For The Thrill

Chapter 4

Soo-Jin didn't open her eyes when she woke up. She listened. She expected the sound of the sharpening of a knives, his muffled moans, or the ripping and tearing of thick fabrics against harsh steel. Calls, rings, kitchen whistles. The smell of leather shoes that had just been polished or the intake of a spoiled cigarette. He never threw them away. She always told him he'd be the first to die.

"Then let me be." He had told her. "I've lived a good life with you by then."

"What if it was only a month?" She laughed, playing with his shirt. How funny was the concept of death to her then.

He breathed another one out. She moved her face away. "We'll make it worth it."

"I sure hope you do." She kissed him, smiling and pinching his arms, urging him to hold her.

But Soo-Jin didn't hear anything. Not even a lighter go out. And somehow it frightened her more.

She felt the ground, forced her fingers awake, and let them crawl over stones and concrete. Her chest crushed and groaned were the sharper rocks were.

She stood on a rocky ledge. She moved her toes, trying to feel where the cliff ended.

Nothing. The air was still.

She stayed there without moving. She could play dead as long as she had to. Long empty nights beside sleeping customers taught her patience. She was aquatinted with silence and fear.

Suddenly, she heard a creak. A quiet moan. A step. Two. Three.

Her heart was racing again, He was coming to kill her. And she couldn't move. Her body forgot how to keep her alive, keep her breathing. Now she knew the things he had done. The things he was about to do. She couldn't move. So she let him have his way like she's done before with others. It wouldn't hurt as much, right? She questioned. She'd once enjoyed it.

"I know you're awake." He whispered softly, so apologetic it made her want to open her eyes and kiss him.

She felt his warm hands brush against hers. He pulled each finger apart one by one until he held it close to him and kissed it.

Soo-Jin pulled back immediately. Finally, their eyes met. She was shaking and he seemed so, so unbothered by it. Like he had seen all this before in a book or movie, replayed and reread.

And she noticed, right then, that her feet and hands were not tied. She wrapped her arms around herself. Dug her toes into the cement.

Dreyes brushed the hair out of her face. And rehearsed, "I'm not going to hurt you."

She shook her head, finding herself at a loss for words. She should run. Fight him off. Anything.

"You're my lover,"

"I ended it." She stuttered.

"You said you loved me,"

"I didn't mean it,"

"You did. You made love to me,"

"I've fucked dozens," she hissed. Her body had remembered anger. Her hands turned to fists.

Dreyer grabbed her arm and squeezed it. She let out a groan.

"You said you were mine. You gave yourself up to me. Not them." He reasoned, gently.

Soo-jin bit down a sob. Her mother was right when she shamed her for loving a white man, for loving Dreyes. They only saw her for one thing. Some refused to pay her if she didn't put on a thicker accent. So she copied her mother's tongue out of spite. She was who paid for her mother's medicine. She had no say in how Soo-Jin did it.

"You gave yourself up to me, too. Remember?" She said, glaring back at him.

"I did." He breathed. Dreyes reached out to grasp her waist and pull her in but she flinched. Something in him was convinced he had to lower his head and hold it to her chest. So he could listen to her heart as if it spoke words he could understand. The words in her mouth meant nothing.

"It's racing." He whispered against her ear.

She let out a bitter chuckle. Then she wanted to cry.

She shook him away. She could push harder but she didn't want to test him. She showed her detest for him in other ways. He was too strong. He could crush her if he wanted to. And men had that thing about them, her mother said. They destroy every woman they touch, taint them and ruin them until only they can love them. Only they can stand the sight of them and smile back.

"See?"

He held the back of her neck gently. His nose bumped into hers but he didn't kiss her. He waited for her. Made her think she was in control.

She took her eyes off his neck and stared at everything around her. They weren't outside. They were in a basement. The floor was broken and shards of glass littered the entrance. A staircase. Woody and tight.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked, keeping her eyes on her escape route. Her hands explored the stones, looking for a shard of broken glass. She saw those scattered in front of her. She hoped she could find one sharp enough to have him whining under her.

He brushed his lips against hers, and she let him pull her closer until her hand came between their chests. The other still looking.

"Tell me. I won't hate you." She whispered, like it was one of the many nights they've shared together.

"You never will hate me, anyway." He inhaled her scent. Vanilla and salt.

He pulled back and stared at her. She let out the breath she had held and glared at him. The skin he touched was burning. And somewhere inside her she felt a desire to have him again.

"I want you." He looked up at her with half-lidded eyes. Sleepy and desperate.

"That's not enough, you almost killed me." She said slowly.

"It's the drug, I didn't hit you." His voice changed.

"I felt like I was going to die, right there in your arms. And I hated myself for it. You don't-"

"I just want to make your heart race again." He whispered, watching her eyebrows twitch in confusion. Her body retreated and she let out a heavy exhale. So he continued, letting her faltered heart guide his tongue.

"For the thrill of it to come back. That's the only way we can save ourselves." He told her, solemnly.

And she shook her head over and over until she felt it. The glass.