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ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 . . . 𝗜 𝗠𝗔𝗬 fail but i will never give up ❜ ⸝⸝
⊹ . ◌ ༚ ˳ 🕳️⠀﹒⠀ ꙳ .
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🖇·˚ ≋♡
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- 2020, December
Most men were fools, that was something Mercy had concluded when she laid there in the bed, his arms wrapped around her. It was a chase, truly. He was the predator, she was the prey. But perhaps, for a moment, she could change the tides, cling onto the illusion, that she was the hunter.
As his fingers traced through her hair, he declared, 'You don't need anyone but me.'
A soft smile curved on Mercy's lips. 'I require no one else but you,' she responded, delicately reaching up, her fingers gently gliding over his jaw. It was a performance, a deliberate play into his deceptive narrative. Suppressing the repulsive thoughts in her mind, she aimed to sidestep the corrosive impact of debauchery. Desperation fueled her desire to escape the depths of depravity that surrounded her.
Fortunately, Heeseung was absent during the unsettling scene, sparing her from the burden of his watchful eyes. The fact that it unfolded discreetly, shielded from their awareness, provided a modicum of solace. Despite the pain of their breakup, she acknowledged its inevitability, a consequence of the risks inherent in their relationship. Concealing such matters indefinitely would have been an impossibility.
Aware that time was of the essence, she felt the urgency to leave. If her car remained where she left it, the escape plan would be straightforward. However, if it had vanished, an abrupt dash would become the only recourse.
To distract herself and maintain a semblance of composure, she began to hum a tranquil melody while tracing gentle circles on his shoulder with her thumb. Internally, a primal desire to harm him surged, though she concealed it beneath a façade of apparent calm.
He, oblivious to her internal turmoil, remarked, 'It must be calming for you, not having Heeseung on your back all the time. He was so needy, always trying to convince himself that he was superior to you.'
Resisting the urge to defend Heeseung, she bit her tongue, choosing silence over a futile defense.
'Yes, he was,' she forced out, her words laced with a bitter undertone.
'You must be happier now that the two of you broke up,' he continued, his possessiveness surfacing. 'Finally. I couldn't stand seeing him touch what is mine.'
'Of course not,' she replied, her response carefully measured.
'We're going to the store,' he informed her. 'We need some food.'
'Will you go alone?' she inquired, and he chuckled.
'Of course not, can't have you running again, can I?' he cooed, pinching her cheek.
Mercy manufactured a giggle, playing along. 'Of course not.'
A fresh strategy took shape in her mind. Instead of resorting to running, she contemplated the effectiveness of a different approach: unleashing a torrent of screams, behaving erratically. The notion of playing the part of a maniac crossed her mind, a daring move, especially in a public setting. The gamble was that someone might recognize her and come to her aid.
Considering his propensity for quick anger, she pondered on deliberately provoking him. Perhaps a refusal to comply with his demands, a hint of resistance, or even a touch of brattiness could incite the reaction she needed. The prospect of a slap to the face was risky yet calculated.
It seemed like a foolproof plan, albeit one that required a delicate touch and precise timing.
But she was determined.
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