Forbidden Desire

I lost all my strength when I heard his trembling voice saying that he couldn’t stay away from me. His words pierced through the air, carrying the weight of our tangled emotions. Because I knew that whatever he had done, I couldn’t stay away from him either. The turmoil in my heart threatened to engulf me. I wanted to kiss him until I forgot everything that had happened, but I needed to try and regain some of my sanity. So, I wouldn’t go mad, and I could only do that away from him. With a heavy heart, I ran out of there, my feet pounding against the ground, my mind racing with conflicting thoughts. Before my willpower vanished, I stole one more glance at him, imprinting his image in my memory.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

As I rushed past my aunt, who seemed to be waiting for me in the kitchen, I barely registered her presence. My sole focus was on reaching the sanctuary of my bedroom. Collapsing onto the bed, I surrendered to the onslaught of tears, allowing them to wash over me like a relentless tide.

“He and I had nothing,” I whispered to myself amidst the sea of emotions crashing within me. There was no justification for the depth of my pain, yet I couldn’t quell the ache in my heart. The revelation of his involvement with someone else tore through me, unraveling the fragile threads of hope I had woven around us since the moment I first laid eyes on him. “He’s right, I’m just a girl… A silly, dreamy girl,” I confessed to the emptiness of the room, my voice barely a whisper. Each word carried the weight of disillusionment, of shattered dreams that lay scattered at my feet.

The creak of the door interrupted my desolation, and a surge of anticipation flooded my senses. Perhaps, against all odds, it might be him. But reality intruded once more as my aunt stepped into the room, her expression a mixture of empathy and concern. The sight of her compassionate gaze only served to intensify my tears. She sighed, a world of wisdom etched in the lines of her face, as if grappling with the burden of shared experience.

“I warned you, my child,” she began, her voice tinged with sorrow borne from her own past. “This will never end well for us. We’ll always be just servants.” Her words hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of unspoken truths.

Her last words dissolved into sobs, and I met her tear-filled eyes with a mixture of empathy and despair. “You too, auntie?” I murmured, my voice barely audible above the tumult of emotions raging within me.

She nodded, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek, a silent testament to the pain she had endured. “In the first house I worked in,” she recounted, her voice tinged with bittersweet reminiscence, “I fell in love with the eldest son of the family.” The wistful glimmer in her eyes pierced through the veil of my own despair, weaving a tapestry of shared longing and regret.

“And what happened?” I ventured, my curiosity mingled with a sense of foreboding.

“Well, one day he said he would tell his mother everything,” she continued, her voice laden with resignation, “but in fact, he just used her as a messenger to get me to leave.” The bitterness of betrayal underscored her words, a stark reminder of the cruelties inflicted by love’s capricious whims. “Because of tradition in Korea, the eldest son can’t marry a foreign woman,” she added, her tone tinged with a hint of bitterness.

She paused, lost in the labyrinth of memories that haunted her, before resuming her tale with a weary sigh. “She fired me, threw all my stuff out the same day,” she recounted, her voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and sorrow, “and he didn’t even bother to say goodbye to me.” The sting of abandonment echoed in her words, a poignant reminder of the wounds that never fully healed.

“So I used what dignity I had to walk out of there with my head held high,” she concluded, a flicker of pride illuminating her weary features, “and made myself a promise never to get involved with any man who was out of my league.” The resolve in her voice resonated with the weight of unspoken vows, a testament to the strength forged in the crucible of heartache.

“And you never saw him again?” I inquired, my voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy.

“No, and frankly, I prefer it that way,” she admitted, a note of resignation coloring her words, “he probably married the woman his mother chose and moved on.” The bitterness of acceptance underscored her words, a silent acknowledgment of the immutable truths that governed their world. “But I never forgot my place,” she added, her voice a whisper carried on the winds of memory.

“It’s too late for me to tell you this now,” she lamented, her gaze heavy with regret, “but do you think he wants anything more than to have fun with you, Jane?” The weight of her question hung in the air, a stark reminder of the harsh realities that lurked beneath the veneer of passion.

I lowered my head, the weight of her words settling like a stone in the pit of my stomach. “Do you think what he’s doing to you is right?” she pressed, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and reproach. “You serve him during the day, and at night he comes to your room to take advantage of you?” The accusation in her words cut through the haze of denial that clouded my mind, laying bare the harsh truths I had been loath to confront.

