Jaemin sat in his office, staring at the digital clock ticking away the seconds. Each tick felt like an hour, each minute dragging him further into the oppressive weight of his life. The luxury of his success, the financial security, the power of his position—they meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Not when he felt as if he were slowly suffocating within the walls of his own home.
The truth had been creeping up on him for a while now, but it had finally become undeniable. His home, the place where he was supposed to find peace, had become a prison. A gilded cage. Sooah's endless need for affection, her incessant cries for attention, her desperate clinging to him—it was suffocating. It tormented him in ways he hadn't imagined. She had become like a shadow that followed him everywhere, her presence haunting every room, every corner, every moment. He couldn't escape her.
At first, he had been patient. He had tried to be the person she needed him to be, suppressing his own needs and desires. But now, he was exhausted. The emotional toll was too much. The constant begging, the relentless demands for affection, for love—it was wearing him down. He was no longer the man who had once tried so hard to be worthy of her. He was a man drowning in a sea of his own restraint, his own suffering.
The psychiatrist had prescribed him sertraline. A medication to help him cope with the overwhelming pressure, the emotional chaos that was spiraling out of control. Jaemin had been hesitant at first, unsure whether he wanted to numb the pain or confront it. But when Sooah's neediness reached a new level of desperation, he had felt himself at a breaking point. He needed something—anything—to help him maintain his composure, to prevent himself from losing the last bit of control he had.
It wasn't just Sooah anymore. It wasn't just her desperate love, her Stockholm Syndrome that had tied her to him. Jaemin realized that he, too, had fallen into his own version of Stockholm Syndrome. He had spent years molding himself into someone he thought would be worthy of her affection. He had given everything to be the man she wanted, the man she needed. He had denied himself everything, restrained himself at every turn, all to please her, all to ensure that she wouldn't abandon him.
Now, he was trapped in his own creation.
The sertraline helped, a little. It dulled the sharp edges of his frustration, kept him from snapping at Sooah when she pushed him too far. But the dull ache in his chest remained. The sense of being stuck, of being trapped in a situation he couldn't escape, never went away. The medication gave him brief moments of respite, but they were fleeting. And as Sooah grew more desperate for his affection, more clingy and demanding, Jaemin felt the familiar sense of hopelessness creeping back.
That night, as he entered the house after another long day at work, he could already hear her. Her voice, pleading, calling out to him as he walked in. The soft sound of her footsteps rushing toward him, as though she had been waiting for hours, counting the minutes until he returned.
"Jaemin," she said, her voice fragile, almost trembling. "I've been waiting for you. Please... just a little bit of your time. Just a little bit of affection."
He could feel the weight of her gaze on him as soon as he stepped inside, her eyes wide with hope, with need. The same hope that he had seen in her for so long now. It was like a sick cycle, repeating itself again and again. She needed him. He couldn't give her what she wanted, but still, she begged. And he couldn't walk away.
"Not tonight, Sooah," Jaemin said quietly, the words coming out of his mouth like a reflex, something he had trained himself to say over and over. "I need to rest."
But she wouldn't take no for an answer. She always pushed. She always begged. And tonight, it was worse than ever. She grabbed his sleeve, pulling him toward her. "Please, Jaemin, just a little. I'm so lonely. You're all I have."
He closed his eyes, fighting the wave of anger and guilt that washed over him. He wanted to push her away. He wanted to scream at her to stop. But he had learned to restrain himself, to bury those emotions deep within him, to swallow the bitterness that threatened to escape.
Instead, he let out a deep sigh. "Sooah," he began, his voice trembling with something that he couldn't quite control. "I... I can't give you what you need. You need to stop relying on me like this. It's not healthy. It's not fair to either of us."
She stared at him, her expression confused, hurt. "But you don't understand, Jaemin. I need you. I need your love."
His chest tightened as he fought the rising frustration, the feeling of being suffocated by her dependence. He wanted to give her what she wanted. He wanted to be the man she needed. But he knew that if he did, he would lose himself completely.
"I can't do this anymore, Sooah," Jaemin whispered, though he wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to himself. "I can't keep pretending that this is normal."
Her eyes filled with tears, and for a moment, he saw the vulnerability that had first drawn him to her. But the sight only made him feel worse, more trapped. He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't know how to fix this.
Sooah reached up, her hand trembling as she cupped his face. "Please, Jaemin. Please don't leave me. Don't stop loving me."
He couldn't speak. The words were lodged in his throat. His own pain mirrored hers, but he couldn't let himself give in. Not now. Not after everything he had already sacrificed.
That night, as he lay in bed, he felt the cold emptiness of their shared silence. Sooah had fallen asleep beside him, her body pressed against his, her breathing steady and soft. He could feel the weight of her presence, her dependency. It was suffocating, but he didn't know how to pull away.
Jaemin closed his eyes and swallowed another pill of sertraline, his fingers trembling slightly as he did. The medication was meant to numb him, to help him cope. But no matter how much he took, no matter how many boundaries he set, he couldn't escape this prison of his own making.
Sooah had him. And he had her. In this twisted, mutual Stockholm Syndrome, they were both prisoners—locked in a cycle neither of them could break.