The Breakup Between You and Me - Episode 4

Episode 4

This time, the smoke swirled right in front of my face, not the sky. He was getting closer. My fingers clutching the bag tightened until they turned white.

I coughed as the smoke wafted in front of me once more, but he made no effort to put out his cigarette. I sidestepped to avoid him, but he closed the gap once more.

In the end, I couldn’t resist but look at him.

“…….”

Gazing into those emotionless eyes was undeniably challenging. Well, I knew it, no, I remembered it. I hadn’t forgotten this man. Strangely, it brought back the memory of the envelope full of money hidden deep in my drawer.

How would you have looked at me if I’d come looking for you? Would your eyes have been as cold as stone? Or would they have burned with anger?

“Do you do everything for money?”

I pondered for a moment, but his direct question snapped me back to reality.

“…….”

“So, you pay me to have sex with you?”

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

He snarled, spitting out cigarette smoke. I knew he had changed, but it’s challenging to confront someone who has transformed. I bit my lip, as if blaming myself for his transformation. 

I watched him as he crushed the cigarette under his foot, as if I had turned into that discarded cigarette, becoming smaller and smaller, just like a worthless piece of trash.  

“You’ve been going on and on about how much you used to enjoy when I touch you, so don’t pretend to be so innocent now,” he retorted.

My heart sinks. It’s not anger, but it’s painful. He leans in close, our arms almost touching, and whispers in my ear.  

“I’ll give you ten nights to live.”

“…….”

“What do you think?” he sneered, and I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to bear his knowing gaze, as if he had figured out that I had been paid to keep an eye on him.

He was so close that I could smell the mingling scents of his cigarettes and that familiar fragrance I had missed so much. There were moments when I had hugged him tightly to my chest, savoring that scent, rubbing my nose against him.

His eyes bore into me, piercing and intense.    

“Don’t be ridiculous; there are things more precious than money,” he laughed disdainfully, and his hands clenched around my cardigan. His laughter was a mocking sneer.

“You know what’s funny about you saying that? It’s absurd. What could possibly be more important than money? Do you realize how many people would trade their lives for a few thousand dollars?”

My face turned pale. It felt as if my blood was surging in the wrong direction, and my heart ached.

“Do you really believe that money is everything?” Her voice quivered.

“Yeah, it’s all said and done,” he declared confidently, and I raised my head to meet his gaze. I was wary of what his upturned lips might reveal, and his cold, piercing eyes were like ice.

Just then, my cell phone rang from my pocket.

“Uh, Miho,” I mumbled.

I answered the phone and walked away, my steps feeling heavy as if I were trudging through sand, but I couldn’t stop. I sensed his intense gaze on me, but I didn’t turn around. Instead, I got into Miho’s car, and it felt like my back was burning.

“Have you been drinking?” Miho asked.

“No,” I replied, fastening my seatbelt while she glared at me.

“Why?” Miho inquired.

“Did something happen?” she pressed further.

“No. Nothing,” I replied, my voice tinged with unease.

The corners of my mouth quivered as I forced them into a semblance of a smile.

“……You look like you’re going to cry,” Miho observed.

“I’m, uh, not feeling well,” I replied, trying to dismiss the subject.

Miho started the car without further comment, and when I glanced in the side mirror, pretending to look out the window, I saw him lighting a cigarette.

Something was bothering me deeply, perhaps not in my eyes but in my heart. It ached. I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes.

I should have been composed, but my thoughts were in disarray because of his persistent presence and unwanted advances. It was hard to believe he was making such a preposterous proposal, especially when it was apparent that he despised me.

My head was spinning, feeling as if it were full and about to burst. I couldn’t pinpoint why I was feeling so melancholic. Miho seemed to pick up on my mood as she remained silent.

I opened my eyes and recognized the familiar neighborhood.

“Miho,” I began.

“Hmm?” Miho responded.

I struggled to speak as I observed Miho Park.

“I’m moving out this weekend,” I said.

“What?” Miho was clearly surprised.

“I’ve found a new place.”

Miho’s jaw twitched with apparent unease.

“There’s another option nearby, like a high school or something,” I added.

