Rent Boy | Hyunlix

Lines we cross a lot

When I returned home, the darkness seemed to swallow the house whole, amplifying my unease. It felt like the shadows were hiding secrets, and the absence of my father only heightened my anxiety. I needed answers—answers about the disturbing events I had witnessed earlier and my father's inexplicable actions. I was uncertain if he was merely flaunting his power or if there was something deeper at play. The way he seemed to misconstrue my feelings for Felix was unsettling.

I ventured downstairs, the dim, flickering light from the hallway offering little reassurance. The house was eerily silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath my steps. The faint, pervasive odor of alcohol guided me toward my father's room, where a dim light seeped from under the door. As I approached, the smell of whiskey became overpowering, thick and almost suffocating.

I opened the door cautiously, and the scene that greeted me was one of chaotic disarray. My father's room was a mess; his shirt was open, and he was slouched against the wall, staring blankly as if lost in his thoughts. The strong smell of alcohol clung to the air, and his unsteady posture suggested he was far from sober.

"Dad?" I called out softly, my voice trembling. "What's going on? What are you doing?"

At the sound of my voice, he turned slowly, his eyes unfocused and glassy. There was something unsettling in his gaze—something that made my skin crawl. His expression shifted abruptly from confusion to a strange intensity as he noticed me.

Before I could process what was happening, he moved suddenly. With a forceful motion, he hurled a bottle of whiskey, which shattered on the floor, the liquid spreading out in a dark pool. He stumbled toward me, and I barely had time to react before he was on top of me, his weight pinning me to the bed. His strength was overwhelming; he was far stronger than me, and I struggled in vain to break free.

"What are you doing?" I managed to ask, my voice strained and desperate. But he didn't answer. Instead, he buried his face in my neck, his lips pressing against my skin with a fervent desperation. His kisses were harsh, almost frantic, as if he was trying to find solace in the physical closeness.

His grip on me tightened, and he began to tear at my shirt, exposing my bare chest. The sensation of his mouth on my skin, leaving a painful hickey, was a mixture of confusion and horror. I had never seen him like this—so vulnerable and yet so aggressive.

His sadness was palpable, mingling with his erratic behavior. He slid against me, his body pressing close, and began kissing me with a troubling intensity. Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized the gravity of what was happening. He seemed to be both seeking comfort and inflicting pain, his actions betraying a deep-seated turmoil.

"I have only you, Hyunjin," he murmured, his voice barely audible. It was as if he was clutching at a fragment of his past, a remnant of my mother that he saw in me.

The situation grew more chaotic. His hands roamed my body, grabbing and biting with a mix of aggression and longing. The taste of blood in my mouth, the result of his roughness, was a jarring reminder of how far he had gone. It was only when he paused, seemingly coming to a horrifying realization, that he pulled away from me, his face a mask of shock and remorse.

I lay there, immobilized by a mix of fear and confusion, before I finally found the strength to flee the room. My heart pounded in my chest, my mind racing to make sense of the trauma I had just endured. I needed to talk to him, to understand what had led to this moment, but he was in no state to discuss anything.

Outside, I slumped onto the stairs, the cold night air a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere inside. One of my father's guards approached, his demeanor sympathetic as he offered me a cigarette. I accepted it, the act of smoking a rare indulgence that seemed to offer a moment of solace.