I swim back to her and spin her around to face me. She looks at me, flushed, her eyes clouded, passionate. I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger and follow it down toward the strap of her bra, then pull the strap down to reveal a white breast with a perfectly hard, pink nipple in its center. I pinch and roll it between my fingers and then suck it into my mouth. My other hand cups her other breast and she moans and arches her back, pushing her taut nipple hard against my mouth. She whimpers. She wants this, and my cock pushes against the offending obstacles in its way. One of my hands frees her from her useless underwear and then pulls my cock out of my rolled-down boxers. She wraps her legs around me and groans when she feels the head of my erection nudging against her opening.
“Hang on. I need a condom.”
I can practically hear the grinding sound of our sex screeching to a halt.
And then a loud, rolling crack, that seems to have come from outside, and thick darkness falls on the entire house. I hear her bare feet pattering on the tiles, hear her swear when she bumps into one of the poolside chairs and something else I can’t make out, and then she disappears from earshot.
Fuck.
I pull up my boxers and leap out of the water. It’s freezing outside. I shiver as I fumble around, searching for my phone. I remember leaving it on one of the chairs before jumping in the pool. When I finally find it, I turn on the flashlight and go looking for her.
“Mi-Ok,” I run around the house, calling her name. She shouldn’t be hiding from me. I’ll never touch her if she doesn’t want me to, but she has to talk to me.
This place is huge. If she just finds a spot and stays there, I’ll never find her. I keep looking until I hear the howl of fierce wind and a scream, both coming from outside. I grab my coat and run toward the sound, terrified.
The tree missed her by mere inches. She’s clutching a towel around her shivering body and her teeth are chattering violently. She stares at me, her eyes blank, unrecognizing – she seems to have no understanding of her whereabouts. She’s hypothermic, I realize.
I pick her up and run back inside. The power isn’t back on yet, and I lay her down on the couch and listen to her heartbeat. It is much slower than it should be.
That’s very bad.
“You can’t go anyway. You hear me? I’ll be right back.” I run upstairs and return with a stack of blankets. I cover her but she’s still shaking. I can’t get her warm enough. The house works on electric heating and when the power’s down there’s nothing.
I take off my coat and lie down next to her underneath the blanket, my body flush against hers.
She protests weakly and tries to push me away.
“Please don’t fight me and please, please stay alive.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” she whispers.
“At least you’re alive,” I reply and shift closer to her.
Finally she settles into regular, calm breaths.
“What were you thinking, running outside like that... You could have died.”
“I panicked. Everything happened so fast…”
I look away, ashamed. “I thought you were upset that I insisted on a condom.”
She’s not a naïve little girl anymore – there’s no reason for that sort of sanctimonious attitude.
“Speaking of which, I hope Jeremy did use a condom when you were with him. Two, ideally, in his case.”
I have no idea whatsoever why I said that. All the blood seems to drain from her face.
“So that’s what this is about?” she hisses. “You thought Jeremy and I slept together so you were graciously willing to do me this… favor? Because you figured that I wasn’t such a tedious amateur anymore? That I wasn’t a virgin anymore?” she bombards me with accusations until she’s out of breath.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply and all I can think is thank Christ.
“You said you kissed him,” I mumble, though technically, she didn’t even say that. She didn’t deny it, and I jumped to conclusions – and how idiotic that must sound to anyone unfamiliar with Jeremy’s ten minute rule.
“It was barely a peck! Do I have to explain to you how people can’t get pregnant from those? You’re such a—”
“Dumbass,” I finish it for her, and she smiles hugely at me and smacks me lightly across the head.
“Come here,” I hug her tightly, so much that it’s as if I’m hanging on, as if my entire existence depends on her.
Which it probably does.
She looks at me lovingly, and I suddenly realize that I love her, too. I break into a cold sweat and start chanting inwardly, like a mantra;
I don’t love her
I don’t
I don’t
Though I can’t help but still feel that I do.
And I know that very soon, something terrible will happen to her because of me. I don’t want to lose her, but I’m like a demon, feeding on souls, cursing everyone I love. I need to prepare for the worst-case scenario, where she’s gone.
I’ve lost everything I’ve ever loved.
Once the thought sank its fangs into my mind, I start to feel the panic taking over.
When I was seven, I noticed that my mother was sad. At the time I didn’t know that my father was cheating on her – I just wanted to make her happy, so I made a picture for her. I drew the two of us holding hands, just me and her, and I drew a big red heart between us and beneath it I wrote ‘Mom, I love you.’ When I’d finished writing I heard the gun go off on the second floor. My heart had declared its first love and claimed its first victim.
A year and a half after my mother died, I started looking after a stray cat. I poured milk in a small bowl for it every morning before I went to school, and one day I told the cat that I loved it, and when I got home from my swimming lesson, I found it run over by a car.
When I was about to propose to Lee Sung, I fidgeted excitedly behind her door, rehearsing my proposal one last time. The moment the words ‘I love you’ popped into my mind, I knew something bad was bound to happen – I wasn’t even genuinely surprised to find her in bed with my best friend.
