01- On The Run

⋘ ⁕⁕⁕ ⋙ Mia

The water was too hot. I knew it was too hot—the spray needling against my skin was turning it an angry, mottled pink—but I kept turning the knob clockwise anyway. Steam billowed, fogging the glass door until my reflection was just a pale, blurred ghost. I needed to feel something that was mine. The sting of the heat, the prickle on my scalp from Dal-mi’s expensive rosemary shampoo, and the simple, solitary act of washing away the grime of three bus transfers and the stale air of the last anonymous motel room. This pain was a choice. I controlled the faucet.

I was scrubbing my arms with a loofah, the coarse texture bordering on harsh, when the bathroom door clicked open. A sliver of cooler air cut through the steam.

“Mia? I brought you a towel. The ones in here are probably threadbare.” Dal-mi’s cheerful voice called out, a little muffled. The shadow of her arm appeared, draping a thick, cream-colored towel over the top of the shower door.

I froze, the loofah suspended over my forearm. The steam was clearing near the door, drawn out by the draft. I’d been facing it.

“Thanks,” I said, too quickly, my voice tight. I turned my back to the door, presenting the unmarked expanse of my shoulders and back, resuming my scrubbing with a frantic intensity. Just go. Just take the hint and go.

But Dal-mi didn’t go. The cheerful chatter stopped. The only sounds were the hiss of the water and the frantic thump of my own heart against my ribs.

“Mia,” Dal-mi said again, the word completely different. All the lightness was gone, stripped away, leaving something flat and hard underneath.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Don’t look. Please don’t look.

“Mia, turn around.”

It wasn’t a request. It was the voice Dal-mi used when our study group was slacking off, the no-nonsense tone that brooked no argument. Slowly, the loofah fell from my numb fingers to the tile floor with a soft plop, I turned.

The steam had parted. Dal-mi stood there, the door held open just a foot, her face wan. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed not on my face but on my torso, my hips, and my thighs.

The evidence was laid bare under the unforgiving bathroom light, no longer hidden by dim lighting or strategic clothing. A constellation of violence, old and new, painted in the ugly, healing yellows and the livid, fresh purples of recent blooms. The perfect, crescent-shaped bite mark on the curve of my left breast, a dark purple accusation that Greg had left just two nights ago when I’d flinched away from him. The mottled bruises on my hips are from his fingers, gripping hard enough to lift me, to move me like furniture. The faint, parallel lines of scratches down my inner thighs. A smaller, darker bruise on my ribcage, a souvenir from when I’d tried to wedge my arms between us and he’d simply shoved me back into the headboard with his elbow.

“Oh, my God,” Dal-mi whispered. The words left her lips as a puff of air, soundless almost. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the door. “Mia… what did he do to you?”

The compassion in her voice was a shiv to the gut. I wrapped my arms around myself, a feeble, futile attempt at coverage. The water beat down on my back, a meaningless sensation now. “It’s not… it wasn’t always like this.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dal-mi cut in, her voice cracking. “Don’t you dare make excuses. Look at this!” She took a step forward, her hand coming up as if to touch, but she stopped, hovering in the steam. “These are bite marks. These are handprints. This isn’t a rough break-up, Mia. This is… this is assault.”

The word hung in the humid air, solid and final. A word I had choked back for months. It’s just play. It’s dominance. You wanted this; you asked for it; you’re mine. Greg’s voice, smooth as oil, layered over the memory of pain.

“He said…” I started, my teeth beginning to chatter, though the water was still hot. “He said a good submissive doesn’t have limits. That trust meant giving him everything. That my ‘no’ was just a test of his commitment.”

Dal-mi’s expression shifted from horror to a blazing, furious grief. “And the safeword? You had one, right? You told me you were going to set one, back when you first started seeing him.”

I gave a hollow, shuddering laugh that held no humor. “I did. ‘Ivy.’ I used it. The first time he… he kept going. He said I didn’t mean it. That I was just scared of my own desires. The second time I used it, he…” I looked down at the bruise on my rib. “He said safewords were for strangers. Not for someone who belonged to him.”

Dal-mi let out a faint, menacing rumble of anger. She slammed the bathroom door shut behind her, closing us both in the steam-filled tomb. She didn’t care about getting her silk blouse damp. She reached past me and wrenched the shower handle off. The sudden silence was deafening, broken only by the drip of the faucet and the ragged sound of my breathing.

Dal-mi grabbed the towel from the door and wrapped it around my shoulders, her movements fierce with protectiveness. “You’re safe now. Do you understand me? He is never touching you again.”

The kindness was worse than the staring. My composure, the fragile shell I’d maintained through the escape, the journey, and the lies to my friend, shattered. A raw, wrenching sob tore from my throat. I slumped forward, and Dal-mi caught me, holding me up as my knees gave way, the damp towel soaking through her clothes as we sank together onto the bath mat.

“He’s going to find me,” I gasped into Dal-mi’s shoulder, the terror I’d been outrunning finally catching up, fueled by the safety of this moment. “He doesn’t lose. He doesn’t accept this. He said if I ever left, I’d be proving I was just a liar, a tease… that he’d have to reclaim what was his.”

Dal-mi’s arms tightened around me. “Let him try,” she said, her voice low and venomous. “He has no idea who he’s dealing with now. You’re not alone.” She pulled back, cupping my face, forcing me to meet her eyes. “Listen to me. My brother, Jae-min, is connected. And my boss… Chairman Lee is... formidable, and don’t forget my boyfriend Tae-Min. You’re in our world now. Greg is back in whatever gutter he crawled out of. He touches one hair on your head, and he will learn what real consequences feel like.”

I wanted to believe her. The ferocity in Dal-mi’s eyes was a lifeline. But Greg’s voice was a tape loop in my mind. You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. There’s no escape, Mia. Only my forgiveness.

“I left everything,” I whispered. “The apartment, the job he got me… I even left the car. The only thing I have is a burner phone. In my suitcase lining.”

Dal-mi nodded, a calculating gleam entering her eyes. The compassionate friend was receding, replaced by the shrewd, capable personal assistant to one of the most powerful men in the beauty industry. “Good. That’s smart. We’ll get you a new legal identity. A new bank account. For now, you stay here. This flat is in Tae-min’s name, but it’s barely used. It’s a ghost address. You rest. You heal.” She stood, pulling me up with her. “I’m going to make you tea. And then we’re going to talk about every single thing that bastard did. We’re going to document it. Not for the police—not yet; they’re useless in these things—but for us. So we never forget what we’re protecting you from.”

As Dal-mi bustled out to the kitchen, leaving the bathroom door open, I stood dripping on the mat, the plush towel clinging to me. I looked at my reflection in the cleared mirror. The bruises stood out like vile tattoos. But for the first time, looking at them didn’t fill me with shame or fear. It filled me with a cold, simmering anger.

Dal-mi was right. This wasn’t kink. It wasn’t dominance. It was the predation of a weak man who could only feel strong by breaking someone.

The scent of ginger tea began to drift from the kitchen, a clean, sharp promise of warmth. Somewhere in the city, Greg would be realizing I was truly gone. His hunt would begin.

But I was no longer just prey. I was a woman who had seen the monster in the dark and had chosen, despite the terror, to walk into the unknown light. And I was not walking alone.