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Joohyun is a good liar.
You have to be, when you’re involved with this kind of stuff. There is no choice but to lie.
When the police come to the door? You lie. When you’re in the interrogation room, too aware of the countless eyes on you? You lie. It’s in her blood; that’s what her husband says, anyway.
“No, Officer, he was with me the whole night,” she says, creating the false image before their eyes. “He came home from work a little before… 8, I think.”
False. He never came home. At 8, he was standing in the office of some politician dumb enough to cross him.
“You said he usually comes home around that time, correct?” the officer recalls. “What does your husband do for a living?”
“He’s a businessman,” Joohyun says– this time, she’s not lying. “You know those types, always working themselves to death.”
“Sure do,” the officer pauses for a moment, noting something down on the small notepad in front of him. “And you said he was at home for the rest of the night?”
“Yes,” Joohyun beams, like she is the kind of housewife who is proud to have cultivated the rare kind of home that a husband would enjoy being in. “I made him his favorite dinner, medium rare steak and roasted Brussel sprouts,” the words come out like they are nothing; at this point, she’s lying about the most pointless of things. “And then he went to the billiards room for about an hour. After that, he came up to our bedroom and we fell asleep.”
“At what time?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What time did he fall asleep?”`
“Oh… maybe around 9 or 9:15?”
“So nothing happened before he slept?” he asks, pales cheeks turning a faint pink. “No…?”
“No?” Joohyun parrots, raising an eyebrow. She knows what he’s asking. As if that even matters to the case.
The officer coughs, pink skin turning a stark red. It’s funny, really, how quick these young men jump to questions about her bedroom.
(Yiseok hasn’t touched her in months, if that’s what they want to know.)
“No sex, Officer,” Joohyun stifles a giggle at how the officer turns an even brighter shade. He looks like a child to her; maybe 22, at the most. Fresh out of the police academy. He has a lot to learn. Still young, still naive. “Is that all?” Her eyes flicker to her watch momentarily. It’s already noon, and she’s bored. It’s a Saturday, and night will fall soon enough.
Yiseok’s bags are probably already packed, in the back of some limousine taking him to the airport, where he can hop on a private jet to Switzerland or France or wherever he isn’t jotted down on a list of suspects.
It should be suspicious. A murder suspect disappearing from the country when investigations start heating up? But if there’s one thing Joohyun’s learned from this relationship, it’s the power of money.
It really is a hell of a drug.
//
“Where’s he off to this time?” Seungwan asks, pouring the rest of the champagne bottle into her glass.
“Hell if I know,” Joohyun scoffs, brushing strands of jet-black hair behind her ear. “Switzerland is his hideout of choice lately. He has a girlfriend there, you know.”
Seungwan laughs dryly, downing her flute of champagne and setting it on the balcony table. “He and Chanwoo are probably fucking the same woman, if that makes you feel any better.”
“As if I feel any way about it,” Joohyun remarks snidely, sipping her flute of champagne. It had hurt a little when she found out, that much was true, but the shock had worn off quick enough. It was almost odd, the feeling of being betrayed by Yiseok; but, she supposed, it was an opportunity to grow.
Discover the betrayal, analyze why it hurts, vow to never let it hurt you again. A simple process. Easy as pie.
Seungwan giggles and raises her empty glass up, as if in a mock salute– and Joohyun doesn’t mean to stare, not really, but Seungwan’s blouse rides up with her movement and her heart sinks.
“Seungwan…” Joohyun trails off and Seungwan seems to realize her mistake, tugging down her shirt– but it’s too late. Joohyun’s already seen the bruises.
“It’s nothing,” Seungwan’s playful tipsy demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, voice suddenly taking on a defensive edge. “Can we move on?”
Joohyun can’t lie– she can’t help but desire to drop the subject, desire to forget the black and blue bruises blossoming across Seungwan’s midsection. After all, she’s never been too good at tackling the emotional side of things.