And now Mi-Ok is in my arms and I want to cry like that seven-year-old who made his mother a painting and dared to write that he loved her.
Loving someone means wishing they’ll always be there. In my case, it also means taking my leave from them. Time to say goodbye.
But I try to cheat the devil. I cradle Mi-Ok’s face between my hands and look deep into her eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say, “but I don’t love you.”
Chapter Seventeen
I don’t love her
I can’t be greedy, now. I tell myself to relish the fact that she is alive and well – that should be enough, that she’s working only two stories below me, that I can still be a small part of her life, even if it’s just as an observer.
I don’t love her
Fuck, but that doesn’t help at all, it just makes it worse. I need her out of my head. I need to stop loving her.
I don’t love her
I try to think nasty things of her, find faults in her – all I can come up with is how messy she is, and I try to summon the horror of seeing her apartment for the first time, and then I remember how smart she is, how beautiful and sexy and sweet, and when I recall each of the devastating smiles she has granted me since we met, I realize the hopelessness of my predicament.
I don’t love her
I can lie to myself all I like, it won’t help – I’m crazy about her. Entirely crazy. I yearn for her with every breath. My heart wants only her. God dammit.
I love her.
I’m shattered by the knowledge that something terrible is going to happen to her because of me. I lock the door of my office, close the shutters and fall to pieces. I thought I’d depleted my reserve of tears when I mourned my mother at seven, because I hadn’t cri
ed since. But the tears falling freely down my face prove me wrong.
At the end of each day I wait until I’m certain she’s left the office before I dare take the elevator down to the parking lot. Sometimes, when she works especially late, I just sleep at the office. I keep my distance, desperate to protect her. And the distance seems to be good for her. She looks fairly happy, always surrounded by colleagues. There isn’t a single man in this entire tower that isn’t interested in her – that much is clear from the watercooler talk.
I call the elevator ten minutes after I make sure she’s left the building. It stops at her floor and my stomach lurches when she walks inside. She must’ve forgotten something and came back for it. I push the button that reopens the doors and hurry out, babbling something about also having forgotten something upstairs. To avoid running into her again I pull the thick metal door leading to the emergency stairs and take them all the way down to the basement parking lot, where I parked my Mercedes this morning.
My heart thumps wildly when I see her patiently waiting beside my car.
“So why have you been avoiding me?” She looks at me, her eyes wounded, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek hard enough that the metallic taste of blood floods my mouth. Context made her accusation difficult to deny – she just saw me coming in from the emergency stairs after fleeing the elevator because she came in.
“I don’t owe you any answers,” I snap at her aggressively, and press the car keys. The car beeps and clicks open. I walk past her and open the driver’s side door with my back turned toward her. I feel her placing a hand on my arm. It isn’t grabbing – just resting there. Warmth radiates from her, spreading into every cell in my body. I take a deep breath and turn around, mustering the coldest tone I’m capable of to bark at her, “Never touch me again!”
She snatches her hand away, alarmed. I get in the car and drive away before she can see the tears in my eyes.
I consider firing her but even I can’t be that much of an asshole. Even ignoring the obvious factors – like that she’s actually good at her job and gets along swimmingly with everyone who works with her – she needs this job to survive. The last thing I want is for her to end up waitressing in another fucking dive where men can be disgusting pricks to her. But the real problem is that I’m afraid. Terrified that if I fire her, I’ll never see her again.
I’ve been trying so hard to keep away from her, but the harder I try, the more I think about her. It’s like being on a diet, trying not to think about food, ending up even hungrier.
It’s not like I expected her to wait for me after the incident in the parking lot, but I didn’t think she’d move on this soon, either. I’m being slowly driven insane by the knowledge that she’s going out tonight with some guy from marketing. I think to myself that she might wear the black strapless dress and, with a surge of pure rage, drive my fist into the wall.
“It’s your lucky day,” I mutter as I pick at random one of the many, many phone numbers that women have left me, hoping one day I’d be exactly this desperate. I neither know who I’m calling nor do I care.
“This is Kim Ji-Yon.” Whoever it is, she must feel like the luckiest girl alive. But I think this will probably change by the end of the evening.
“Text me your address. I’ll come by at eight o’clock to pick you up.”
I pick her up at eight, like I said I would. The poor girl seems to have bent over backwards to look her best for me – regrettably, I couldn’t care less. Before I knew Mi-Ok, I would have definitely slept with her, at the very least, but today I think I’ll politely refuse even if she offered to suck my dick on the way to the restaurant.
When we arrive at Parc, I permit my date to loop her arm in mine. I allow her this contact only because I hope to make Mi-Ok jealous. The hostess escorts us to our table and on the way, we pass the surprised faces of Mi-Ok and her goddamn date. The first thing I notice is that she isn’t wearing the black dress. I might have lost it if she had been, but she’s wearing a plain, pale pink skirt and a white button-down blouse. It’s simple, but still suits her immensely.
I stroke my date’s arm and feign a smile. She seems absolutely ecstatic.
Mi-Ok’s date gets up the moment he recognizes me. He bows and stutters, “Mr. CEO.”
I’m pleased to see he’s aware of his place in the hierarchy.