“I don’t want to be indebted to you anymore,” I admitted.

“Then I’ll lend you the money,” Miho offered.

Her kind-heartedness touched me, and I wondered if my own heart would ever soften like that. Shaking my head slowly, I couldn’t help but wonder.

“You’re saving money to go abroad. Why would you lend it to me when you’re working without sleep?” I questioned.

“You’ll pay it back,” Miho insisted.

“It’s okay,” I replied, feeling hesitant about accepting money that I didn’t know when I’d be able to repay. I understood how hard Miho worked to earn her money.

“I’ll come over more often instead,” I suggested, rubbing my face against Miho’s arm.

“I told you being cute doesn’t work on me. I hate you so much!” Miho playfully scolded me, giving me a friendly smack on the back of the head and tousling my hair like a sister. This time, a faint smile graced the corners of my mouth.

* * * * * *

On the weekend, I visited Gosuwon. In the evening, I bought some meat and talked to Miho, who seemed upset. I apologized for not being able to help more and offered a comforting pat on her shoulder as she shared her feelings.

After finishing work, I rested my head against the bus window and closed my eyes during the journey to the hospital where my father was being treated. The atmosphere felt heavy, as though rain could fall at any moment. Upon disembarking from the bus, I walked a short distance to reach the hospital. I strolled leisurely, admiring the old trees lining the path. The sky appeared ready to release a downpour at any time, so I hastened my steps and soon arrived at the hospital.

“Dad.”

“Wow, what’s up?”

He greeted me with a broad smile, extending his hand. I approached my father, even though my right cheek muscles were trembling.

“Did you eat well?”

“Yeah.”

I squeezed his hand and nuzzled my cheek against the back of it. He reciprocated with a firm grip.

“You don’t seem very strong today, Dad.”

“No, I’m strong.”

Dad, as if in an arm-wrestling match, flips my arm over, and I gently stroke his cheek as he puts on a forced smile. Then I notice a splash of kimchi soup on his scrubs.

“Let’s get you changed,” I suggest.

“I’m fine,” he responds.

Before he got sick, Dad was quite different. He was a neat freak and wouldn’t tolerate a single wrinkle in his clothes. I clamped my mouth shut in frustration and changed his patient’s clothes.

Suddenly, Dad squeezes my hand.

“Why? Do you have something to say?” I ask, sitting on the cot and smoothing his hair.

“You’ve been through a lot because of me.”

Tears streamed down my face as I shook my head and pressed my lips to my father’s hand.

“Don’t say that, Dad,” I sobbed.

“I love you, my daughter,” he whispered.

“Yeah… I love you too. I love you,” I choked out, my heart heavy with emotion.

It’s understandable that my father may have experienced feelings of depression and difficulty accepting his situation after his collapse. Adjusting to a new reality, especially one that involves significant health challenges, can be a challenging and emotional process. It’s important to offer support and understanding during this time.

It’s natural to feel a mix of emotions when leaving a loved one in the hospital, especially when they are going through a difficult time. Your concern and care for your father are evident. It’s essential to stay positive and provide support during these challenging moments.

The hospital lobby was filled with the sound of raindrops drumming on the roof, providing a soothing backdrop for your racing thoughts. The vibration from my phone in my pocket added to the tension in the air. I took a moment to compose myself, then pulled out my phone to see the caller’s name displayed as “Mom.” With a deep breath, I answered the call.

“Hello, Mom,” I said, my voice quivering slightly from the mix of emotions I am feeling.

On the other end of the line, my mother’s voice came through, filled with concern and warmth. She inquired about my visit to the hospital, my dad’s condition, and how I was holding up. The conversation with my mother provided a brief respite from the storm of emotions inside me, and I shared updates about my dad’s progress and how he were coping.

I took a deep breath, weighing my options. On one hand, I needed financial assistance for my dad’s hospital bill, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to burden my mother with my problems. I decided to be direct and honest.

“Mom, I do need some financial help,” I admitted, my voice wavering. “Dad is in the hospital, and the bills are piling up. I’m struggling to manage everything on my own.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line as my mother processed the information. I could hear her sigh.

