Don't Touch Me
Fuck.... what a goddamn mess this had turned into.
Someday, when he finally crossed paths with Choi Jian again, he had wanted to gather her gently into his arms. If it came to that, he had wanted to get down on his knees and apologize in his sister's stead — assuming, of course, that she had escaped the nightmare of her school days and gone on to live something like a normal life.
But that life had never been hers to live. Fingers snapped under a piano lid, cigarette ash tipped into her mouth, and — God only knew how she'd managed it — a tattoo inked across her breast. What kind of high school girl ends up in hell like that? His hope that she might claw her way past the wounds into an ordinary existence had been nothing but selfishness on his part.
Haah.... Lee Wonyoung.... you insane fucking bitch....
Blood sister or not, this was beyond forgiveness. He had genuinely had no idea she was capable of tormenting another human being this viciously, this relentlessly. It went far past the bounds of bullying — it was closer to murder, the slow killing of a person's identity and soul.
And yet one question nagged at him. Why me, of all people? He thought it over, and the answer pointed straight back at that lunatic of a sister. Shamelessly pawing at a little brother four years her junior in front of the whole school, cooing about how he was her treasure, her precious thing — Jian must have taken one look at that and concluded Wonyoung had a full-blown brother complex.
Right.... it's come to this, so I'll stand in for Wonyoung. Time to man up, Lee Seongjun.
He knew better than anyone how dearly that sister of his treasured him. It had always been tiresome, suffocating even — and now that shitty little fact had come whistling back at him like a boomerang. The poor woman must have snatched him up believing he was his sister's most prized possession. After all, trampling what your enemy cherishes most is more than a thrilling revenge — it's the sweetest kind there is.
He had only just sealed that vow in his heart when, with a heavy metallic clunk, the barred door ground open with a screech of metal on metal — rigged, it seemed, to some kind of electronic signal.
"Sleep well, Seongjun? The daily program starts today, you know."
Today she'd gone for something simple: a tracksuit. Except — why, of all things, did the white tee under the track jacket have to be a V-neck? With that much cleavage on open display, his eyes never stood a chance.
"Oh my? And where exactly are you looking, Seongjun...? Already dying to get a taste of this noona?"
Ah.... noona's changed. The girl he remembered kept her head bowed everywhere she went — and now filth poured out of her mouth without a flicker of hesitation. And yet something seemed off. She was carrying something that didn't suit her hand at all.
"Oh, this? It's an aluminum bat. The day I announced I was quitting school, your bitch of a sister beat me with it."
You fucking bitch. Beating a person with a baseball bat. And this frail little woman — chest aside, anyway — had swung a weapon like that? On another girl, no less?
Without once considering the real reason Jian had brought the bat along, Seongjun trembled with fury on his own blood sister's behalf.
"Don't you worry, Seongjun. I'm not going to kill you."
Which meant she'd probably beat him half to death with that aluminum bat instead. Strangely, though, what struck home wasn't the thought of the thrashing to come, but the pain she must have endured back in her school days. She'd kidnapped him — her tormentor's treasure — to hand every ounce of that pain back in full. And yet, oddly enough, it was pity that ruled his mind, not fear.
"From here on out, it's going to be assault and violation, over and over. The assault, I'll return to you exactly as I received it...."
She came toward him with the bat hanging low, dragging it along the floor, and every ringing clang of metal on concrete cinched his heart a little tighter.
"And after that, I'm going to devour you, nice and slow. Of course, that part's just a bonus — payment for everything I was put through."
Jian closed the distance and stroked his cheek with one hand. He couldn't speak past the gag, but the furious gleam in his eyes just above it said everything his mouth couldn't.
"Scared? Feeling anxious? I'm sorry, but devouring you is a step I absolutely have to take. It's the only way to make Wonyoung lose her mind."
Slumped in his restraints, Seongjun held her gaze to the very end and mumbled something through the gag.
Thank you.
At her promise to eat him alive, sincere gratitude welled up inside him. And how exactly were you planning to devour me? — he wanted to ask, in all seriousness. His heart pounded; something in his chest fluttered. He'd gone without food for over a full day, yet he felt no hunger at all. All he felt was thankful.
"What? What are you mumbling about....oh, right! Sorry, Seongjun — you've had that gag in this whole time, haven't you?"
Setting the bat down, she began working the gag loose from his mouth. And now what? His voice would be his again in seconds — should he scream for his life, or greet her like an old friend? In the heartbeat it took her to unbuckle it, ten thousand thoughts collided in his head.
Are you insane? A friendly hello?
He was the one who'd been kidnapped. She had to torture him — and for that, she needed to be burning with hatred first. If he greeted her warmly, cooing about how much he'd missed her, or apologizing on his sister's behalf and begging to be abused at her leisure, the whole thing would collapse into absurdity. For her plan to work, he had to be a thoroughbred son of a bitch. A human garbage heap to rival his own flesh and blood, Lee Wonyoung.
