Chapter Text
the station seems colder today. your eyes twitch as you look around, analysing the people waiting for their next train. a woman sitting on a bench, reading. a few college students who probably are in more debt than you. a homeless man mumbling incoherently to himself while trying to light a match. a group of teenage boys laughing at something on their phone— you make a mental note to stay away from that side, for the sake of your own safety. the lightbulb flickers as you take a seat on the dirty floor, contemplating your options. that woman looks a good enough target— but with the layers of clothes she's got on, you don't believe you'll have any luck with her.
you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. you don't look up, merely focusing your gaze on the floor and pretending to be lost in thought. you've learned it's much easier to get away with pickpocketing if you don't immediately look at the person you're stealing from. something about not looking suspicious. a pair of shiny dress shoes stand by the train tracks— and you allow your gaze to trail up, up, up. this man has some long legs, you think to yourself. a crisp, stoney gray suit, and broad shoulders. a briefcase in hand and a seemingly innocent gaze looking around.
someone financially stable, judging by the expensive watch on his wrist. on first glance, you decide he looks like the kind of man who would be too tired or bored to run after you if he caught you in the act.
he'll be paying for your dinners for atleast a week.
as you stand up casually, you spot your target put on a charming smile and walk over to where the homeless man is warming his hands. you can't hear the conversation because the man's back is turned to you, but you can tell he is trying to advertise something to him. he opens his briefcase, and you catch sight of bundles of cash in it. you feel your heartbeat immediately picking up. your body feels warmer now; imagining a bright future for yourself if you managed to get a hand on the briefcase.
you don't bother eavesdropping in the conversation, you have other priorities. luckily, the woman on the bench was reading with her legs spread forward. you take the opportunity and stumble over her feet, losing your footing and falling forward with a loud cry— crashing right into your target who stumbles forward onto the homeless guy who lets out a string of curses.
"watch where you're fucking going!" he yells, and you're sure the woman behind you called you a fucking nutjob as well.
apologizing profusely, you put on your best sheepish expression and pat your target's back, helping him up. he looks at you strangely, giving you a tight lipped smile, and when you slip out his wallet from his back pocket, he doesn't seem to notice. before you can get a hand on the briefcase, he tugs it back and guides it towards the homeless man, engaging in another conversation with him. you're quick to walk away without another glance, swearing to yourself on your missed opportunity. but you suppose a wallet is better than nothing.
the first thing you do is run out and aim towards a crowded area you can disappear into. you open the wallet and pull out some cash— no identification, no credit cards. just a simple paper card with some symbols on it. it makes you wince. you thought with atleast an address or a name, you could've robbed him, but the universe seems to fucking hate you.
you eat some noodles from a street vendor. it's one of your favourites. in moments like these, you miss home. but you figure that having to steal and feed yourself is better than always having to walk on eggshells around your father— wondering when the next hit might come. or what other aspect of you would he decide to fixate on till you start hating yourself. you were tired of that life. this is okay, you'll deal with it.
it's when you're walking back to that rusty apartment you've started calling home that you feel a strange, prickling sensation on your back. so far, you always wondered if what people said was true— that you can tell when you're being watched. right now, you can feel it— this strange, unsettling fear that something is following you. you abruptly look behind, but there's no one there. you consider taking a short cut— but decide it's the stupidest thing you could do, so you just run home as fast as you can and hope whoever it is, doesn't catch you.
you feel victorious as you open the door to your place. as you step inside, something kicks you in the back of your knees and you yelp before falling forward, right on your face.
"what the fuck!?" you shriek breathlessly, scared out of your mind as you lean on your elbows and try to sit up. there's a haunting shadow blocking your doorway, and you can feel your heart begin to pound nervously as you spot the man from the station.
"you look at home down there," he says calmly, accent heavy in his voice. "rightful place for a thief like you."
your voice is stuck in your throat— eyes wide as you let out sharp, heavy breaths. does he know? how long has he been following you? did he involve the police? what is he going to do?
