The locks rattled from the impact, clinking dully against the metal frame. Then a realization dawned on him.
“You’re not saying anything because you want me to open it myself?”
Disgust twisted his features. “Crystal, stop playing the victim. Jessica got burned with boiling water, and she didn’t even blame you. And yet, you’ve been in this steamer for only a few days, and now you’re pulling this act?”
…
That day, I had still been at home when Tristan brazenly brought Jessica inside.
Jessica clung to his arm, her eyes full of mirth as she smiled at me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Tristan’s good friend. We’ve known each other for years—I’m sure you don’t mind, do you?”
But that wasn’t true.
I had seen her face plenty of times in Tristan’s photo albums.
With an outsider present, I couldn’t afford to lose my composure, no matter how I felt.
So I made an excuse and went to the kitchen, putting distance between us. Out of sight, out of mind.
But Jessica followed me. The friendly facade she had worn moments ago was gone, replaced by something cold and venomous.
“Crystal, just because you’re with Tristan now doesn’t mean I’m out of the picture. I’m his first love, and you know what that means, don’t you?”
I frowned and instinctively took two steps back, increasing the space between us.
Something about this didn’t feel right.
Sure enough, Jessica smiled triumphantly. Without hesitation, she grabbed the kettle from the table and poured the scalding water over her own wrist.
“Aah—!”
Tristan rushed in at the sound of her scream. He saw only Jessica clutching her reddened wrist, her face contorted in pain.
And me—standing unharmed, beside the kettle.
No matter how I explained, he refused to believe me. He insisted I had done it deliberately. Without a second thought, he took Jessica to the hospital. I sat on the couch, my stomach in knots, waiting.
When he returned, he didn’t come alone.
He brought her back with him.
And he brought that half-man-high steamer.
He ignored every word I said. Without a shred of hesitation, he shoved me inside. As if that wasn’t enough, he poured boiling water into the compartment below, letting the searing steam scald my skin.
Water droplets splattered onto my arms, each one burning like fire. I twisted in agony, my face contorted in pain.
And he watched, satisfied. “I’ll make you feel the pain Jessica suffered a thousand times over!”
…
Now, I hovered beside him, watching as he gripped the key tightly. He wanted to unlock the steamer but hesitated.
It was easy to see why.
Even a single maggot was enough to send most people into a cleaning frenzy, let alone this writhing mass of them.
And Tristan—he was a neat freak.
It must have taken all his willpower just to step closer. Finally, he unlocked the steamer, settled on a spot with fewer maggots, clenched his jaw, and with both hands, wrenched the lid open.
“Crystal, let’s see what kind of game you’re playing this time.”