The moment that resolution locked into place, the gag slipped free — and in the same breath, the pity clouding Seongjun's eyes curdled into something vicious.
"Hey. You fucking bitch...."
He rolled every syllable out as raw and filthy as he could manage. Sure enough, a thick river of profanity came growling up his throat — so convincing that he sounded less like a medical student than a thug on a contract.
"Untie this while I'm still asking nicely, you fucked-up loser of a bitch. What the hell even is this? Fuck!"
"Ahahaha~ What's this? And here I thought you were sweet. Our Seongjun's got a filthy mouth on him, huh?"
It's working. He could not afford to be the good guy here. He had to become a vicious little psycho to match Wonyoung, that crazy fucking bitch. Only then could Jian noona finally spit out everything that had been rotting inside her all these years.
"Listen here, you fucking in-heat bitch — cut the dog-shit noise and untie me right now. Do that, and I'll let all of this slide. Quietly."
Forgive the filthy mouth, noona. But this is the only way you'll get to beat me to your heart's content. Don't waste a single shred of guilt on me. I'm apologizing in my sister's place — so trample me. Trample me all you want.
Their reunion after ten years had turned out rather violent, but even so, he was glad — genuinely glad just to see her again, even like this. All that remained was to beg forgiveness in his blood sister's stead. With this strong, healthy body of his.
"Are you deaf? Where the hell is this place? Untie me. Now!"
"That's not going to happen, Seongjun. This is a castle built for you and me alone. You've only just passed through the gates — what's with the tantrum already?"
"What? Drop the crazy, fucked-up act and untie me before I—"
It happened in a flash. Wham! Seongjun's head snapped sideways with the blow, and a thin trickle of blood crept down the bridge of his nose. His scalp must have split.
Th...this noona.... she really means it....
Well, of course she did. Anyone who hired goons to abduct a grown man and prepared a place like this to hold him wasn't playing games. Even so, he hadn't imagined she'd crack him across the skull with an aluminum bat.
"Bear with it, Seongjun. Your sister bitch swung at me just like this, back then."
"What?!"
And with those words, the bat-savaging began. Call it a mercy — the head she'd already split never took a second blow. But the bat's arc as it whistled through the air — whooong, whooong — was merciless all the same.
Wham! Wham! Whamwhamwham!
Shoulders, arms, abdomen, thighs, calves. Bound as he was, the blows rained down everywhere without discrimination. When the bat caught his shinbone, it even rang out with a bright, chiming clang. She hammered away at him like a woman possessed, yet whenever she heard that faint metallic crack of something giving way, she'd display a chilling thoroughness — pausing to check whether a bone had actually snapped.
"Haah...haah... there's something about this, Seongjun. It's thrilling and it drains the stress right out of me. Haah.... so this is what it's all about, huh?"
Panting after the marathon of abuse, she wondered aloud whether this was why people became bullies. Every inch of his body throbbed and burned — and yet, strangely, Seongjun felt something almost refreshing stirring in him too. But he'd made up his mind, and he had no intention of doing this half-assed.
"Kgh.... you crazy.... hit me, you dog of a bitch... hit me harder, hit me more.... kgh!"
Honestly, another round and something was bound to break. But his treacherous mouth was long past caring, drunk on its own swagger, and Seongjun bellowed at the top of his lungs like a man riding a bed of blades.
"You and my sister are exactly the same, fuck.... so quit cosplaying as the victim. Drop the act, you rotten bitch!"
Just as he'd noticed back in middle school ten years ago, her expression was maddeningly hard to read. She seemed to be gazing at something with sorrow; the crease between her brows seemed to deepen, just barely. Choi Jian's face wore the same strange, unplaceable look it had back in those days.
"Haah... you're so sexy, Lee Seongjun."
"Wh...what did you just say?"
Thankfully — if that was the word — she set the bat down and came to him slowly.
"You've really grown up so well. Kidnapping you was worth every second."
"You crazy.... d-don't touch me. Get your hands off me, you filthy whore!"
"Hold stiiiill, Seongjuuun... I'm just checking you over, seeing where you're hurt."
Jian began running her hands over every inch of him. She raised the sleeve of his tracksuit to dab the blood from his temple, then slipped her hand beneath the fabric at his chest and kneaded the iron-hard muscle of his pectorals.
"Wow.... you really can tell a Marine when you see one. Just look at these pecs."
"You dirty bitch! I told you not to touch me!"
His mouth was doing all the shouting, but her hands were cold and soft — like silk wrapped around ice, gliding over his skin. And then that soft hand began to slide down, past his waist.
"Oh? Seongjun. And what exactly would this stiff little thing be?"