He groans into my mouth, and I use that moment to push back, trying to take control again. But Han is stronger than he looks, and for once, he's not letting me win.
"Frustrated?" he murmurs between kisses, smirking against my lips.
I bite at his jaw...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sirens blared around me, a cacophony of chaos as police and paramedics swarmed the scene. Professionals, identifiable by their uniforms and grave expressions, moved with urgent purpose, while a crowd of onlookers gathered, growing larger and more insistent by the second. The scene was a whirlwind of activity, but despite the frenetic pace, I felt utterly frozen, as if I were an island in a storm.
Numbness enveloped me, an impenetrable barrier against the flood of emotions I knew should be there. I tried to summon guilt, regret, anything—but all I felt was a hollow emptiness. Jisung’s face flashed in my mind, his expression a raw, open wound, every tear a testament to his agony. He looked as if someone had reached inside him, ripped out his heart, and left him to bleed. And me? I couldn't match his grief; the silence inside me was deafening.
This couldn't be real. Life doesn’t just unravel like this. I refused to accept it. The woman in front of me was asking questions, her voice a distant murmur, but I couldn't focus on her words. My eyes were glued to the blaring red and blue lights, the colors swirling together in a dizzying dance as my thoughts spun out of control.
Then I saw her.
A black tarp covered her petite form, her outline unmistakable as they rolled her body into the back of the vehicle. In that moment, the dam broke, and the reality of it all came crashing down on me. Jisung was right. I had killed her.
Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, slowly at first, then falling faster as the tidal wave of guilt and pain surged through me. The world became a blur of agony, spinning out of control. I collapsed to my knees, my body convulsing with sobs that tore through me like shrapnel. I screamed, a guttural cry of anguish that seemed to echo through the night.
I wanted to hurt someone, to lash out and make someone else feel this unbearable pain, but there was no one to blame but myself. I was the murderer, the cold-blooded killer. My fists pounded into the rough concrete, a futile attempt to externalize the torment inside me. The crowd watched, their eyes fixed on my self-destruction, but I didn’t care. I needed to bleed; I deserved nothing less.
My knuckles split open, blood mingling with the grime of the pavement. My hands trembled, and I paused, allowing myself to fully break down. Loud, ugly sobs and screams of pain erupted from me, a traumatic symphony that seemed to fill the night. Saliva and tears mixed on my skin, a grotesque testament to my suffering. The woman who had been speaking to me tried to offer comfort, patting my back gently, but I shoved her away, wanting nothing to do with her pity.
The words pummeled my mind, a relentless, torturous refrain: You killed her. You killed her. You're a murderer, a cold-blooded killer. I beat my hands into the concrete again and again, welcoming the sting, the blood, the brokenness. It was all I deserved. The world around me, the sirens, the flashing lights, the crowd—all faded into a distant haze. All that remained was the crushing weight of my guilt and the void where Soobin used to be.
