Ruined

chapter 11

Roseanne.

THREE YEARS LATER...

The call comes from the prosecuting attorney. I should've expected it. Hell, I contact the attorney several times a year to stay apprised of Jaehyun Jeong release date. But as I end the call and stare at my phone, the hallway implodes. My vision blurs, and memory awaits me in the darkness. Rope around my wrists, a gag against my tongue, cruel hands, crushing weight, can't move, burning, forcing, agony...
Something bumps into me, and I whirl around, arms flailing.

"Hey!" A college girl holds up her hands. "Watch it."

Shit. "Sorry." I wipe the sheen of sweat from my face. "I'm sorry."

I step out of the flow of traffic in the campus corridor and lean against the wall. Pocketing the phone, I think about the reason for the attorney's call. Jaehyun Jeong will go free in two weeks. He was sentenced to seven years, but he's only serving six. Six years for brutalizing a sixteen-year-old girl.
My breath leaves me. I'm not that girl.
You'll never amount to anything.

I said I could and I would, and I'm doing it. I moved on, earned a bachelor's degree in animal science, and I'm flying through veterinary college. If I keep up this pace, I'll be a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine in two years. That's faster than anyone expected.
You'll end up on the street or shacking up with some man like a fucking whore.
I'm focused. Dedicated to my work. I don't have time for distractions from my past. Straightening my spine, I lift my hand, palm up. I lament the welted scar every fucking day. Lisa and Bambam probably laugh at theirs. Felix is locked up. Nothing he can do about his. I made the blood oath under duress. Shouldn't that negate its authenticity?
What if I do nothing about Jaehyun's release? Would he come after me? Would he force his evil on other sixteen-year-old girls?

My stomach hardens, and I clench my hand, fisting the scar. It's summer break. Classes don't restart for two months. I could leave school for a few weeks. How long does it take to kill a man? I glance down the hall, taking in the dearth of students. Only reason I'm here today is to visit my favorite professor. So I focus on that. I make my way to his classroom and find the door shut. His summer class should've ended by now. Maybe he's meeting with a student?
Silently turning the handle, I peek in.

Professor York stands in the back of the room with a pretty brunette. He leans over her, his mouth too close to hers to be appropriate as he speaks quietly. Then his hand lowers and touches the back of her skirt. His fingers ruck the material, gathering it, inching it higher until his hand slips beneath. I stumble back and turn away.
He's not supposed to be with her. He's in a fucking relationship. Why is he doing this?
Men cheat. That's what they do.

My hands lose feeling. Listlessness spreads up my arms and deadens my chest. Everything inside me desensitizes, disconnects, and goes dormant. I walk home in a numb fog. I climb the front porch to the modest house. Insert the key. Pass through the rooms. Down the hallway. Sit on the bed in the master.
Still numb.

I want to feel something. Something profound. Intense. Dissolute. I want to feel pain that I can control. Sliding the laptop from my bag, I cue up one of my go-to videos. It's a clip from a foreign film. A porn scene with a woman on her stomach, her hands bound with rope and arms stretched over her head. A man jerks his hips and groans on top of her, his fingers around her neck as he fucks her in the ass. The actress screams in another language, but I don't pay attention to that. I absorb her tears, the round shape of her gaping mouth, the horrified expression scrunching her face. As her body tenses in pain, I cock my head, memorizing the way her fingers absently scrape against the rope. Then I stop the video and restart it from the beginning. She's already tied up, but her face is slack. She doesn't understand, doesn't know what's coming. That moment of ignorant innocence captivates me so deeply I can't look away.