My interpretation of why Jumin Han hates women, especially the women his father dates, taken from Day 6 of the Jumin Route. Warning! Some explicit content!
Chapter 9: Hollow Statues
Jumin had remembered that he'd had a lot to drink the night after his father brought his new girlfriend to dinner. It was a 1846 Château Pétrus, and it had a nice full-body to it. The label was worn and was peeling a bit on the side, but other than that, it was a well-kept for such an exceptional Merlot. He didn't think it was strange that he remembered the wine more than his father's girlfriend. She didn't really have a face to her. To him, she looked like all the others. The same sharp, greedy eyes, the same expensive clothes and hair, same tawdry perfume, and a cheery falseness that always raised a red flag. They were a lot like statues: stiff, flawless, yet hollow inside.
However, this particular girlfriend's actions definitely stood out to him as more bold than the other gold-diggers his father usually kept on his arm, as she actively shot him looks across the dinner-table and was a lot more outspoken than most. He remembered his head hurting a lot after having to listen to her prattling on about politics she didn't understand or having the latest designer gear while she gently stroked his father's arm or thigh.
Unbeknownst to his father, she also had her Frada heels running up Jumin's pant-leg in a one-sided attempt at footsie. After Jumin vocalized his discomfort with said party, she feigned innocence and pleaded that she meant that to be for his father, sharing a joking laugh with his Mr. Han Sr. while Jumin fought off a long warranted eye-roll that would have been unbecoming for a company heir. However, despite that he had explicitly made his point of being uncomfortable, the woman kept giving him subtle glances and gestures when his father wasn't looking, even pretending that she was resting her foot against a table leg instead of his own a couple of times when she reattempted playing footsie.
Despite the unwanted contact, Jumin maintained his cold, indifferent expression and coldly rebuffed her advances before he excused himself from the dinner-table towards the men's restroom. After briefly checking to see if the stalls were empty, he gave the restroom attendant ₩30000 to vacate the premise before Jumin locked himself inside. There he stood sealed off from the outside world in a restaurant bathroom, not thinking, not doing anything but leaning over the sink trying to regain his composure.
Five minutes. Threads in his mind that were starting to unravel were being forced back down.
Ten minutes. Deep breathes and a slightly numbness could be felt throughout his entire body.
Fifteen minutes gone. The chaos in his head finally began to settle and a splash of cold water brought him back sharply to reality. Unlocking the restroom door twenty minutes later, he gave a silent, polite nod to the staff member and threw up his usual emotional walls before managing to give his father the most professional excuse he could think of in order to escape this uncomfortable endeavor. Something about work calling about contracts and how it had been brought to his attention that his assistant had overlooked some files that needed to be approved.
This, of course, this was a blatant lie. Work had been piling up due to his assistant, but it was because he had quit for "health reasons," but Chief Han was none-the-wiser and gave Jumin a knowing smile, understanding how dedicated his son was to his work while his girlfriend's plastered smile slipped into a brief frown before returning to her phony expression as he exited the glass doors. A small sigh of relief overtook him after he stepped out onto the sidewalk and saw called his driver Mr. Kim parked on the curb. All Jumin wanted to do was go home for the evening and have a nice glass of wine with his beloved Elizabeth the 3rd.
Thanks to Driver Kim's expert driving, they were home within minutes. The cool elevator ride up to his penthouse suite was a more relaxing atmosphere to him than the stuffy, gourmet restaurant bathroom, each chime of the floor buttons more soothing than the last. With Elizabeth the 3rd curled up on the ottoman, Jumin was breaking into his second bottle of Merlot a couple hours later when there was a knock on his door.
"Who is it at this time of night?" Jumin mumbled before hearing the familiar, grating voice on the other side. The headache was back. "What do you want?"
"I came to see if you were alright. You left dinner in quite a hurry," the woman spoke in an almost mock-concern. Jumin let out a long sigh before stumbling towards the door.
"I'm fine."
"I don't believe that. I want to see you with my own eyes."
"Who let you up here?" Jumin asked, which roughly translated into, 'who do I have to fire so that you never come here again?'.
"Just some security guards. I told them you and your father's name, and they let me upstairs right away."
"Does my father know you're here?"
"I don't tell your father everything. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself," she replied coyly.
"Then you can 'take care yourself' and call yourself a cab," Jumin offered in a cold rebuttal, which was met with some dramatic whining.
"Please let me see if you're alright." This went on for five more minutes, each immature wine more pathetic than the last. Finally, Jumin had had enough.
"...If I let you see that I'm okay, will you go?" he finally asked, staring at the woman through his peephole.
"Certainly," she smiled. Jumin did not trust that smile, but if it could make her go away faster... Against his better judgement, he reluctantly opened the door just enough to show his face, but her small, lithe form managed to wedge its way into the door-frame and push past him.