"listen, man." you start shakily, sitting up, "i don't know what you're talking about—"
as you try to stand again, his foot comes up and collides with your shoulder, sending you to the floor again, "fuck!—"
he doesn't let you up as you lay against the floor, his shoe painfully digging into your collarbone, "not only did you sabotage my job tonight, but you also stole from me. i don't like thieves—"
"i hadn't eaten in days!" you cry out, a hand coming up to grab onto his leg, eyes pleading with him to have some sympathy. you really try. "i'll— i can pay you back—"
"by stealing from someone else?" he asks, amused.
"no! god—" you let out a choked breath. you're scared out of your damn mind, it's obvious, but more so because the violence and humiliation you're facing now is what you ran away from home to avoid. you don't want this man to violate you. you're tired of being scared. "i can— i can do a job! anything! ill work for you or- or— i'm sorry, please—"
the man takes joy in your cries, it's obvious in the amusement in his eyes. he's enjoying the way you stumble over your words and make a fool of yourself. but after a moment of begging, he pulls his leg back and gives you a moment to breathe. you sit up, choking on heavy breaths, holding onto your shoulder.
"let's play a game."
you look up at him with bloodshot eyes— barely holding back tears. his hand twitches.
you're shaking. this man just had his foot on your shoulder, and he wants to play a game?
when he doesn't get a response from you, he continues, "it's called ddakji. if you win, i'll give you cash." he opens the briefcase, smiles sinisterly as your eyes land on the object of your desires. "i saw you watching it, back at the station. such a shame your little plan didn't work, no?"
you grit your teeth, looking away from his taunting eyes. "and if i lose?"
"then i get to slap you."
your head snaps up— breathing getting heavy again. is this really what your life has come to? is it really worth it? you're back to square one— perhaps, you could leave your home, but the violence will always follow. the realization of your fate has a tear rolling down your cheek. you really try to sound tough when you gather the courage to speak again. "and why would i do that?"
"because you're desperate," he says calmly, leaning forward to brush the tear away with his thumb. the action has your heart fluttering for just a moment— many men have made you cry, but not one of them have ever wiped the tears. it's stupid. he quirks an eyebrow, settling you with a blank stare that shakes you to your core. "what have you got to lose, anyway?"
he's right, you think. would you rather take a few slaps and then live your life independently? or would you choose to live in fear about when you'd be on the receiving end of your father's wrath again?
you choose the former.
he explains the concept of the game and you get to choose the color of your tile— you pick the red one because it's your favourite color. with as much strength as you can, you try to flip his tile, but it merely jumps and then lands back like it was. it sends your heart plummeting down your stomach.
you know well what's coming next— it's all you've ever known your whole life. you flinch as his hand raises, but he stops midway. you tremble violently, eyeing his palm nervously. he eyes you curiously for a while, before another twisted smile appears on his face.
"you ever get hit before?" he asks, voice taunting. you swallow hard. "boyfriend?" he pushes his hand closer, making you flinch again. "ah, i know— father."
before you can snap at him, his hand collides with your cheek, making you let out a sharp cry. your face twists to the side and you take a deep breath— try to console yourself. it's just a game. he's not doing it out of malice. false promises.
you bite down on your lower lip to avoid calling him a fucking dickhead and telling him to rot.
he just smiles as he goes next. you pray to the gods he doesn't flip your tile— and thankfully, he doesn't. it makes you sigh in relief as he tosses a bundle of cash at your feet. you bend down to pick it up, "oh my god, thank you, thank you—"
he tsks, shaking his head, "game isn't over."
you go another round, and you win. you cheer heartily as you get another bundle of the cash tossed at your feet— and he sighs to himself. suddenly this game seems better.
you try to use your previous technique to flip his tile, and it doesn't work. it earns you another slap. it doesn't get better— you get as many slaps as you do cash. tears roll down your sore cheeks— they're heated and they hurt. you feel faint. only you know how much strength it takes to keep standing. you're sure your face will bruise tomorrow. he doesn't stop until you have half the cash from his briefcase. you can't hold back your sobs— you don't know what you're crying for. the cash, or the slaps? both, perhaps.
