Can't Escape 3

Five

As she sat on the floor, hugging her knees, her mind drifted back to other moments that painted the portrait of her relationship with him, each memory a brushstroke in a grim canvas. Despite the pain, she still sought to understand the man she had married, the man who had once seemed so full of promise.

She remembered their first night in the house, how he had seemed distant but patient as they unpacked. He had shown her around, pointing out rooms and furniture with a sense of ownership that made her feel like a guest rather than a partner. She had tried to engage him, asking questions, making suggestions about how they could arrange the space, but his responses were curt and dismissive. It was clear that her opinions held little value to him.

That night, as she lay alone in the bed, she had tried to understand the distance that had grown between them. She snuggled close, hugging a pillow, hoping for some sign of affection and care to appear on the surface she slept on. Instead, she found nothing but coldness. With thoughts running wild inside her head, she wondered about every possibility of how she ended up there, but in the end, she convinced herself that adjusting to married life took time, that they were both just trying to find their footing.

But as days turned into weeks, his behaviour raised many questions. The small courtesies he had shown her before their wedding vanished, replaced by a rigid expectation of compliance. Any deviation from his rules, no matter how minor, was met with a cold anger that left her feeling ashamed and bewildered.

One particularly painful memory surfaced—the day she had tried to surprise him with a home-cooked meal after he had mentioned missing his mother’s cooking. She had spent hours in the kitchen, carefully preparing a dish she hoped would make him smile. When he arrived home, she greeted him with nervous excitement, eager to see his reaction.

But instead of the gratitude she had hoped for, he had frowned as soon as he tasted the food. “This isn’t right,” he had said, pushing the plate away. “It’s too salty. And it doesn’t taste anything like my mother’s.”

Her heart had sunk. She had apologized, feeling foolish and inadequate. He had risen from the table, not even finishing the meal, and walked away without a word. That night, he had ignored her entirely, leaving her to eat alone, the taste of failure bitter in her mouth.

As she sat now, staring into the emptiness of the room, she realized how these moments had chipped away at her sense of self, each disappointment and rejection a blow to her spirit. She had tried so hard to be the perfect wife, to meet his ever-shifting expectations, but nothing she did seemed to be enough.

Her thoughts shifted to the rules, the unyielding demands he had made clear from their first real conversation. They had grown over time, each new rule a reaction to something he found unsatisfactory. Don’t interrupt him when he’s talking. Always have dinner ready by seven. Keep the house spotless. Never question his decisions. Each rule was a chain, binding her more tightly to a life that was nothing like what she had imagined.

This morning was no different. He had left for work after making her read the list of rules out loud, a humiliating ritual he insisted on whenever he felt she had failed to meet his standards. Standing before him, she had read each line in a trembling voice, his eyes watching her with a cold, calculating intensity.

“Good,” he had said when she finished, a faint smile on his lips. “Remember these. It’s for your own good.”

He had then left, his departure a brief respite from the oppressive atmosphere he created. Now, alone in the house, she felt the weight of his control pressing down on her, each rule a reminder of her confinement. She looked around the room, the mess from the night before still evident, and felt the familiar sense of despair. There was so much to do, so many expectations to meet, and she felt too exhausted to begin.

Slowly, she stood up and walked to the bathroom. She turned on the light and faced the mirror, her reflection a stark contrast to the hopeful bride she had once been. Bruises and dark circles marred her face, the physical signs of his abuse mingling with the exhaustion that had settled into her bones. She touched her cheek gently, wincing at the tenderness, and let out a shaky breath.

Yesterday’s events played in her mind again. How he had behaved when he came back from the office. It had started with a simple mistake—she had forgotten to pick up his dry cleaning. When he discovered it, his reaction had been immediate and violent. He yelled, his voice echoing through the house, calling her useless, stupid. He had thrown the laundry basket at her, the clothes spilling out like a wave of her failures.

“I’ve told you a hundred times,” he had screamed, his face contorted with rage. “How hard is it to remember something so simple?”

She had tried to explain, to apologise, but he had grabbed her by the arm, yanking her towards the bedroom. “You need to learn to follow the rules,” he had said through gritted teeth, shoving her onto the bed. The punishment that followed had left her battered and sobbing, his fury a storm she couldn’t weather.

His loud, raspy voice rang around her head as she trembled beneath him, his grip holding her in place, giving her no room to move. His demeanour had darkened to a degree she had come to dread, a sign of what was to come.

“I do everything for this house, for you, for the town, and this is how I’m treated?” he had yelled, every taunt echoing those she had heard in the past. She looked at his tired self within the raging one, knowing his job as the mayor wasn’t easy. But she never expected that the frustration he carried from his position would be unleashed on her.

Her eyes tightly closed, she whispered pleas for forgiveness, knowing nothing could alleviate the frustration he felt. With each passing second, she felt herself shrink under his weight, feeling smaller and more powerless.

His hands trembled too, but for different reasons than hers. His anger, uncontrolled and destructive, manifested in ways she could only fear. Without a second thought, his fist landed on her cheek, followed by several more blows.

Her cries were loud enough to wake the neighbours, but his power had silenced everything around them, even the ability to hear with people surrounding them.

“Taehyung, please stop,” she whispered, her voice weakening, her throat dry from her screams.

Still trembling with anger, he stood up, pulling at his own hair, unable to think straight. Pacing around the room, his eyes locked onto a knife in the fruit basket. Without thinking, he grabbed it and approached her as she lay on the bed, crying. Her sobs intensified his rage. She couldn’t see him, but before she could react, he raised the knife and stabbed her shoulder as brutally as he could.

A loud scream escaped her lips, and without a glance, he walked away, leaving her to bleed and cry alone.

---
The event seemed so rare after he had returned back from the outburst the same night, the same hour. She could still remember herself being embraced within a few hours of being on the same bed as him.

With his thoughts still lingering over her head she turned away from the mirror, returning to the bedroom. The notebook lay on the bed, the rules written in his precise, unforgiving handwriting. She picked it up, the weight of it heavy in her hands, and began to read through them again, the words blurring as tears filled her eyes. Each line was a reminder of her confinement, each rule a chain binding her to him.

To be continued.
I don't think this story is carrying that much emotions like it should be. But now you guys know Taehyungs Profession.

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And finally daddy will be home tomorrow.  I'm screaming......