Between Jealousy and Desire 1
Kim Seojin came home alone, pulled the blanket over his head, and lay on the bed.
I should… study…
The compulsion toward studying was too frightening even to call a habit. A hollow laugh escaped him at the absurdity of thinking about studying even in a situation like this.
How desperately had he wanted to avoid disappointing his mother? Lacking the courage to risk being hated, he had driven himself this far on fear and terror as fuel. And this was the result.
Seojin clutched his phone as if it were a lifeline, waiting endlessly for any word from his mother.
“…”
Exhaustion from running around all day pulled him under; he dozed off and woke again, yet the phone remained silent. Even under the blanket he could tell night’s curtain had fallen over the world—so much time had passed.
Through the bone-chilling stillness of the house came the click of the front door opening.
“Oh—Mom.”
Sprawled under the covers, Seojin jerked upright like a robot whose power switch had been flipped, trembling with dread. He had to go meet her. The single thought that he must see his mother right now forced him to crawl out of the blanket.
Cold sweat beaded on his chilled skin. His limbs shook as if seized by convulsions; every step threatened to shatter his mind.
“Haa… haa… haa…”
His ragged breathing grated on his own ears. No matter how much air he dragged in, he felt starved of oxygen, dizzy. Even in the dark he could see his hand trembling violently on the doorknob, yet he clenched his teeth and stepped out of the room.
“W-welcome home…?”
His voice quavered so badly it was pathetic, but it was the best he could manage. Even that greeting, thick with fear and terror, met only silence. A single second stretched into eternity; he wanted to sink to the floor and cry like a child, yet he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, using the pain to kill every other emotion.
“…”
In the light of the entryway he saw his mother kick off her high heels with an irritated flick of her hand. Her once-immaculate outfit was rumpled; the stockings she had worn that morning were gone—bare legs now.
Gulp…
He swallowed dry spit. Was it tension from fear? Or longing for that ripe female body? The son deliberately turned away from his own confused heart and watched his mother from the shadows.
She discarded the high heel with its broken heel as if flinging it away, then stepped slowly into the house with her head bowed. The dark, unlit interior would normally have drawn an immediate scolding, yet she approached in silence with slow, heavy steps.
“…”
She brushed past him and stopped dead behind his back.
“Did you eat dinner?”
Her quiet words. The hoarse voice, as if she had been crying for a long time, clawed at her son’s chest.
“Y-yeah…”
He had not touched a drop of water all day, yet he lied to spare her even one more worry.
“I see.”
The flat affirmation carried a note close to indifference. No matter how hard things became, his mother had never once withdrawn her attention from him. She always checked that day’s study progress, his level, his health—everything—before dealing with the piled-up housework or herself. Now it was the opposite. The air around her said she was so overwhelmed by the horror that had befallen her that she had no strength left for anything else. He nearly burst into tears.
“Mom’s tired. I’m going to bed first.”
Even though it was far too early for her usual bedtime, she went into her room. Lacking the courage to stop her, the son could only glance sidelong as she receded. Just as the subway doors had closed and stolen her from him earlier, her bedroom door shut firmly once more.
He bit his lip hard to hold back the sob that tried to escape, fled back to his own room, and collapsed in front of the door.
“Haa! Haa! Haa!”
An enormous wave of exhaustion crashed over him as if he had sprinted full-out; he could not catch his breath. How long did he sit there gasping?
Then came the sound of his mother’s door opening, followed by the rush of the shower. She always shut the faucet tightly while washing her hair, saying water was precious—yet tonight the water never stopped once. And for a long time she did not leave the bathroom.
Ding.
Sitting blankly with the sound of his mother washing as background noise, Seojin checked his phone at the message alert.
“Jung… Taeyoung…”
A message from the beast who had violated his mother. The body that had been drowning in exhaustion flared back to life, fueled by rage.
The crude description, like a review of a meal he had just finished devouring, left Seojin’s mind blank.
What the fuck did this bastard just say?
The low, filthy words that treated his mother like a cheap whore sent heat surging to the top of his skull. His finger was already moving toward the call button to spew curses when another message arrived.
The “promised goods” Jung Taeyoung mentioned were two videos. Even without opening them, Seojin already knew exactly what they contained. Among the terms of their deal was the condition that everything related to his mother would be reported to him. Even if it was only a smokescreen or a mockery of his own foolishness, he had to check. It was the single remaining thread that could tell him what had happened to his mother all day.
“…”
The boiling scarlet rage slowly turned into thick, sticky black lust. He had been trying to ignore the thin yet inescapable fog of sexual desire that was beginning to eat through his whole body when he suddenly realized the house had gone quiet. His mother had clearly finished washing and returned to her room. The mother who had been thoroughly violated by that beast all day would never come into his room—yet just in case, he locked his door firmly.
Without turning on the light, pretending to be asleep, Seojin sat at the computer and moved the two videos he had received into a secret folder.
“Hoo… hoo… hooooo…”
Telling himself this was not desire but confirmation of his own sin, he put on headphones so no sound would leak out. Forcing his unmoving hand to act, he played one of the videos. The scenery of a subway car filled the screen.
“Ah…”
Footage of his foolish self and his mother. Then the beast approached slowly and began to violate her. Watching his mother twist her body so she would not be discovered, struggling, made his chest ache with pity. What followed after he got off the train set his brain on fire with dizzying excitement and unbearable guilt all at once.
“…”
The woman pressed against the subway door, limbs trembling like an insect, did not look like the mother he had known his entire life. He could not believe that the sharp, strong woman he knew could collapse just from being skewered by a cock. Yet at the same time his own cock was so hard it hurt, and the precum soaking his pants made him feel filthy.
Mom is just a woman after all… No. No. That can’t be… It can’t…
Seeing his mother’s shameful figure dripping love juices from her lower lips, Seojin felt a dizzying sense of taboo, deep regret, and a tiny thread of disappointment. But there was one thing he did not know: the video was an edited version. Jung Taeyoung had deliberately cut one part—the moment he applied the aphrodisiac gel to Kim Soeun. The foolish son, unaware that his mother had been forced to break by the drug, fell into a terrible misunderstanding.
“N-next… Yeah. Let’s watch the next video. That was on the subway, so Mom couldn’t resist.”
He felt his faith in his mother wavering, yet he hurriedly played the second video.
“Why is this one so long?”
Seojin first recoiled at the nearly four-hour runtime. Inside a room whose interior screamed cheap love motel sat a single shabby bed. He recognized the place at once. It was the room from the photo Jung Taeyoung had tossed him like a favor while Seojin was desperately searching for his mother.
“Ha… haa… haa… haa…”
Knowing what had happened in that room, Seojin’s breathing grew steadily rougher. How long did the boring footage of an empty bed continue? Then came a loud crash of something colliding and a sharp woman’s voice that sounded like an argument.
“Sh-she’s here…”
Already knowing who the visitors were, Seojin felt twisted anticipation and chest-crushing guilt flood him together.
“Damn, you’ve still got energy.”
“Ugh… uh…! Th-this… let gooo…!”
Jung Taeyoung’s voice—now unforgettable even in dreams—opened the scene, followed by his mother’s voice thick with strain. Only the rough noise of a physical struggle continued.
“Ah, seriously. After cumming that many times you’re still this strong? Most women couldn’t even stand properly. You work out or something?”
Taeyoung’s tone dripped with clear annoyance at her fierce resistance.
“W-wait… wh-what…? Ghk?!”
“Mom?!”
Her startled voice cut off into a choked moan as if someone had seized her throat; every sound vanished at once. Seojin burned with the urge to turn the camera angle back, but there was nothing he could do.