“I’ll send you what I can,” she finally said, her voice a mix of concern and resignation. “But please, Se yeon, you should have called earlier. We’re still family, and I am here for you.”

I felt a mixture of relief and guilt. Despite the challenges, it seemed that my mother was willing to help in my time of need.

I am taken aback by my mother’s response. She was clearly upset and didn’t seem to understand the depth of my feelings for my father. I tried to explain, my voice tinged with frustration and sadness.

“Mom, it’s not about blood. It’s about the fact that he raised me and was there for me when I needed him. I can’t just abandon him when he’s in the hospital, no matter what our past was like. I need to be there for him as a daughter should.”

My mother’s response was still filled with frustration and disappointment, but there was a hint of resignation in her voice. “Fine, I’ll send you some money, but don’t expect this to become a regular thing. And don’t forget your obligations to us.”

I knew it wouldn’t be easy to bridge the gap between me and my mother, but for now, my focus was on my father and his recovery.

– Why don’t you treat me like that? If someone spotted me, they might mistake me for your mother. Although he’s financially struggling at the moment, it appears you’ve overlooked who enabled our comfortable living and meals.

– Ultimately, she realized she didn’t need a financially struggling father. It tugged at my heart to see how closely she resembled me.

– “I’m completely out of funds, so please end the call.”

– I disconnected the phone and hastily stowed it in my pocket. The night had fallen, and I hoped the pouring rain would cleanse away all my concerns.   

* * * * * * * *

Oddly, negative premonitions are rarely inaccurate. They are unsettlingly and uncannily accurate. I occupied the chair in front of the intensive care unit, hiding my face in my hands.

No tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t bear to let him slip away like this. My hands quivered as I reached for my cellphone. I located his number in the missed call list.

With a heavy heart, I pressed the call button. I had sworn to never, ever entangle myself with him, and yet, I couldn’t believe I was the one making the call. A long, profound sigh escaped my lips.

-His shoulders twitched in response to the quiet voice.

“…It’s me.”

A moment of heavy silence hung over us.

-Why.

My palms were drenched in sweat as he inquired coldly about my reason for calling. I nervously wiped my hands on my pants.

“I need to speak with you,” I finally managed to say.

My dad had mentioned an urgent need for surgery, but there had to be more to it than just that. The medical bills that followed the surgery were shockingly high.

I didn’t have that kind of money, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. His trembling voice echoed in my mind, his repeated apologies, and his plea for me to be his daughter in the next life.

-Please come home.

My tense shoulders eased slightly. I felt a sense of relief. Perhaps I could ask for a favor.

-I’ll text you the address.

“Yes,” I replied.

He remained silent, and I found myself gazing at the inactive phone for an extended period. I was acutely aware that unhappiness awaited me. I climbed into a taxi, a rare sight, and headed towards the location he had sent in the text. As I sat in the taxi, I stared out of the window, unable to discern the swiftly vanishing landscape.

I was fully aware that this was going to be painful. After rejecting his advances for ten consecutive nights, I did so because I didn’t want him to encounter someone like me, dirty and disheveled.

I had an aversion to our bodies making any contact, even the slightest. Although our entwined hands quivered, I feigned ignorance. I no longer wanted him to be associated with me in any way.

Initially, I wished for him to move on with his life, but then I contemplated it. I already had a reputation for being unpleasant. What harm would a small dose of affection do? Yes, let’s embrace this side of me.

So, I made up my mind to hold his hand. In fact, I longed to be beside him so profoundly. I was well aware that I was being selfish. I understand I was putting my dad in a difficult position, but the reality is…

Maybe I simply yearned to see him, to feel his presence, to touch him, even if it was just for a moment.

I reached his doorstep and found myself standing there, frozen like a man with feet trapped in the earth, unable to take that final step inside. I concealed my disappointment and rang the bell, wearing a stoic expression.

Almost as if anticipating my arrival, the door swung open. The black iron gate groaned as it reluctantly yielded, mirroring the demeanor of its owner.

“I’ll never, ever regret this. It’s my decision,” I reminded myself, and entered his home. His garden lay deserted. Every plant appeared lifeless, and an eerie silence enveloped the expansive garden.