(“I want a machine, Joohyun,” she remembers her husband telling her, back when he was just a boyfriend that her mother warned her about. “Can you be my machine?”)
“We can move on,” she says. She hates herself for it.
(“Always.”)
//
The mansion is not Joohyun’s favorite place to be.
It smells like money and death– “this is where the magic happens,” Yiseok had said the first time he brought her here. There are rooms where bills paint the walls, left undisturbed until some poor sap gets tempted by the power that unlimited wealth brings; and then there are the other rooms. The ones for those poor selfish men.
They are the kind of rooms you enter and never come out of.
Joohyun has never been afraid of those rooms. She’s a machine, after all. Machines don’t die.
(As long as she is never replaced, she will be fine. There’s no downside to becoming the stone cold creature her husband has expected her to be. She’s taken care of; she’s guaranteed protections that the other women could never dream of. She will never be forced into one of those rooms, and that’s enough for her.)
But Seungwan inhales so sharply when they walk by those doors; it’s a scary reminder that the woman who has somehow become her closest friend is so terribly vulnerable.
“There you are,” Chanwoo’s booming voice surprises them both, and Joohyun watches Seungwan’s shoulders tense as the man approaches, caressing her arm in greeting. “Where have you been, darling?”
Seungwan takes a moment too long to reply– it might be Joohyun’s imagination, but Chanwoo’s grip on Seungwan seems to tighten and, before she knows it, she’s opened her mouth. “I invited Seungwan over for some drinks,” Joohyun clears her throat, folding her hands in front of her, the way that the men here like to see. “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you, sir. My apologies.”
Chanwoo chuckles slowly, pulling Seungwan closer to him. Joohyun wonders if he hears her squeak.
She doesn’t think he cares.
“It’s quite alright, Joohyun. Is Yiseok around?”
“He’s out of town,” she sighs, trying her hardest to act like she cares about his whereabouts. “He disposed of that troublesome alderman last night, sir.”
“I see,” Chanwoo nods. Joohyun’s sure he’s glad to hear the news. Not that the alderman posed any threat to begin with– what chance does one puny politician have against the most powerful mob in the city? “Well, we should be on our way. I know Seungwan’s missed me.”
“Very much, sir.” The lie, like all the others before, is too easy.
“Goodbye, Joohyun,” Seungwan finally speaks, nodding softly to Joohyun in acknowledgment.
“Goodbye.”
//
Joohyun sees Seungwan in the mansion the next day.
Her arm is broken.
//
How do revolutions spread?
They start with one person. One idea that becomes bigger and bigger until it bursts into flames, igniting action and sparking passion and scorching pain into the earth. Revolutions are loud and they don’t care if they’re hurting your ears; they will get their way and leave you for dead if they have to.
But there are silent revolutions too. The kind that sneak up on you and tempt you, that seduce you until you’ve thrown yourself off the cliff and realize, belatedly, that there is no return.
“I want to burn this place to the ground,” Seungwan whispers to Joohyun the next Saturday night. And the revolution inside Joohyun’s cold body begins.
//
Yiseok returns to the city two weeks after Seungwan whispers temptation into Joohyun’s ears.
Corruption does not begin overnight. Joohyun is a machine. Machines do not become corrupted, not if they’re built the right way.
(But when Seungwan whispers revenge into the night sky, Joohyun can’t help but feel her heart beat in her chest again.)
“We could just run away, you know,” Joohyun suggests one night. “We can be in an entirely different continent before they know it.”
“That’s a death sentence,” Seungwan shakes her head. “They’re too powerful. If we run, they’ll find us. And when they find us, they kill us.”
Joohyun sighs a sigh of resignation, and Seungwan must take it for a sound of regret. “It’s kill or be killed, Joohyun. You, of all people, should know that already.”
(“Kill or be killed, baby,” her husband murmured when he held the gun up to the base of her skull. “I know you want to do it, Joohyun. I know you.”)
Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed.
“I don’t want to die,” Joohyun whispers, and for the first time in years, she is scared for herself.