“You’re just a toy for him to play with,” she continued, her voice heavy with condemnation, “he only uses you for sex, my child.” The starkness of her assessment pierced through the layers of illusion that shrouded my perception, leaving me raw and exposed in its wake.

“Did you at least use protection?” she demanded, her voice tinged with a mixture of disbelief and concern.

“No,” I confessed, my voice barely a whisper amidst the tumult of emotions raging within me.

“My God, Jane, how can you be so irresponsible?” she admonished, her voice laced with a mixture of frustration and concern.

“Auntie, we didn’t do anything,” I protested, my words tinged with a sense of desperation.

She looked confused, her brow furrowing in consternation, before questioning, “So you lied to the police saying he was in your room?”

“No,” I replied, my voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and defiance, “he did spend the night with me, but we didn’t do anything.”

“No? Do you swear?” she pressed, her gaze searching mine for any sign of deception.

“I swear, auntie, we never did anything,” I insisted, my words carrying the weight of truth.

She looked at me suspiciously, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and relief. “Even so, it’s not good to have that kind of intimacy with your bosses,” she cautioned, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and reproach. “Cut it out before you hurt yourself even more.”

I nodded, a sense of shame gnawing at the edges of my conscience, as she pulled me into a comforting embrace. “I’m saying this because I want you to be well. Please stay away from Mr. Park!” Her plea echoed in the recesses of my mind, a solemn reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of desire. She gently wiped away my tears, her touch a soothing balm against the raw edges of my heart. With a weak smile, I acknowledged her concern, a silent vow to heed her words echoing in the chambers of my soul.

Leaving the sanctuary of my bedroom, we retreated to the kitchen, the weight of unspoken truths lingering in the air like a silent specter. As we embarked on the task of cleaning the rooms, my aunt trailed behind me, a silent guardian watching over me with a mixture of protectiveness and apprehension. The day unfolded in a slow procession of moments, each passing second stretching into eternity as I grappled with the tumult of emotions that churned within me.

Finally, as dusk descended, signaling the end of another day, I retreated to the solace of my room to prepare for college. A message from Eunji awaited me, a beacon of light amidst the encroaching darkness. With a sense of anticipation, I made my way to the entrance of the mansion, where his familiar figure awaited me, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Hi, you!” His greeting washed over me like a warm embrace, dispelling the lingering doubts that haunted my soul. Taking his offered helmet, I mounted the back of his bike, wrapping my arms around his waist as we set off into the night.

As we navigated the bustling streets of Seoul, Eunji and I fell into an easy rhythm, our conversation flowing effortlessly between us. Though I had been honest with him about my feelings for Jason, he remained steadfast in his devotion, a constant source of strength in the midst of my uncertainty.

Arriving at class, we were met with a surprising sight-a room transformed into a blank canvas, awaiting the touch of its creators. The teacher’s announcement filled the air with a sense of excitement, promising a journey of self-discovery through the medium of art. With each passing moment, anticipation rippled through the room, mingling with a sense of trepidation as we awaited the unveiling of our task.

Clad in disposable overalls and armed with brushes and paints, we embarked on our artistic odyssey, each stroke of the brush a reflection of our innermost thoughts and emotions. For me, the canvas became a mirror, reflecting the tangled web of desire and longing that had ensnared my heart. With each brushstroke, I sought to capture the essence of Jason-the warmth of his gaze, the curve of his smile-yet, beneath the surface, lurked a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, a tumultuous sea of passion and despair.

As the night wore on, I surrendered myself to the rhythm of creation, the music of my soul finding expression in the vibrant hues that danced across the canvas. With each stroke, I exorcised the demons that haunted me, laying bare the raw edges of my heart for all to see. And in that moment, amidst the chaos of creation, I found a semblance of peace-a fleeting respite from the storm that raged within me.

And so, as the night drew to a close, I stood before my masterpiece-a testament to the tumultuous journey that had brought me to this moment. Though the road ahead remained uncertain, I took solace in the knowledge that, with each brushstroke, I had forged a path towards healing-a path illuminated by the light of my own resilience and strength.