It'd been four weeks since everything changed. Entirely, completely and irreversably.

 

Now she welcomed the blows. She provoked him to be even harsher to her, to press on the purple bruises she hid behind her sleeves and make them hurt more.

 

Now, she did not hate any of it anymore. She would take all of what he had, because it was already too much.

 

The first time she'd woken up, she was a complete mess. Her sister was horrified but helped her hide the scars from their parents. It took two days for it to heal enough for her to be able to function normally. Her hands were always shaking, her mind going back to the dark room, to the syringe, to the cold touch of the knives and scalpels and who knows what else. Her mind kept going back to the feel of her fingers lightening up the dark and brining out something so powerful and good that her whole body could not stop tingling from the sensation.

 

He should've went up in flames with that planet, but the light would not hurt him – it was a part of him. He was a star, a shining star that could light up the darkness with a shout of desperation, his eyes watering because it was dark, so dark, always so dark, and his eyes were blinded by the light. He wished the feel of it behind his eyelids would never vanish.

 

But then she'd remember the cold arms on his throat, seemingly playing with him as they ventured lower, lower... and then proceeded to cut through his stomach as he screamed, not able to do anything about it. They wouldn't even let him lose consciousness as they did it.

 

Today, she could not see the places they'd cut, because they were as hidden by his clothes as always. He was wearing black – it was always some insanely dark color for him - and the sole open button on his shirt , though she knew well what awaited beneath. His skin was a painting of milky white and brown and red and she wanted to trace every single mark with .

 

She hated how her whole body seemed to be put on edge just by his existence. She hated how whenever he insulted her, she could not pull off a look of hurt, but desire instead. But what she hated even more were his sinful smirks as he'd play with the hem of her shawl, whispering in her ear dirtily, “I know what’s below this, you little .”

 

But she knew what was below everything as he moaned in front of her on Saturdays, crying and panting and spasming as if she were electrocuting him, while she led him to his happiest memories. She knew the feel of his silky hair against her fingers better than anyone, and she knew well how much he loved it when she did that, even if he had no idea that he was even experiencing it.

 

She’d drown him in the water of his home planet while she drowned in the dark room and screamed as they cut her over and over again, laughing and telling her she would be begging them to kill her by the time they were done.

 

And she’d beg; she’d beg over and over again with her raspy, voiceless throat that would never sing again, that would never reach the light again, that would never go home or even move to form words.

 

Then she’d wake up, dry the tears and do her best to hide the scars.

 

And on Saturdays, she’d save him over and over again.

 

Today, it was Friday. Tomorrow, her world would fall apart again as the bags below her eyes darkened and the still-not-healed bruises renewed. It was more difficult with the cuts – they had to be treated and wrapped in gaze. She’d only taken it off yesterday, getting rid of the evidence and wishing she was able to just ask Lay to heal her, because that would’ve made things so much easier.

 

But Lay did not know her. Almost none of them did, except those she’d met before all of this started – Junmyeon was worried about her and kept asking her whether something was wrong, Soo was silent but acted overprotective, and Jongin tried to make her laugh and played with her all the time. She didn’t know Jongdae or Minseok that well, but they seemed to be whispering things whenever she saw them, falling silent as she passed next to them.

 

Him, on the other hand, only became worse towards her as time went by. He would now insult her openly, corner her during breaks and put a hand on or squeeze her wrists too tightly. His eyes would light up in expectation as he waited for her to slap him, or insult him back, or do something, anything. But she’d just stand there, seeing the broken boy punished for something so pure, and she’d hate him for doing this to her, for making her have to not hate him anymore.

 

She would ask herself over and over again why she kept doing this as she scrubbed her bruised body and avoided looking at her reflection in the mirror. She would promise herself this time she wouldn’t come to school on Saturday, but then she’d just seek him out again when it was dark and nobody was there to see or hear him begging for more, always more with his sighs as her fingers settled on his neck.

 

Now his sinful form, clad in equally sinful too-tight pants and the too-loose shirt with holes at the whole length of his arms – as if daring anyone to try to see what was beneath – got up from where it was sitting with his menacing friend Sehun.

 

One, two, three, four, she counted his steps as he walked over to where she was standing – she’d retreated to the only safe place in the whole gym, which was the farthest corner where no person had a reason to get close to, but of course, he always had a reason.