It’s a different feeling than being scared for Seungwan, she thinks. With Seungwan, she is scared because she loves her. And when someone you love is hurt, it’s only natural to feel that way, to feel so worried for someone you might be sick. But this? This is different. This is full-fledged. tear inducing (read: selfish) fear.
Maybe she isn’t as effective of a machine as she thought.
//
That conversation breaks something in Joohyun.
(The revolution is beginning to run free in her veins. It pulses under her skin, lighting up every urge she’s ever had to disobey, to break free, into flames. It’s almost blinding, the way she has been set on fire by a woman who tempted her with the shining taste of freedom.)
How many more steps until she’s flying off the edge?
//
They plan it for a Saturday night.
A dinner get-together seems to be good enough of an excuse. Yiseok has a rule to keep business out of their house. That means no bodyguards, no guns, no discussing who has to be permanently silenced next. Those discussions are saved for the mansion.
He trusts her, she realizes.
That’s his mistake.
(And, later, when everything goes wrong, she will know that he has realized this already.)
She can’t really blame him, though. As far as he knows, Joohyun is still the perfect little machine that he created from his own hands. “I made you,” he hissed the first time revolution’s weak flame sparked in her bones, years before Seungwan and the bruises and empty champagne bottles. “You know I’ll call the police and tell them everything you’ve done the second you step out of that door.”
Kill or be killed.
“Why did you marry him?” Seungwan asks, eventually. Joohyun should have seen this conversation coming.
“I loved him,” Joohyun’s surprised at how fast it slips off of her tongue.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m not lying,” she insists. “I really did love him. He used to be, I don’t know,” Joohyun pauses, racking for the right words to describe how Yiseok used to be, back when he was just a man who said all the right things at all the right times. “He used to care for me. He used to spoil me. I loved him.”
Seungwan’s silent, biting down on her ruby red bottom lip. “Something had to go wrong, right?”
“I wish I knew exactly what it was,” Joohyun admits, shoulders drooping slightly. “We just got cold. And then he started using me, you know, for the odd jobs here and there.” It’s a slight understatement of the truth, but there’s no easy way to tell someone you’re your husband’s personal murder weapon. “The power’s a thrill. I think, somewhere along the way, I got addicted to the power he gives me.”
“Your power, not mine,” Seungwan snorts. “The highest rank I’ve ever had in the mob is the honorable position of being Chanwoo’s long-term punching bag.”
“He’s different from Chanwoo. Or the rest of the men. He saw what I wanted,” Joohyun admits, quietly, like it’s something she’s never wanted to think about before. “He saw what I wanted and he used it to persuade me into being what he wanted me to be.”
Who needs a woman when you have a machine?
//
It’s the last Saturday night of the month; it’s the night everything changes.
Joohyun’s not completely satisfied with their plan, not really. There’s always a risk that something could go wrong. She’s never had to put a plan behind murder before. Her husband always had everything set up for her. But it’s exhilarating, in a way.
Isn’t this the power she’s craved so desperately?
“We’re burning them to the ground, Seungwan,” she murmurs when she hugs the other woman in a seemingly friendly greeting. “Promise me you’ll follow my lead?”
Seungwan squeezes her a little tighter. She takes it as a yes.
The men are oblivious as ever– Yiseok greets Chanwoo with a handshake and a “how’s business?”, even though they are both perfectly aware how business is. Seungwan walks them to the balcony, offers them whiskey and smokes, even acts surprised when Joohyun’s husband turns her down.
(Joohyun thinks that, maybe, if Seungwan never met Chanwoo, she could have been an actress. Maybe after this is all over, she can be.
Joohyun thinks a lot about giving Seungwan the life she deserves.)
“Darling, can you come and help me in the kitchen?” Joohyun calls out, smiling like she’s supposed to when Yiseok steps back inside towards her.
One step. Two steps. Three steps. Everything is going to plan–
“Keep smiling,” he says. “don’t look at Seungwan.”