I shook my head, vividly recalling his emotionless gaze. Suddenly, I halted in my tracks, realizing that his emotions had left an indelible mark on me as well. In the midst of a step, I pivoted and took a slow survey of the garden.

Imagining a beautiful garden with flowers in one area and trees at the far end, I was abruptly reminded that he was awaiting my arrival, so I hastened up the stairs.

Upon passing through two more doors, I entered the house. There he was, still in his suit, sitting on the couch, utterly unruffled.

I approached him, my gaze fixed on the tie around his neck, a detail I used to despise as it made me feel confined. Now, I regarded it as an integral part of him.

“You mentioned that you wanted to talk to me. Please, go ahead,” he urged.

Annoyance laced his words, and I clenched my fists tightly, sensing rejection even before I could speak. My mouth felt as parched as a silenced well.

“I understand,” I replied, my voice faint, “I’m busy.”

He responded, leisurely unwinding the metal watch on his left wrist, exuding a sense of languor. I swallowed hard, my practiced words escaping me in the moment of truth. His icy stare lingered briefly on my necklace, then shifted downward.

“That conversation we had,” I managed to say, my voice shaky.

I couldn’t lift a finger as he gradually raised his head to lock eyes with me. It was intimidating, an aspect of him I had never encountered before.

“Is it still relevant?”

I couldn’t help but wonder why I had expected any reaction from him at all. We were discussing those ten nights, yet his countenance remained unyielding, as if he hadn’t registered a word.

My own impatience gnawed at me, and the prospect of his potential rejection made my mouth burn.

“Well, why?” I inquired, unable to say more.

I simply stood there, wordlessly observing as he crossed his lengthy legs and settled deeper into the couch. There was nothing more I could do.

“You were the one who said no.”

“…I wish it were still applicable.”

A blend of despair and shame, emotions I had never experienced before, tore at my heart.

“Hmm,” he responded.

His fingers drummed the couch with a quickening pace, the sound intensifying the rapid beat of my heart.

“I don’t want to give it to you just because you appear so desperate,” he remarked.

“Please…” I implored, unable to quell my anxiety, and took a step closer.

“You’re not the only woman I’d share my body with,” he added, a sardonic twist to his lips.

“I’ll do anything, absolutely anything. What do I need to do? How can I persuade you to allow me?” I pleaded.

I had never wanted to cry in his presence, but my eyes welled up, and I bit my lip. I had believed that stifling my tears was the best course of action, but it turned out not to be. My cheeks quivered, as if I had a malfunctioning facial muscle.

He reclined on the couch, his gaze locked on me, and then he ran his fingertips over his lips, as though contemplating something.

“Hmmm. Should I assist you or not?” he mused.

like a child trying to see a fortune by pulling apart flower petals. I pretend to be troubled. I realized he wasn’t troubled at all.

A teardrop, which had gathered in my eye, trickled down my cheek as I realized it was likely because, as he had indicated, there were many other women besides him. I swiftly turned to wipe the tears away, not wanting him to witness my vulnerability.

“How absurd it is that you’ve come to me now, clinging to me as if I require you,” I muttered, but my voice trembled, growing increasingly faint.

“Please,” I whispered, wiping away the tears, and then I turned away. I gazed into his moist eyes, and he merely returned my gaze, seemingly unmoved.

“I need money, I need money.”

“I understand.”

Silence filled the room.

“That’s the reason you’ve come here,” I remarked with a smugness, pretending as if I had it all figured out.

“Isn’t money the greatest thing since sliced bread?”

Silence hung in the air.

“Come on, you’re supposed to express some sincerity,” I pressed.

I swallowed hard, my throat feeling raw as if it might tear.

“…Ten nights, and you’ll be…”

I was at a loss for words.

“You’re wondering if I’ll just linger here indefinitely,” I responded.

Silence persisted.

“But when I reflect on it, I realize I’m in a somewhat disadvantaged position. There are numerous other women out there who aren’t you.”

I took a step closer, standing well within reach, and nervously observed his countenance.

“Why should I engage with someone like you? Doesn’t that seem like a loss on my part? Isn’t it unfair?”