“Would you like to join us?” he suggests, and it’s painfully clear to everyone present that he’s just being polite. Mi-Ok pales when I courteously pull out a chair for my date – I let her introduce herself, since I honestly can’t recall her name, and don’t really care enough to ask. Mi-Ok’s date actually seems flattered that I’d taken his offer – the idiot hasn’t even noticed he’s let the fox in the henhouse. He pours her a glass of soju.
“She doesn’t drink,” I say, glaring at him with enough iciness to freeze over hell itself. “I’ll have this one for her.”
I down the glass in a single, burning gulp, my eyes never leaving hers.
My date squirms in her chair as if her dress is full of termites. Mi-Ok’s date seems reasonably embarrassed, finally realizing a new contestant has entered the arena – meanwhile, I’m not even sure I consider him proper competition.
My date and Mi-Ok’s exchange angry glances.
“Well, I can definitely hold my liquor,” my date brags, and demonstrates emptying her glass before holding it out for me to refill.
“You haven’t even eaten yet,” I complain. “If you start puking, I’m not carrying you home.”
“Do you like my new dress? I bought it especially for you.”
You really shouldn’t have, I think, because I honestly do not care. What I do care about is that Mi-Ok is biting her lip because of what you just said.
“If you want your dates to go somewhere, I’d be happy to give you some fashion advice,” my date is telling her. “For example, what you’ve got on now is definitely more of a work outfit than a date outfit.”
Oh, you bitch.
I see Mi-Ok shrinking back into her chair. Her reaction to the verbal slap makes my date crack an ugly victory smile. I can’t be expected to sit here and take this. Not when Mi-Ok can wear a literal rag and look a million times better than her.
“I actually like Mi-Ok’s clean, unpretentious look,” I say evenly. “Your dress is—a bit much.” I enjoy watching the snide grin disappear from her face.
“And I happen to know that Mi-Ok has an amazing dress she’s saving for a special occasion. Obviously, she didn’t think it was necessary to take out the big guns just for a first, not particularly meaningful, date.” Two birds, one stone. I wish I was wearing a headset, so I’d have everyone’s faces on record.
“I need to go powder my nose,” Mi-Ok gets up, mortified. My date hurries to get up as well – I assume she wants to warn Mi-Ok to stay out of her way, but I don’t give her the opportunity. I take hold of her wrist and hiss, “Sit. Down.”
I get up and both my date and hers stare at me indignantly.
“Do me a favor,” I say, placing far too many bills on the table, “either take her home, or take the change and get her a cab. Whichever you prefer.”
My date grumbles something but I don’t care and have stopped listening. I walk decisively toward the women’s restroom.
I barge in there and three women scatter out like I’ve come to murder them. Mi-Ok is leaning by an open faucet, spraying water on her red face. I check under the doors for feet, and when I’ve made sure we’re alone I approach her and close the tap. She grabs a paper towel and dries her face.
“Can’t you leave me just one tiny bit of dignity?” she whispers. “What the hell do you want from me?”
I think of the thing I want from her most: I want her to live.
Then I think of the thing I want most after that. For her to never, ever leave me.
Last I think of what I want m
ost after that, and say, “Kiss me.” It’s a plea, not a command.
She looks shocked and I am momentarily convinced I’m about to get slapped, and honestly, it would be well-deserved. I’ve intentionally ruined her date. I have the nerve to ask her to kiss me after I’ve explicitly expressed my disinterest. So it’s understandable that my heart explodes when I feel her lips brush mine in a light, hasty kiss.
I dive into her mouth in a hungry kiss, lacking any inhibition or restraint. I suck her lower lip, nibble, bite, my tongue exploring every corner of her mouth. We are both breathless when I detach my mouth from her. God. I needed this. I press my groin against her, and her eyes widen when she gathers how much I want her. I try to slow things down, seeing as we’re in public, and keep my lower body away from hers – but I don’t intend to stop kissing her. Every time she moves her pelvis closer, I move slightly back, knowing perfectly well that this game both entices and frustrates her. Eventually she grabs my ass with both hands and impatiently grinds against me, letting me know how much she wants this, too. She pants, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I lift her up and she wraps her legs around me, feeling the full scale of her effect on me. She throws her head and arches her back and I swear I’m about to come in my pants like a fucking teenage boy.
“I will not have our first time be in the bathroom of some restaurant,” I breathe into her ear, hoarse with need, and I swear that stopping has never been this painful. I’ve never been this turned on.
“I don’t care,” she raises eyes clouded with desire and smiles sweetly at me.
“But I do,” because I love you so much – I don’t dare say the words, but knowing them, thinking them is enough. And I know that reality will soon kick me in the fucking heart.
I lower her to the floor and help her straighten her skirt. Above her noticeably erect nipples – I can’t help but stare at them rise and fall as she catches her breath – I see her eyes mist over with emotion, I relish in her tousled hair and the knowledge that I was the one to tousle it. I also notice how flustered and self-conscious she seems – this might have something to do with her wanting to keep going when I wanted to stop. The combination of all these things arouse me to a frankly terrifying degree. I feel like I’m going insane and it scares me.
The Bubble Match Page 12
