Serenade in a Coffee Cup

Beneath the Scar

Orm and Ling stepped into Orm's dimly lit apartment, the silence around them heavy. Ling dropped her bag by the door and turned, her gaze piercing as she watched Orm sit down on the edge of the couch, her fingers fidgeting nervously.

"I know something's wrong," Ling said quietly, but her voice carried a strength that left no room for argument. "You need to tell me everything."

Orm hesitated, eyes locked on the floor, feeling the weight of Ling's demand. "It's not easy," she muttered, her throat tight with memories she wished she could bury forever.

Ling moved closer, sitting beside Orm. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together," she said softly, though there was an undeniable firmness in her tone. "But I need to know what's really going on."

A long pause stretched between them, until Orm finally looked up, meeting Ling's intense gaze. "Fine," she whispered, the words tasting bitter as they left her lips. "I'll tell you everything..."

——•

*The Past*
 
It had started innocently enough—just another step in her career. Bright had introduced her to a producer, someone he swore could turn her band into legends. Orm's excitement had been palpable, her thoughts racing with the idea that this could be it—the moment she and her bandmates had been working so hard for.

"Go alone," Bright had said, flashing his usual confident smirk. "He's the type who likes to work one-on-one."

Orm hadn't thought twice. Bright was her mentor, her boyfriend, her protector. Why would she ever doubt him? So she went. She chose her best outfit, something that made her feel confident, professional. She wanted to make an impression after all—wanted to be memorable for the right reasons.

But the moment she stepped into the studio, something felt off. The producer greeted her with a smile, shaking her hand firmly, but there was an undertone that didn't sit right with her. As the meeting began, he asked about the band, her music, her vision for the future. For a while, everything seemed fine.

But the shift was subtle—until it wasn't. His gaze lingered too long, his compliments grew more personal, less professional.

"You know, Orm," he had leaned forward, his voice lower, almost conspiratorial. "You've got a lot of potential. But there's a price for success."

Her heart stopped, the atmosphere around her thickening. His words dripped with insinuation, and she suddenly realized what was happening. She laughed, awkward and tense, hoping to brush it off. He couldn't mean what she thought he did—right? She tried to steer the conversation back to her band, to her work, but his attention was no longer on the music.

Before she could react, he was behind her, his breath hot on her neck. "I can make you a star, Orm," he whispered, his hands gripping her shoulders too tightly. "But you have to give me something in return."

Everything in her froze. She stood quickly, knocking his hands off, trying to regain control. "I'm not interested," she snapped, but her voice shook, betraying her fear.

His expression shifted, eyes narrowing in anger. "Don't be stupid." His hand shot out, yanking her back toward him, his grip bruising her arm. "This is how it works." His voice was cold, unfeeling. "You give, and you get something in return."

Panic surged through her. He was stronger than she thought. Orm's mind raced for a way out, but he was relentless. In the struggle, his hands roamed, fabric tearing, her body screaming in terror. She saw the glint of a knife on the desk—just inches away.

Desperation fueled her movements. She grabbed the knife, her fingers trembling as she turned it against him. But he didn't back down. His hands fought for control, the blade slicing across her collarbone as she struggled. The sharp sting of metal cutting into her thigh barely registered through the adrenaline.