And as the time slowly crawls by, more and more customers start to leave. Except him. He always stays until closing time, and even though he’s the one to see us close shop, we never get a chance to speak.
I’m always there … and he is too … We just never pushed past our boundaries to open our mouths and talk to each other.
And for some reason, somehow, after all the customers leave, I find the courage to go up to him. I sit down in front of him with my heart beating out of my chest, and a cup of steaming hot coffee scooted his way.
With a smile on my face, I look at him, waiting … until he raises his head and his intense blue eyes meet mine. For the very first time, we interact.
“Hi,” I say, my cheeks glowing red.
“Um … hi,” he mumbles.
His voice is perfect. Dark and delish and so soft.
I could listen to it all day, even if it was only these two words.
I push the coffee closer to him, and his hand reaches for it. Our fingers briefly touch, and a hot current flashes through me. I pull back instinctively, not knowing what to do.
“Thanks,” he says, his smile genuine. Infectious.
He brings the cup to his mouth and takes a big gulp, and I watch him swallow it. I don’t know why I’m gazing so obsessively at him. I feel like an idiot. Yet I can’t shake this feeling he’d know exactly what I meant if I’d told him.
“It’s on the house,” I say.
He smiles again and says, “What’s your name?”
“Hyun Song.”
He cocks his head and gives me his hand. “Drake Bryant.”
I grab his hand. His handshake is firm, powerful. His hand warm and one I don’t want to release. When he does, my own hand feels empty. Void of something that should’ve been there from the start.
He clears his throat and closes his laptop.
“What were you writing?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing important.”
“No, really, I wanna know,” I say.
“Just articles for the newspaper I work for. It’s a column.”
“Really? You’re a columnist?”
“Yes.” He grins. “It’s not great, but it pays the bills.”
“No, I think it’s fantastic. You can write about anything you like. And you must be really good at it. I mean you write so much when you’re here.” I clear my throat and try to pass off the awkwardness when I realize I’ve said something that outs him as an obsessive coffee shop visitor.
“It is great. That’s true,” he says.
He doesn’t seem like a man of many words, but that’s okay.
“So … your accent,” he mumbles.
“Oh, I’m Korean,” I say, blushing again.
“Your English is very good,” he says.
“Thank you,” I answer. “I do my best.”
“Oh, I know.”
He knows?
He knows.
Because he always watches me. Of course.
It’s suddenly quiet again, and neither of us knows what to say.
I hide behind my hair and pretend not to be totally flustered.
“Hey ... um … I’ve got to go.” He grabs his laptop, stuffs it in his backpack, and gets up like he suddenly has somewhere he needs to be.
And as he gets up, I do too. I don’t know why, but I feel like I ruined something, and if I let him go now … maybe it’s ruined forever.
As he starts walking toward the door, a sudden urge to stop him takes over.
“Will you be back?” I call out.
He glances at me over his shoulder and gives me a lopsided smile that makes butterflies fly in my stomach.
“Always.”
***
5.5 months before
Ever since I first had the guts to talk to him, things went uphill. He took me on numerous dates and kissed me after two weeks. I felt like I could float on air, and when he first took me back to his apartment not far from the city, we went all the way.
It wasn’t the last time, of course.
We had sex many … many times.
Like now, when we’re back from the restaurant, drunk on wine and love, and bumbling through the hallway because we both can’t stay on our feet. We’re wasted and laughing and having a good time, making out and fondling each other as we stumble our way to his door.
And as he turns on the lights and slams the door shut, I rip off his shirt and tear at his belt. He grins against my lips, fighting my shirt and panties equally hard to get them out of the way. His hands are all over me, and I love every inch of his skin against mine as we find our way to his bed, half-naked.
We have sex, and it is the best sex I’ve ever had.
Drake is perfect.
A man who understands me.
Who doesn’t mind that my English isn’t perfect.
Gives me what I need without asking for anything in return.
He listens to my stories about my work and my daily life without interrupting. It doesn’t matter what I tell him, as long as I’m with him, he loves me.
There’s only one thing he doesn’t know.
One thing I couldn’t bear to see him go through.
One simple thing … a meeting … between me, a wretched man, and my parents. A plan so devious it makes me cry, even after I just had sex with the man I love so much.
“What’s wrong?” Drake asks, kissing my neck.
“Oh, it was just so intense,” I lie.
I don’t want him to worry.
At least, not for now.
I’m still safe, here in his arms. That’s all that matters right now.
Drake leans away and opens his cabinet. I don’t know what he does, but when he turns to me, he nudges me over to his side. And then he shows me the tiny box in his hand. “I wanted to do this for a while now, but I just didn’t have the guts.”