 

He’d torture her until there was nothing left. And she’d receive her punishment gladly, the punishment for wanting him, for wishing for things that were not allowed to someone like her.

 

“Oh, Sehunnie, look what we have here!” he said cheerfully, his voice seemingly as innocent as when he spoke to any of the other people at school, but she knew. This would turn into something awful soon. She braced herself, still ignoring him and not allowing herself to look up, instead staring at her book as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

 

Then Sehun made a surprised sound that sounded very fake while some kind of liquid started hitting the floor. There it was – the beginning of the show, whose main role was none other than herself. “Sorry, hyung, I could not hear you because I just accidentally spilled a whole bottle of water all around the center of the gym!”

 

Five more minutes, she told herself as she inconspicuously looked at her watch. Five more minutes, and then you’ll be free. Just endure until then.

 

“You hear that, retard?” he sang with his honey-like voice, urging her to fight back, to hit him, to mark his skin like they’d done, because it was the only thing that could make him feel. Being a silent statue only made him angrier, but she did not care. She could take the blows, but she could not fight back. Not when she knew how his smile, his real smile looked like, or how his real laugh sounded like.

 

“Sehunnie spilled water all over the gym floor and guess who has to clean it all up, huh?” The challenge rose, and she knew he would not be able to hold out for much longer. Perhaps a minute or so. Then she needed to survive four more and then go on with her life.

 

But today, he seemed to have had another plans. He took her by the shoulders roughly and threw her all over the floor, her notebook hitting a wall somewhere behind her as her head collided with liquid – he must’ve thrown her to the place Sehun had carefully prepared for her newest humiliation. She felt so honored. The next thing he’d do would be spilling more water onto her and having the whole class watch her while they bullied her.

 

Instead, he growled, “Out. Everyone.”

 

What had gotten into him today? Was he getting tired of her not responding to his insults, deciding to become even more violent in order to get a response? Why was it her, just her, always just her? He could find plenty of other girls who’d be happy to scratch him and punch him and do just about anything for him. Was her unresponsiveness what urged him on? Would he have left her alone if she’d just done what he asked from her?

 

She knew the answer was no. She had seen it in his memories – she knew who she reminded him of. She knew how much she hated her because of that, because he was forced to relieve it over and over again whenever he saw her.

 

Her head was turned towards the side as she sat at the center of the gym, already wet from all the water that was on the floor. Everyone had left already, urged by Sehun’s shouts that class was over earlier. Nobody questioned, especially their teacher, who had probably left the gym an hour ago to go and sleep at the teachers’ room.

 

Minutes went by as the other kids got dressed and left. She sat there, feeling cold and annoyed, wondering how she’d dry her clothes because today she was spared from participating in the class and was not wearing her gym clothes, as his form loomed over her, his hands on his hips. Neither of them was looking at each other – she saw he was waiting for Sehun’s return surprisingly patiently from the corner of her left eye.

 

Sehun returned an eternity later, nodding at her in confirmation that the gym was now empty. Baekhyun did not move, and neither did Sehun, waiting for his next command.

 

“I said everyone, Sehun,” he growled again, and this was the first time she heard him call his best friend without the endearment. Sehun was frozen, too – he also had no idea what was going on. This was not part of their usual plan. For some reason, she was in big trouble today – bigger than ever before, though she did not know what had changed since yesterday.

 

“Get out!” he shouted, and Sehun finally moved, nodding and whispering something that sounded like Mianhe, which was probably some kind of Korean apology.

 

Then they were alone, and she gulped. She emptied her mind – she would not let herself feel anything, she would not memorize anything, he could do whatever he wanted and tomorrow she’d just hide the scars-

 

“Clean it up,” his strict voice said from above her, but she did not move. How would she clean it up? She needed tools – a sponge, a bucket, preferably a sweeper to make it easier to collect the water quickly-

 

“I said clean it up!” His voice was unforgiving now, angry at her for existing, because today he must’ve been at a darker place than usual, and the order rang through the room like a thunderstorm, the roar bouncing off the walls and coming back to haunt her.

 

Then he pushed her face-first onto the floor, and now her whole shawl was wet, along with her face, as he pressed it into the wet puddle. “Clean it up like this. You have no other use anyway – we might as well do the most we can with what we have.”