And Joohyun’s heart stops.
(This isn’t part of the plan.)
“Keep smiling, Joohyun,” his eyes are dark and cold and, God, Joohyun’s still not used to this emotion. This fear. “Did you really think your plan would work?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joohyun raises her chin, trying her best to match his silent anger, even with her heart stuttering in her chest. “Don’t act up in front of our guests, darling, be polite–”
“You’re so stupid to think I would leave you without any type of surveillance, sweetheart, really,” he’s stopped walking now, inches away from Joohyun. They’re out of sight of Chanwoo and Seungwan now, the two still out on the balcony, Joohyun realizes. ”You’re clever, I’ll admit that. I’m even a little proud. But I’m not an idiot.”
(The nearest knife is more than ten paces backwards, back in the kitchen, back where the first murder was supposed to happen. Maybe their plan can be salvaged, maybe it’s not too late.)
“You’re my precious little machine, baby,” he’s smiling now, cold and cruel and, God, how could she have been so stupid? “I can’t have you rebelling now, can I?”
“Fuck you,” Joohyun spits, already turning to make a dash to the kitchen, she can do it, she has to do it, for the sake of Seungwan and herself and everything they have planned, she’s fast and small and she has killed so many times before, but–
He grabs her wrist before she can turn, twisting it in her grip and it hurts, but she doesn’t know what hurts more, the pain in her wrist or the twisted realization that they’ve lost.
It’s over.
“You have two options,” he snarls, tightening the fist around her small wrist. “I kill you right here, right now. You know I wouldn’t mind doing it. Or…”
Please don’t say it, please don’t.
“Kill her,” he says. “Kill her, and I’ll forget all about this little incident, my love.”
“Please, no, please don’t make me do this,” she pleads, tears running down her face– it’s been such a long time since the last time she cried. It feels so foreign but so real, so intoxicatingly human that she can’t help but sob out years of sorrow.
“Keep smiling, Joohyun,” he grins his big toothy grin, like this is the most entertaining thing to happen to him all week. “Seungwan,” he calls out, shifting from a growl to a kind, yet domineering, call. “Can you come join us inside?”
Don’t come, please. Follow the plan.
She can’t do this again. She can’t kill Seungwan– they’ve come too far for that.
Joohyun’s come too far for that.
Seungwan, please, don’t come in here.
“Is everything okay?” Seungwan frowns, walking inside from the balcony. “What’s taking so long–“
“Seungwan!” Joohyun yells, attempting to jerk away from her husband (it’s no use, his grip is like iron on her skin). “Run, please–“
She sees the shock color Seungwan’s face, fear rushing up to her eyes and it hurts more than the firm hand holding her captive.
How could this have happened? They had planned it all so well.
“Joohyun has something she wants to tell you,” he laughs, grabbing a gun from his back pocket and pressing it into Joohyun’s free hand. “Right, baby?”
“R-right,” she stumbles over her words, trying to speak and think at the same time. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad of a plan to point the barrel at him instead of her, maybe she’ll shoot before he makes a sound, maybe she and Seungwan can make it out alive.
“Don’t get any ideas, darling,” her husband laughs again, that terrifying, deep laugh, and that’s when she knows he really was an entire two steps in front of them the whole time. “Come on, now,” he pulls the other gun out from his dinner jacket, jabbing it into Joohyun’s back. “Kill or be killed.”
“Seungwan,” Joohyun sobs, finger trembling on the trigger. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Seungwan chokes out, freezing under the gaze of the barrel of the gun. “I love you.”
“I love you,” Joohyun repeats, words labored from the sheer burden of emotion that she has never felt the need to shoulder before. “I love you, and you need to run.”
It takes some effort to turn, but she’s fast and small and she has killed so many times before and that is how she empties the bullets into her husband’s body against her– she isn’t surprised when she feels the gun pressed against her back erupt in retaliation.
Pain, all she feels is pain, bright white and blinding and this is it, this is the end.
She’s never felt more alive.