"you did good," he says, stepping forward and invading your personal space. his hands are warm as he cups your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears. you try to pull your face away, but one warning glare from him has you frozen in place. "look on the bright side, you decided to steal from me today and you earned some money. even if it came with a little beating. but you took it like a good girl, didn't you?"
his words should have you convulsing. you should be kicking him in the balls and hitting him with the nearest object you can find— but you're hypnotized— caught in a trance by his words of praise. against your better judgement, you nod, before shamefully averting your gaze.
he smiles tightly and steps away. adjusts the buttons of his suit jacket and looks around before going to the couch and sitting down. "why don't you go fetch me a glass of water?" he stretches his arms, shoots a provocative smile your way. "all this exercise has me feeling thirsty."
you want to tell him to shove his exercise up your ass and leave, but you decide to do as he said. you're in no position to threaten him. he's much stronger than you, and judging by everything else, much older as well. men like him are not easy to fool. and you really don't want to get hit again.
as you pour him a glass of water, you eye his briefcase again. if you could somehow manage to perhaps weaken him for just a moment— you could get all the cash and maybe run away. you would spike his water but you don't have any drugs. you have to do this the hard way. you pocket a fork and then head back to deliver him his water.
as he drinks, you kneel by his feet, gathering your cash. carefully, you pull out the fork, and with as much strength as you can, slam it down onto the side of his foot.
"you little bitch—" he groans loudly, wincing and throwing his head back and clenching his jaw before splashing the water from the glass on your face. it makes you squeal. before you can attack again, he pulls the fork out and tosses it to the side. your eyes widen and you rush to get it, but he sticks his leg out and you trip and fall on your face again.
a crunchy sound emerges as he steps on your wrist, his shoe digging into the delicate appendage. you let out a shrill cry.
"the one thing i hate more than thieves—" he snickers, looking down at you like you're an insect. he scoffs, twisting his shoe harder, making you choke on a sob, "is a little girl who thinks she's smarter than me."
"fuck you!" you sob, squirming on the ground, "let me go!"
"watch your language with me." he hisses back, narrowing his eyes. he glares before releasing a breathy chuckle, "you are the stupidest girl i have ever met. you were doing so well too. did you really think you could overpower me?"
"you hit me—" you sniffle, groaning in pain as you attempts to yank your hand back, "you hit me and you—"
he interrupts with a taunt, "maybe if you tried acting so smartly with your father, you wouldn't have had to run away from home."
you gasp before letting out another pained whimper, "how did you—"
"it's written on your face." he sighs, exasperated. like he's dealing with a toddler, not a girl who stabbed his leg. "if i let go of your hand, do you promise not to get hostile again?"
you glare at him silently through teary eyes.
"do i have your word?" he says louder, twisting his foot again.
"yes, yes—" you yelp, and with careful thought, he steps back. before you can make a move, he leans down to grab your hair and yanks you up. it makes you hiss in pain. he shoves you towards the couch.
"all this fighting has made me excited," he remarks with a chuckle, crowding you in. your eyes widen and you crawl away from him to the farthest end of the couch. he follows you like a predator, palming the front of his pants, and the realization of whats to follow makes you shake your head, "no- no, please, god—"
"shut the fuck up," he snaps strictly, voice eerily composed. he grabs your head, looks down at you with those black, empty eyes, his free hand carelessly unbuckling his belt. "you didn't think i'd let your little stunt go unpunished, did you?"
"you can do anything else—" you choke out, shaking her head. he yanks your face forward, makes your cheek press against the tent in his pants. you can smell him. you desperately try to latch onto any semblance of comfort you can find. "anything— anything but this, you can even slap me again—"
"hitting you is no fun if you're asking for it," he replies boredly, tugging your head back just enough so your teary eyes blink up at him pathetically. "i want to really rub it in this time. what happens when you mess with men like me."
you want to fight more— you wish you could. you desperately want to, but you feel frozen with shock. this day has turned into a nightmare you couldn't imagine even in the worst possible time. it's like everything you have done till now to avoid horrible, violent men, is laughing at your failure. you blink a few times, as if trying to wake yourself up.
"i've never done this before," your voice cracks as you voice your last attempt at begging for mercy— does he not have a heart?
he pauses and eyes you for a moment, and for a millisecond you think he'll reconsider. but then his mouth twitches, and your heart breaks as soon he pulls his pants down.
"even better."