Tears roll down my cheeks as he opens the box and says, “Will you marry me?”
I can’t believe this is happening right now.
Out of all the things that could happen … this is the cruelest of them all.
“Don’t …” I shake my head.
The happy smile that was on his face disappears like a cloud hampering the sun’s rays. It kills me to see it.
“Don’t what?”
“I can’t,” I mumble, tears streaming down.
I can barely pronounce the words I want to say. It’s too much.
“Why … you don’t want to marry me?”
I grab his face and kiss him. “Yes, of course, I do.” I kiss him again.
“Then take it,” he says, pulling the ring out.
I push the ring back and close the box in his hands. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” He seems so upset, and it’s entirely my fault.
I feel so bad. Now I have to break his heart.
I never wanted him to find out … Not this way.
“I … my parents, they …”
“What did they do?” He grabs my arms and forces me to look at him.
“They sold me to another man,” I whisper, sniffing. “As a bride.”
His eyes widen, and he sinks back into the bed; his body slumps like his spirit has left his body, and all that remains is meat and bones.
The box in his hands slowly slips from his fingers.
“You’re getting married,” he mumbles.
I nod. “I hate him. But they left me no choice in the matter. I had to flee their home to get out.”
“Flee? I thought you had your own home. Where’ve you been all this time then?”
“I’ve been staying at the coffee shop. I couldn’t go to my own home. They know exactly where I live. They’d be waiting for me there.”
He frowns and makes a face. “You should’ve told me. You could’ve crashed here.”
“Tell the man I love that I’m out of a house, and that a sick old man has paid money to make me his wif
e like a slave? I can’t,” I say in my best English. More tears well up in my eyes. “Don’t you understand how humiliating this is? I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t face the thought … and seeing you like this …” I grab his arm, trying to reconcile, but he pulls it away. “It hurts.”
“Don’t,” he says, sliding off the bed. “Who is it?”
“Gregory Warren,” I reply.
He’s quiet for a moment.
“I love you,” I say. “I really do.”
“Don’t say that!” he yells. “If you do, run away with me.”
“I can’t … He said he’d ruin the coffee shop if I did. I like my boss and my co-workers. There’s no telling what he’d do to them. And my parents will kill me if they find out.”
His face is that of pure misery, and it tears my heart into tiny, shriveled up pieces.
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“I just couldn’t … break your heart,” I mutter.
“It’s only more broken. I thought I was the one to marry you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s hopeless. I screwed up—big time.
He walks to the window and stares outside. It’s quiet for some time before he speaks again. “You … care about them all more than you care about yourself,” he mutters.
I look down at the sheets, numb from the realization that I can’t escape the pain, no matter how much I try.
“You have to marry him,” he repeats, still not looking at me.
I’m surprised he’d let me.
Surprised he realizes why I must.
“I have no choice,” I say, getting out of the bed too. “And I know it’s only a matter of time until he finds me and takes me.”
I pick up my clothes and put them on, but he’s not saying anything, so I grab the rest of my stuff and say, “I’ll leave.”
“Promise me you’ll do everything you can to fight him,” he says. “And if you want me to, I’ll help.”
I nod when he finally looks my way.
“I will always love you,” he adds. “Even if you don’t want me to.”
“I know.” I lick my lips, trying to stop the tears from running again. “I love you too.”
But before either of us can say another word, I run.
I run from the pain.
I run from the only man who ever loved me enough to let me go.
26.
Accompanying Song: “Technically, Missing” by Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross
Hyun
4 months before
The first time I saw him again since we separated was at my wedding.
I never expected him to show up.
I didn’t think he’d have the guts.
But there he is, right in front of me as I stare in disbelief.
“Nice dress,” he says, smoking a cigarette.
“Thanks,” I say, tears welling up in my eyes. “How’ve you been?”
He shrugs. “Great, considering the circumstances.”
I nod a few times, not knowing how to react.
He sits down beside me on the bench and says, “Mind if I smoke?”
“Go ahead,” I say, chuckling.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re so different.”
He frowns. “What does that mean?”
“I mean … different … from Greg.” I look at him and see the change in his eyes. They’re much more fiery than I remember. “He never asks me anything.”
“Of course,” Drake scoffs.
“You also never used to smoke,” I add.
He squints. “Yeah? Bad habit.” He takes another drag and blows out a big breath.
“Why did you come here?” I ask.
“To see you.”
The blatant honesty in his words still has me breathless to this very day.
“Have you changed?” he suddenly asks.
“What do you mean?”
He cocks his head and puts his cigarette in his mouth as he speaks. “Are you still going through with it?”
