Scene 3

In the end, I had no choice but to spill the whole story to Denver, a physical education major in the same year as me.

"Anyway, I can't go to the police. I have to handle this myself."

"Isn't it something like that? I heard this famous celebrity stalker story—apparently, the guy was living with her. He'd come out at night to eat and sleep under the sink during the day."

"Don't say such horrible things. And my place is so small, there's no space for that."

"Then did you at least change your front door password?"

"Yeah, of course."

Ten digits, thirteen digits, four digits, five digits—I changed it unpredictably as often as I could. With my tight budget and no way to ask my aunt for money, installing a new door lock was out of the question. This was the only security I could manage.

But to him, it was like a toy.

"So, did he get in?"

"I don't even know how he knows the password."

"Maybe he's watching you from somewhere? I'm starting to get seriously worried. I've got goosebumps on my arms."

"My size isn't just for show. I can take down most guys with one arm, so don't worry."

In the basketball club, my height was average. Denver, standing in front of me, was shorter than me here, but outside, he was the type who'd be called a winner. Our basketball team's starters were all tall. I meant what I said. I was confident that my body was a weapon that couldn't be easily overpowered unless the opponent was unusually large.

"Well, yeah... but be careful. There's always someone faster than the one running, someone flying above the one running, and above them, there's a crazy one. No one can beat a crazy person."

***

Yeah, he called him a crazy person. The stalker was crazy.

My lower back ached sharply.

Blood trickled from my torn ass.

My lips were stretched to their limit from the pain, my face twisted in agony. I couldn't even groan—just ugly, choking sounds escaped me.

It hurt too much. Something was definitely wrong. My heart felt like it was about to stop.

I clutched the bedsheet and pressed my head into it.

I was being forced down onto the bed, face-first.

"Hng, hng."

The man seemed excited by my noises, licking the back of my neck.

My neck was sticky with an unknown, filthy liquid—my sweat and his saliva, smeared and glistening.

Something warm spread inside me from the tip of what was shoved deep inside. He came. I finally thought it was over and rubbed my chin against the blanket.

I pulled my knees up onto the bed. My legs, heavy as shackles, trembled as I hugged them with both arms.

This was a situation I couldn't handle.

Just the fact that I'd been violated by a man was shocking enough to send me into a panic, but my whole body ached.

I'd been hit repeatedly during the rape. Every time I said it hurt, stop, it hurts, please stop, he slapped my face without mercy. My head throbbed. I couldn't even count how many times I'd been hit. It felt like more than twenty.

The man seemed to have done some intense physical activity.

Not basketball, maybe volleyball? I thought vaguely. It hurt too much. He pulled his dick out of me and placed it, still hard, on my ass, whispering gently.

"Elias."

Just hearing that name made me sick now.

In just a few minutes, I'd been completely broken by this man.

I couldn't even look at his face properly, but I answered reflexively.

"Yes, yes."

"Why are you using honorifics? Use casual speech. You should use casual speech."

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah."

I answered mindlessly three times and hid my face. The man smirked and turned my face toward him. I lowered my gaze. If I looked at him, he might slap me again.

"Are you scared?"

"......."

"Answer."

"Yeah. No. Yes. I'm scared."

My answer changed several times. Even I thought I was pathetic right now.

I bit my lip and tried to hold onto my pride, but I shook my head and answered honestly. I'm scared of you. So stop. Don't hurt me more.

Did he notice my plea? The man kissed my forehead gently.

"If Elias wants, I won't hurt you. If you behave, I won't punish you."

"......."

"I'll give you rewards. Wouldn't it be nice to live your whole life receiving only rewards? Right?"

"......."

I couldn't answer, just nodded mindlessly. The man smiled as if I were pretty and ran his hand down my body, pulling me up. Then he touched my ass, which I didn't even want to touch because it hurt so much.

When I scrunched my nose, he quickly pulled his hand away and lightly touched my cheek, saying:

"Then let's wash up and eat."

The man carried me, who could barely walk, and moved to the bathroom right next door.

The distance from the room where I was imprisoned to the bathroom wasn't far. After passing through the old hallway and moving one room over, there was the bathroom.

It was only on the third day of being imprisoned that I saw what the hallway looked like. But I wasn't in the mood to look around. My ass hurt too much. It stung like there was a hole in my intestines.

I obediently let him take care of me. He washed my body as if handling something precious, dried me off, and dressed me in new clothes from a basket. The clothes were a blue color that looked like something a mental patient would wear. At a glance, it even looked like surgical scrubs. There were several more identical outfits in the basket.

The man carried me, dressed, to the kitchen. The small, cabin-like house had everything it needed. The kitchen had a window. I looked at the window, hoping to see the scenery outside, but nothing was visible. After staring at the window several times, refusing to give up, I realized it was painted over.

So I couldn't see outside. I didn't even know if it was day or night.

I hugged myself tightly and looked around.

In this environment without a single clock, I lowered my head with a gloomy expression.

The man sat me at the table and started the coffee pot.

I saw a watch on the man's arm.

It was hard to see at a glance, so I leaned forward. The man moved his arm, hiding the watch.

"Why? Curious about the time?"

"Yeah."

I wanted to know when I got here, how long I'd been here, and whether it was day or night. I swallowed the long explanation and kept it to myself.

The man seemed to think for a moment, then lifted his watch and looked at it.

I caught a glimpse of the moving hands. The man said to me:

"It's 3 AM."

"Um, you don't have to do this."

"What do you mean?"

"Send me home."

"Why?"

"I'll meet you. D—date. Isn't it better to love each other than to rape me in a place like this? You're my stalker, right? Isn't that right?"

"Ah. So you remember that."