The phrase “like you” sent a shiver down my spine, draining the blood from my body. But what if I didn’t reach out, whether it was his hand or mine?

“You claimed you’d do anything, so why are you just standing here?” he questioned.

A subtle smirk formed at one corner of his mouth, and his eyes widened, leaving him unsure of how to respond. He nonchalantly discarded his shirt onto the floor and shook his head, specifically indicating the front of his pants.

Her eyes darted around nervously.  

“S*ck it up and stand it up, or better yet, take off your panties.”

Her face paled, and her shoulders trembled.  

“You’re here to sign a contract with your p*ssy, so why are you acting so ashamed?”

“…….”

“Wouldn’t it make me feel better if you spread your p*ssy wide open and shook it? Show me you’re serious and I’ll decide whether to accept you or not.” he stated

In a state of dilemma, I remained standing, unable to shut my eyes. Closing them would only result in tears spilling forth, and if I were to open my mouth, it would reveal the sobs trapped within. 

“Come here.”

With this ultimatum, he shifted his feet, signaling that he wouldn’t wait much longer.

“You know what? I’ve had my c*ck in your p*ssy before, and it made me c*m.”

My face turned a deep shade of red. I gradually realized that he was saying these hurtful things with deliberate intent, trying to elicit a negative reaction from me.

It became clear that he wanted to make me suffer just as much as he wanted me to suffer. In the past, I might have been able to discern the pain in his expression, but this time, he seemed entirely oblivious to his anguish.  

Trembling, I let go of the bag I had been clutching and began to slowly remove my pants in front of him. His expression remained cold and devoid of amusement.

He shifted his head at an angle to inspect my bare legs. My throat felt parched as I met his gaze. I was on the verge of hooking my fingers into my panties to remove them when he intervened.

“Forget it. Don’t take them off,” he said.

He seized my wrist and drew me closer.

“Today, we’re examining your commitment. You don’t need to remove them,” he declared.

I stood there staring at his face, not knowing what to say. His big hands, my favorite part of him, suddenly slid up my inner thighs. I was startled and tried to pull back, but his eyes, so deep they were almost blue, froze me in place.

“Spread your legs.”    

Slowly, I moved one of my legs, and a finger slipped through my panties.    

“Aaahhhh!”

I clutched his shoulders tightly, my entire body blushing with embarrassment.

“Relax,” he advised.

He pulled back, and another finger was added. My v*g*nal walls fought to push it away after so many years of invasion. But the two fingers didn’t stop, probing more and more painfully inside.  

Unlike me, whose breathing had become ragged, his didn’t even change. His face was so impassive that I couldn’t imagine what he was doing. The fingers swirling inside my v*g*na picked up speed.    

I clamped my mouth shut, attempting to stifle any noise, but an inadvertent moan slipped out. His broad and lengthy fingers expanded wide from inside.

Fear washed over me as I realized that I didn’t know what he was doing, as if he was trying to widen my opening.  My mouth opened of its own accord.    

“Ha…ahh,” I gasped, my eyes welling up with shame. I blinked rapidly, forcing my eyes open. My legs grew weaker, and my lower abdomen tingled with a subtle sensation. As the shame gradually receded, I found myself opening my legs further.

“……?”

He suddenly withdrew his finger.  I felt even more humiliated than I had before. I bit my lip, realizing that I’d tried to get there with just his finger.  

“It’s tight,” he remarked.

His fingers were still wet. I let go of the hand holding my shoulder and stood up straight.    

“It’s tight.”

“It’s ……?”

“I’m going all the way in this time.”

“It’s…”

“That means you can’t cry about it hurting, you can’t beg, and I won’t look the other way.”

I couldn’t utter the words. My throat felt like it was being torn apart. 

“So spread it out.”

“……That’s… What…….”

“It’s your job.”    

“Keep it wide open until I call you next time,”

He uttered the words coldly and then rose from his position. I stood in place, unable to move, and observed with trembling eyes as he walked away, vanishing into the kitchen.  As he disappeared into the kitchen, a trickle of juices ran down my thigh and dripped onto the floor.