 

He kept pushing her into the floor and she could not breathe – the water was getting in her eyes, her nose, , her hair would become a mess quickly if she did not react soon, and so she started struggling against him, trying to get up and save things before they got out of hand – though they already have. She was expecting he’d do that – push her into the wet center they’d prepared, but she didn’t expect the strength with which he was holding her would be too much for her. Instead of managing to get away and giving herself a chance to run before the shock wore off, she just ended up with her whole front wet as she splashed the water all around them with her desperate limbs.

 

“That’s it,” he whispered, his mouth now dangerously close to her ear, “I knew you had some fight left in you after all. Do you know how much I’ve missed this? It’s no fun humiliating you if you don’t fight back. Now try to hit me if you can.”

 

She growled, knowing this was the exact reaction he was trying to get out of her, but she was not giving in to his sick wishes yet.

 

Then he pressed his whole body against hers and whispered, “Fight me. I know you want to.”

 

And she was gone.

 

Why was she giving in like this? But as he let her turn as she blindly reached for her face, hissing as she scratched his cheeks with all the strength she possessed, she realized he was right – she did want to fight him, to get him back for torturing her just because she reminded him of someone, for forcing her to go through the same torture he did every Sunday and Monday, before she woke up screaming and covered in cuts and bruises on Tuesday morning, forced to always lie that she was okay, that everything was fine.

 

She hated him because she could not blame him, because she understood him, because she wanted to cradle him against her chest and whisper sweet nothings as she returned him to his good memories, as he found good memories of her inside of his mind and watched him sigh her name while he calmed down.

 

So she moved on top of him, now intent on making his face as bloody and as scarred a mess as the rest of him was. He actually had the audacity to laugh as he pressed her whole body onto his while he searched for the clasp of her shawl.

 

She proceeded to try to shake his arms off her because his touch was disgusting and all she wanted him to do was move away from her and lie there like a statue while she did what he wanted the most – destroyed his body again, making him remember the torture he’d gone through, the torture she wished had never happened. The torture she wished she’d done to this monster in front of her.

 

But his arms were stronger than hers, and she could not get away. His dilated pupils sang about leading her into the same darkness he was dwelling in for so long – he did not know that she was there already, with him in the dark as they cried out in pain and asked if someone could help them, please.

 

As he took her face in both of his hands and slammed it into the water, both of them soaking wet, he did not know that she knew all of his secrets – how he sometimes went into the bathroom and traced cuts all over his arms in the bathtub, how he was satisfied as he watched the blood trickle down his skin, lacing the water in the tub in red…

 

She traced his arms, as if looking at the scars they were tattered with, while she gasped for air as he shifted his whole weight on her once again, still trying to navigate through the hundreds of layers around her head, searching for the final puzzle piece that would liberate and drown them both.

 

“I hate you,” she said, her eyes mirroring the desire in his, as his face hovered over hers, while he pinned her arms to her sides roughly. She could feel the heat radiating off him – the heat she wanted for herself, the heat she wanted to extinguish as she found an opening and punched him straight in the face.

 

He the blood off his lips as their legs intertwined, the water drops sliding down his face, mixing with the red mark on his mouth. He never looked more attractive, more sinful, more disgusting than in that moment.

 

“I know,” he whispered, a different tone in his voice making her insides turn.

 

And then he was kissing her. His lips moved violently against hers and she tried to break out of it, but he wouldn’t let her – his whole body was around her, on her, and a part of her she desperately struggled against loved every moment of it and wanted more, more.

 

She let go. Now, she would worship him like the filth he was and in the way he deserved.

 

She pulled his hair roughly, his hands still around her wrists as he let her take control for a second, and she started kissing him back. It all seemed to shock him, because he gasped into and she finally took control.

 

Then it was a fight for who could get more, who could get it faster and who would win. It was always a battle, a challenge with him, and this time, she would not back down. This time, her hands sneaked beneath the hem of his obscene, wet and now see-through shirt as they parted, both disheveled and gasping for air.

 

He threw her shawl on the floor, having somehow succeeded in removing it from her and she didn’t even need to glance at it to know that it was as ruined as she must’ve looked. She panted as he finally touched her now-accessible hair, murmuring, “It’s disgusting,” as his mouth moved to her ear and then to her neck, making her gasp and then moan because he’d found a certain spot that made her want to beg him to stop and continue at the same time.

 

In the meantime, her hands were tracing his rock-hard abs as she raked her fingernails all over his stomach, marking her territory, possessing what was not hers to have, not hers to touch, but she’d regret her choices later.

