The cycle

The next week unfolded in a blur of rehearsals, appearances, and endless, preening smiles. For Haeun, the days seemed carefully constructed — a false mask, stitched together with false laughter and precisely timed expressions. She moved like a puppet, the strings expertly pulled by hands unseen: the company, the manager, the fans, all of them masters she dared not disobey.

Each morning began with rehearsals for their next comeback. In a cavernous studio lined with mirrors, Haeun stood among the other members, their bodies moving in perfect unison - grace and precision personified. The music thundered through the room, forcing any other thoughts out of their minds. "Again!" barked the instructor when a single step faltered.

“Smile,” Mr. Kang, their manager, would remind her. Always smile.

After rehearsal came the fan meets. Haeun sat at a long table beneath fluorescent lights, her name emblazoned in gaudy colors behind her. The line of fans stretched endlessly, winding around corners and through hallways. One by one, they came forward, clutching posters, albums, and phones, their faces glowing with worship.

“Haeun, you’re so beautiful in person!” a girl no older than her squealed, trembling as she spoke. Haeun smiled — the kind of smile that softened her eyes and tilted her lips just right, a smile that had been perfected before a mirror.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, her voice gentle, her hands brushing the fan's as she handed back the signed album. “You’re beautiful too.”

The girl gasped, as if Haeun had bestowed upon her some divine blessing. She darted off, tears of joy brimming in her eyes.

Another stepped up — a man this time, older, his gaze lingering too long on her face, her hands, her body. “I’ve been waiting for you all day,” he said, his voice slick, his smile predatory.

“Thank you for supporting me,” Haeun answered, her tone unchanged, her expression unmarred by the disgust that coiled in her stomach. She signed the album quickly, her fingers steady though she longed to recoil.

Fan after fan, hour after hour, she played her part. They gushed, they cried, they babbled nervously, and to each one, Haeun gave exactly what they needed: a laugh, a compliment, a practiced twinkle in her eye that made them feel special. She hated them for believing it, for being so easily fooled, yet she pitied them too. Did they know how false it all was? Did they care?

When the day’s duties ended, she collapsed into the van, her body heavy, her face aching from holding a smile for so long. The makeup wiped away, she stared at her reflection in the dark window. Without the shimmer of gloss or the glow of blush, she felt like a ghost. Her face, tired and shadowed, belonged to a stranger.

And at night, yet another master of her fate comes to claim her body. Every night, Jihoon entered without knocking, without speaking. At first, Haeun had tried to fill the silence, her voice soft as she asked him about his day or his thoughts.

But each time, he would ignore her, pushing her onto the bed, his eyes burning with something beyond anger, beyond lust. He would push her head into the pillow, his other hand ripping away at her clothes.

Haeun, trapped beneath the weight of his body, would close her eyes and pretend. In her mind, it was Joonie's gentle touch, his soft kisses that traced her skin like whispers. But reality was harsh; it was the bruising grip of Jihoon’s fingers, the sharp pain of his thrusts as he drove into her without mercy.

After he was done, he would leave as silently as he had come, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the aching aftermath of his use.

Eventually, she had stopped wearing clothes altogether, simply to avoid the hassle of having to replace ripped ones. Instead, she waited for him bare, feeling herself grow wet as the hands of her clock ticked down to his arrival.

She should have ended it between them, cut him off and stop this abusive cycle once and for all. But she could not deny that as he used her for his pleasure, grunting as he hate-fucked her into the mattress, there was something in it that turned her on too.

And so the days continued, an endless loop of rehearsal, performance, violation, sleep. She wanted to confide in her Joonie, but what would she say? That she was being abused, used, treated like trash? That she enjoyed it?

No, she could not burden him with this. Not after they have finally arrived at such a good spot in their relationship.

And then came the night when everything changed.