Girls Like Girls | Jaehee Kang

PROLOGUE

My eyes are hazy as I look up to see the man looming over me. His hand is on my cheek, fingers in my mouth. He wants them to taste like candy, but to me, they're rough and salty. His touch is cold and stinging, like a fresh cut pressed against the snow on a cold winter night.
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"You will do as I say," I hear him say clearly. I nod. He pronounces each syllable with utmost care, the words rolling off of his tongue charmingly. Other women may find this attractive, but it only makes me shudder. This is normal for him; a control-crazy businessman. Everything has to go his way, especially when it comes to... well, me.
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His fingers escape my lips and are struck against my face once again, and through my swollen eyes, I can see him smirking. I don't know how someone could find something so humiliating like this entertaining, but Jumin definitely doesn't feel empathy for me. I can see the devil in his eyes as he meets my muddy gaze, and the language that I read from his expression is nothing short of evil. I don't have much time to examine him as he leans closer and connects his smooth lips to my chapped ones and his hand painfully paws my breast, earning a watered-down moan from me. It isn't at all out of pleasure--no, all I feel is disgust and hate. But some part of my chest flickers like a candle, as if my conscious is trying to tell me, "No, you like this. You have to like this. You don't have a choice in the matter."
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His fingernails bury into my sore flesh like knives, and his hand that was once holding my shoulder is now on my waist, moving lower at a painfully slow pace. I feel crushed under his weight. I'm a bird trapped in a cage, wings torn and plucked from my helpless body. His mouth tastes like poison and I silently pray that it kills me, but it's not fast-acting. It seems as though my body has become immune. It's not like I've taken a medicine to fight it, but my body is ready to fight it off. I haven't given up just yet, although mentally, it certainly feels like it.
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As his hands explore me relentlessly, and I respond in cue with what he wants, knowing that otherwise I'll be punished. That's why my cheeks are red, and why my eyes are swollen almost shut: I haven't moaned loud enough or held him close enough, and he's reminded me one too many times, yet I haven't learned. I just. Can't. Do. It. Right. I know I'm not good enough yet I'm not allowed to cry, and even when a tear rolls down my cheek, he yells at me to hold it in. And I have to do as he says.
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That's how this works.
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That's how this always works.
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That's how it has to work.
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And I don't have a damn choice. As he violates me without guilt or a bad thought in his head, all I can do is obey and lay limp for him, like a human doll. I close my eyes and try to convince myself that this is just all a nightmare and one of these pain-filled nights I'll wake up from it and shake it off as if it were just a prick on the skin.
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I wish it were that simple.
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What seems like hours pass and he's finally tired, crawling off of me and spritzing his hands with sanitizer as if he's just finished some sort of dirty job. I sniff back tears and roll onto my side so that I don't have to watch him pull back on his suit and tie and act as if nothing happened. The entire workplace must've heard me--Jumin makes sure of that. It makes him feel dominant and in charge in some sort of fucked up way. I don't understand at all, but am I supposed to? Do I want to try? Not really. Not in the slightest.
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He leaves the room without another word, and when I hear the door click shut, I curl myself up into a pathetic little ball and ironically bawl my eyes out. The tears don't want to escape due to the swelling, but they have nowhere else to go aside from my cheeks and onto the stiff carpet of the floor I'm sprawled out on. Jumin doesn't necessarily care where and when he gets his work done; wherever he feels like it is where it happens. And if I'm stuck in the same room with him, something gross and dirty is bound to happen. I'm surprised that I haven't broken something just yet (Jumin tends to be very violent) but I know that he won't let me get too hurt aside from some bruises and scars--from no one else but Yours Truly, of course.
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This is how it goes--every single day.
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And damn right I'm tired of it.
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If only I could do something.
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I can't do something.