Page 21 of Marked By Him

I exhale the breath I’ve been holding all day long and sink down onto my couch. My head falls back against the cushions as I stare up at the popcorn ceiling.

I love having her here. I’ve missed so much about her—the sound of her voice in person, her hugs, even some of her lighter nagging and fussing.

But I hate how she talks about Eli like he’s a chapter of a book and I should’ve turned the page by now. She acts as if grief is something you can schedule.

Mom’s suffered her own losses when Dad passed away while I was in college—we both did—but it’s like she still doesn’t get how I feel.

Imagine if she knew about the mark.

She’d probably lose her mind and demand I go to the local police. She wouldn’t get that the Baekho Pa laughs in the face of the law.

I lift my arm slowly and check out the mark inked on the inside of my wrist. If the Baekho Pa were going to truly end me, I wish they would’ve done so that night.

At least then I wouldn’t have to deal with the unknown. All this endless torture waiting for them to return.

A suddenthumpoutside my apartment door makes the breath catch in my lungs.

I bolt upright on the couch and listen for the sound again.

It wasn’t loud. It was so subtle I probably would’ve missed it if I had the TV on or was watching videos on TikTok.

But it wasdefinitelythere.

I pop to my feet and hurry to the door. My insides twist into knots as I press my eye to the peephole and scope out the hall.

No one is around. Not a single soul.

The hallway is empty like it usually is.

I’m no less relieved.

Because I did hear something. I sensed something outside my door.

I’ve stopped believing in coincidences. Deep down, I know the truth.

He’s coming for me. He’s lurking somewhere, waiting to strike at the most opportune moment. It may not be tonight or tomorrow or even next week, but the time will come when I can’t outrun the mark inked onto my skin.

Someday, Jin will be back.

7.Jin

Monroe has livedin Busan for a year and, from my research, has had no family or friends visit her.

But it’s during the week I’m trying to kill her that,finally, someone shows up. Her mother is the same height she is, petite and small like her daughter, but with a few extra pounds added over time.

I can see where Monroe gets many of her features from—her copper complexion, her large and emotive eyes, the delicate shape of her round nose and face that have a permanent youthful element.

You can take a look at them together and tell they are mother and daughter.

I keep my distance as Monroe shows true happiness for the first time since I’ve started tracking her. It’s apparent her mother frustrates her, like many parents do their children, but there is a lot of care and affection between them.

As they climb into the backseat of the taxicab at the airport, Monroe’s mother strokes her daughter’s hair. Outside Monroe’s apartment, she carries her mother’s heavy suitcase, and then later gives her the bed.

All displays of familial love that are foreign to me.

The memories I have of my mother fade more and more as time goes by. Soon she’ll cease to exist entirely.

Some would look at Monroe and her mother and find their bond endearing.

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