I purse my lips and hold up my hand, showing him my ring finger.
“Right …” He looks away.
“I still hate him with all my guts,” I say.
“Yeah, well, if you ever get enough of him, you know where to find me.” He gets up.
“Do I?” I ask before he starts walking.
He looks at me over his shoulder and says, “If you leave him, I will find you.”
“And what then?” I raise a brow.
“Then … it’s time we played a game with them.”
I smirk. “What kind of game?”
He smirks right back. “If he hurts you, we’ll hurt him twice as bad … and your parents too.”
The smile on my face only widens. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good. I’ll know when you’re ready to play.” He turns and starts walking.
“How will I know?”
“Notes, Hyun. You know what my passion is,” he answers with a grin. “Never forget… I’ll always be watching you.”
And that’s the last I hear from the man in the hoodie.
My man.
My only man.
Drake Bryant.
***
Now
The stories we tell aren’t always as clear-cut as they seem.
From the first time I saw him following me, I knew it was him.
As he sat on the bench across from my house.
As he appeared in front of me in the parking lot.
As he stalked me in my very own home.
I always knew it was him.
I just didn’t know if, after all this time, he was still the same man.
If I could trust him. If he still loved me or if he hated me for what I’d done.
If he secretly worked with my husband to spite me.
Those were my fears … the only ones … and they were unfounded.
And as he began to send me notes, I was intrigued. I didn’t know where it was going, but I knew it was something important. Something I had to keep close in case they became useful. And they did.
When my husband kept harassing me, all I could do was hope that Drake would protect me when the time came. Of course, I wanted Greg dead. However, I knew I would never be able to prove myself innocent if I killed him outright. So I didn’t.
Instead, Drake’s notes made it clear to me that we were on a different path.
One where we would forge our own story.
A story where a husband stalks his wife.
Repeatedly threatens her.
Leaves cigarettes in her bin.
Sends her indecent notes.
Wiretaps her to keep her in check.
Takes pictures of her and keeps them in his home.
Murders her parents when they tell her the truth about her marriage to him.
The neighbors went along so well, reporting they saw Greg banging my door and yelling at me repeatedly, even spotting him stalking me.
And every time I found a new piece of evidence placed by Drake so diligently, I went along with it. Even if I didn’t know it … like the cigarette. It was part of Drake’s plan. Because who would believe a woman faking a surprise? No one. He had to make it look real.
So real, he even went as far as to wear clothing that matched Greg’s, complete with mustache and all, as well as renting the same car model as Greg has. And Drake kept sending Greg pictures of me so he would get pissed off and come to my house. Even told him where I lived.
I’m not sure if I liked that part, but at least it got me the alibi I needed to kill the son of a bitch.
I didn’t know Drake had wiretapped me. I had honestly believed it was Greg. But he told me just now he did it. And it can only make me grin.
Another thing he never told me was that he used to be a teacher. Drake was always very quiet about his past, and when he finally came clean to me, I fel
t so much closer to him.
There’s no one in the world I admire more than I admire him.
Together, we concocted a devious plan no one would see coming.
Greg ruined my life, and in exchange, I would ruin his. That was the promise I made to myself the moment I stepped onto that bus and left his house forever. Drake agreed upon that the moment he stepped back into my life.
As he said, he never really left me.
He was always there, watching over me.
The only thing we weren’t prepared for was my husband hiring someone to shoot me. Luckily, his plan didn’t succeed. But I bet he knew exactly what was coming for him. That’s why he thought he needed to get rid of me first. He was right.
When Drake gave me the audio tape, I knew it was time to choose. My parents or my life. I chose me. I gave them a chance, and they didn’t take it. I don’t regret having Drake murder them. Not even for one second.
They never loved me … and when I realized that, I renounced my love for them.
I closed my heart and let them feel the pain they made me suffer all this time.
I hope they learned their lesson.
And I hope Greg learned his too.
I killed him … with my own hands.
For weeks, I prepared.
Each time he came to my house, I let him in a little further, showing the cracks in our relationship to the whole neighborhood. I needed them to witness the extent of his violence in order to justify my actions.
In order to make it sound believable when I said I killed him out of self-defense.
Because that … is a lie.
I killed the son of a bitch because I wanted to … So damn desperately. It was all I could think about, day and night, until the moment finally arrived.
And as the showerhead wire wrapped around his neck, I whispered into his ear, “You should’ve signed the divorce papers when you still had a chance. Now, I will take everything you own. Your money. Your house. And even your dignity. You’ll be known as nothing more than a disgusting rotting body in the ground.”
Dirty Wife Games Page 16
