose attached to its little paw. It’s pointless when the whole house smells this way but the action itself seems like something a leading actress would do before she smiles coyly at her beloved. You cradle the bear to your chest and continue toward the inevitable, following the path he so carefully laid out for you.
The closer you get to your bedroom, the less fight you have. There’s a faint glow colouring your door in orange and flickering shadows. Despair weighs you down until all you can muster is the dragging of your feet along the plush carpet. Beyond the spattering of candles no doubt lies a punishment. It’s one you deserve, which makes the whole situation worse.
Collecting the few articles of clothes he allowed you to keep at his place in the middle of the day with nary a note was a low-blow, even for you. And though you weren’t a couple, it’s still courteous to officially end a relationship you never plan to revisit. Blocking him on all your social media and changing your number wasn’t the right way to do it. Facing him head on, however, never felt like a viable option.
With your hand on the knob, you look down to take a deep breath and regret it immediately. The candles are set up in the shape of a heart. Another display, another act. He’s meticulous and sadistic, and this is a statement. How’d you ever get tied up with such a monster? Not bothering to hold back, tears crawl down your face as you push open the door. At least now you’re bearing gifts - he always did love to see you cry.
Sprawled out on your bed, he’s staring at the ceiling when you enter. His leather-clad legs are spread wide and his arms prop his head up. Disappointment twists his lips into a scowl. The effect it has - he has - on you is instantaneous. Dropping your head in shame, you close the door and take a step toward him, embracing your teddy bear tighter for support.
Rising to a sitting position, he crooks his finger and beckons you forward. “Come here.”
“Seonghwa, I’m sor–”
“Quiet.”
Your mouth clamps shut. Doing as he says, you cross the room in silence. He stands to shimmy out of his plain white shirt, abandoning it on the floor. The action leaves his hair tousled. As always, he’s a sight to behold.
Clicking his fingers and pointing down toward his feet, he says, “Get on your knees.”
“But–”
“Now.”
Ever dutiful to his command, you drop to your knees. The carpet does little to cushion your fall and a sharp jolt claws up your leg. You know better than to keep him waiting, however, so you ignore the pain in favour of unbuckling his belt. The metal is cold to the touch and your fingers tremble. While the design isn't intricate you struggle to remove it, earning an impatient sigh.
"Fucking useless," he mutters, slapping your hands aside. "The only thing you're good for is sucking cock, isn't that right?"
You nod as he removes the belt with deft fingers. Dark eyes glower down at your quivering form. Seonghwa has a way of tearing people apart with a single look – you've always felt so insignificant beneath him.
Unable to hold his gaze, you drop your head. Just when your life was taking a positive turn, he had to stroll back into it. While you didn't know the 'how', the 'why' of his return was more pressing. Couldn't he find a new plaything to break? Why did it have to be you?
Somewhere overhead comes the crack of his belt. It whips through the air and a small breeze rushes against your face. You flinch, falling back on your heels. Tears well in your eyes. At a pace much too slow for his growing impatience, you return your focus to Seonghwa.
"Pathetic." He laughs. It's a venomous sound, filled with malice and malintention. "Hurry up."
It's easier to work under great pressure; buttons and zippers are undone with little hesitation despite how bleary your moist eyes are. Smooth like marble, you pull his pants down his soft thighs. You don't bother to take them off completely, instead hooking your fingers within the band of his briefs. Guilt clenches at your gut.
"Seonghwa, I ca–" You gulp when his eyes narrow. A scowl pulls at his lips as he shakes his head. The crack of his neck is ugly and violent. Gripping the belt buckle beneath paling knuckles, his spare hand tightens around the loose end, snapping the length into a thin line. "Daddy. I meant to s–"
"God, I hate you," he spits, contempt seeping out from his every pore as he tosses the belt onto the bed. It's still within reach should he decide you need a punishment, a silent warning to keep you compliant.
"I'm sorry," you murmur, biting back your sobs. From experience you know it annoys him more when you babble and whine, and while he loves torturing you to the point of tears, he despises hearing your 'cauterwauling'. "Sorry, I'm sor–"
Pulling his cock free, he slaps it across your face. "Just shut up and suck."
He tastes salty on your tongue. You take him deep, holding his thigh for support. When his cock hits the back of your throat, you wince. It’s too much. Tears spill down your cheeks. Your soft sobs vibrate around him and he groans, using his thumb to wipe the moisture from your face. He offers no respite as his hips piston forward. There’s no space for anything other than him, no room to breathe when he’s filling you completely.
Looking up at him with heavy eyes, he’s a blur before you. One hand rests around your jaw, locking you in place while hollowing your cheeks. He holds something rectangular in the other. It gleams in the limited lighting, taunting you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you blink away the tears.
“And I thought you had a boyfriend now?” he snickers, watching you through the screen of his phone. “Should I send him a little video? Show him how much of a slut you really are?”
Your breath hitches. Using your stunned state to jut forward, he pushes his cock even deeper until you’re gagging around his length. He discards his phone on your bed before digging his nails into your scalp. Stinging pain explodes outward from his touch. Pushing through the ache of your jaw and the desperate burn of your throat, your tongue caresses him. Your technique is sloppy, drool leaking from the corner of your lips.
Growing bored with your pathetic display, his foot tapping in quick succession, he releases you. You fall away, dropping to your hands as you sputter and cough. His cock shines with a thin veneer of saliva. Hard and proud, Seonghwa stands before you with a disdainful smirk darkening his edges. He strokes himself twice before snapping his fingers.
“You’re not done, little mouse.”
This time you don’t hesitate. You lick his pre-cum, tongue swirling around his tip before deepthroating him. It was your own naivety that led you here; deep down you’ve always known you couldn’t escape Seonghwa. There’s no point in trying – you belong to him. You moan around him, just the way he likes, and his hand finds purchase atop your head. Enclosing you within his palm, he pets you, the gesture almost comforting. Leaning into his touch, you suck his cock with fervour. His words are a purr that echo within your skull.
"Guess my little whore still loves Daddy best.”