 

Now she could think about nothing but Baekhyun’s hand sliding up her leg, Baekhyun’s mouth biting her neck not-so-gently over and over again, Baekhyun’s body heat enveloping her, Baekhyun’s lips saying I hate you over and over again as he moved to her collarbone, Baekhyun Baekhyun Baekhyun.

 

Then he did something very strange – he kissed the top of her chest innocently and put his forehead on it, breathing heavily as he let her go and stopped moving. All she could hear was his panting and she could feel his hands shaking on top of hers – now they were gentle as they barely touched hers, seemingly spasming from the brief touch which was already too much for him.

 

“Please,” he breathed and she thought she did not hear correctly. What did he want from her now? Hadn’t she already given him enough of her to ravish? Did he really want more, even though he knew how forbidden this was and how much she hated them both for going along with it, for wanting it?

 

She would give him whatever he asked for. If what he wanted was everything, she would sign the contract for her soul and drown in him. She would let him take her breath away and burn her down. She would let him destroy her like the planet, and as the flames enveloped her, she would scream his name in agony and ecstasy.

 

But then he sobbed Please again, his tear-filled, hollow eyes looking at her, and she did not know what it was that he wanted from her.

 

He nudged her with his cheek, but she still did not understand. He seemed to have been desperate now – he moved nervously on top of her, one of his hands taking her wrist awfully gently, too gently to be just a part of their previous game of push-and-pull. For a moment, he was the lost, tortured boy again, afraid of the dark and asking her to be his light. But what did he want her to do?

 

Then he settled her fingers at the back of his neck, and the whole world stopped.

 

“Please,” he begged, his neck moving below her fingers as his puppy-eyes looked at her. “Please.”

 

But what- how- why- when-

 

The tears spilled. How could she deny him when he was so obviously in pain? None of the answers mattered anymore – why he was in pain, how he knew she could take it away – all she knew was the feel of the feather-light touch of his other hand on her cheek as the hot tears spilled onto her chest. Please.

 

She nodded at him, not understanding what was happening, but not able to move away from him. He would not remember any of this anyway – perhaps it was even better this way. He would think it was all a crazy dream and she could go back to being unresponsive.

 

As soon as her fingers started tingling, the terrified boy disappeared. Now he was a living, coiling wire, his neck moving backwards to gain more closeness to her fingers as he moaned obscenely as its front was bared to her. She searched for a memory of him playing with Soo and Chanyeol and Sehun in the forest-

 

Then he opened his eyes, and they were the color of gold.

 

“More,” he moaned, his back arching backwards. She froze.

 

She could not find a single memory – she could not enter his mind, even, because something was blocking her.

 

Her fingers on his neck tightened when he dove in again, kissing her more roughly and passionately than before. “More,” he murmured against her lips, seemingly having lost control of his voice, because it was too low and he was gasping and and moving against her so sinfully.

 

So she gave him more, her power again leaving her through her fingers and into the back of his neck. Baekhyun was in ecstasy, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as a light began to shine around them. His hair wasn’t blonde anymore – now it was golden as her hands moved at their own accord, ripping the buttons on his shirt as she struggled to get closer to him, to get more too.

 

Every scar on his ruined chest was shining. She thought she’d go blind from all of the light he was radiating as he chanted his mantra of more, more, more, please more into the hollow of her neck, into her ear, all over her shoulders as he tried to take off her oversized button-up shirt, too.

 

She traced the lines on his wet back, urged on by the sounds he was making – they were heaven and hell to her ears at the same time, as he worshiped the barely healed cuts on her shoulders, matching his own.

 

She turned them around again, and now he was rocking against her in the water. She thought it would’ve all evaporated from the heat they were emitting – his wet, golden hair was a sanctuary her free hand kept coming back to, pulling it lightly and enjoying his gasps as his mouth moved further down her shoulder while his hands slowly – oh so slowly started ing her shirt.

 

“Baekhyun,” she keened, not wanting him to stop.

 

Then she gave him more, focusing all her power on his neck and letting it flow out of her. She’d give him everything.

 

The whole world lit up as he gasped in satisfaction.

 

Then the light went out, and his arms went slack as his head hit the floor. His eyes were closed and she could not hear his breath or feel his heartbeat.

 

“Baekhyun?” she whispered in terror.

 

Had she killed him with her power? Was it too much for him?

 

“Baekhyun?”