"You have a lovely place, almost as big as your father's penthouse. I wonder what else is..." she trailed off with a seductive grin before she noticed the wine bottle on the counter. "Ooh, a Château Pétrus, very classy. I'll have some to drink myself."
"There. You see I'm alright. Now leave," Jumin grumbled, but she ignored him as she attempted to force open the Château Pétrus 1846. Pop! The cork went flying as wine gushed out of the bottle the woman held awkwardly near her legs.
"Whoops! I spilled wine all over the floor. I'm so messy," she smiled awkwardly, trying to make herself look as unkempt and uncouth as possible, which confused Jumin greatly.
"Just leave it to the maid and leave before you cause any more trouble," Jumin frowned irritably, already pushing way past his patience with this woman.
"Trouble?" she frowned before adopting another coy smile. "What a perfect name for me." She then boldly took his drink, which was already slipping out of his hand, before setting it down on the counter and leaning in to roughly place her lips on his. It felt like kissing a dead fish.
"I believe this is very inappropriate, and I think you should leave before I call security," Jumin spoke quickly, trying to regain lost ground. Instead of frowning and being upset, the woman kept her sexy countenance.
"Stop pretending to be shy and just tell me how much you like me. You're playing hard to get, right? If you're trying to get my attention, you've got it," she said silkily, her words laced with lust. "I saw how long you were staying in the bathroom. You were thinking of me while you were in there, weren't you? Naughty boy~" Jumin couldn't help but recoil in disgust, her words twisting, distorting, unrelenting. "So just embrace me. I want you to hold me all night long."
"Don't touch me. I don't like being touched." He wanted to shout, but his voice was muffled as she stuck her tongue down his throat, violating his already small, shrinking personal space. He didn't even realize he was unconsciously backing up until he fell backwards onto his bed. He tried to move his arms, but his mind was barely lucid. Through the numbness of alcohol, he felt her agile frame land expertly on top of him, when he wanted to do nothing more than to kick her off the bed, but his body refused to move the way he wanted to. He felt her long talons encircling around his neck like a vulture, scraping against his jugular as she hastily undid his tie. He could already feel his mind slipping away, trying to force down his torrent of emotions as limbs were tangled and caught, like some drugged, wild animal desperate to escape.
"God! You're a rock until the end, just like a statue. Fine. Whatever. I'm not interested in love," he heard her scowl at his unfeeling attitude before resuming her sickeningly sweet tone. "You don't have to do anything. Just let me be with you. What's so important about showing your love, anyways? What matters is that we're together."
Next thing he remembered was the painful feeling of a hangover and his striped shirt being wrinkled and missing a couple of buttons. There was also a strange, relieved dampness in his groin that made him feel particularly unclean when he stumbled towards the shower that morning. Bits of water dribbled from his long messy hair that clung to his forehead as he stood under the steady stream of water that had long gone cold. What ever had happened last night had felt like a nightmare, and as he stepped out of the shower, he was almost convinced it was until he saw the culprit sitting on the corner of the bed.
"Good morning, Jumin. Did you sleep well? I know I sure did," the woman gave him a sly wink before contently stretching her arms out. "You were quite the beast last night. Guess those rumors had you all wrong." She paused for a moment, noticing Jumin was starting to rub his wrists unconsciously. "Sorry I had to tie you to the headboard. I just couldn't keep your hands off of me." Jumin gave her a blank look before noticing the angry, red marks littering the sides of his wrists like shackles.
"Leave. Now," Jumin said in his coldest, most intimidating voice he could muster.
"What? No breakfast? Am I nothing but a one-night stand to you?" she exclaimed.
"Leave now, or I will call the police," he stated darkly, a little more firmly this time.
"And tell them what? That the great Jumin Han called over his father's girlfriend to his penthouse suite before forcing himself on her, his own father's girlfriend? Security already knows that I'm here. I told them you already called me." She went back to pulling her black stockings up her thighs. "Besides, you're not blameless in this situation. I saw you. You enjoyed it. You were as hard as a rock and moaning in ecstasy along with me. You are just as guilty as I am."
A sickening lurch pulled from Jumin in the pit of his stomach as he stared up at the woman. Perhaps it was leftover from his hangover, but it felt way more intense than any amount of alcohol consumption had ever caused.
"Don't tell your father about this, 'kay? It'll be our little secret," she had whispered sultrily into his ear, wine still laced in her breath as she left the penthouse suite. Jumin was so aghast with her behavior, he didn't even have the strength to bother telling her that going to his father would be worthless. He had never before believed when he had said that the women in his life were no good, so why would he choose to believe his son now?
His mind began working as he dead-bolted the door, processing the clothes discarded on the floor as annoying obstacles before he threw them haphazardly into the trash, but not before retrieving his cellphone out of the back pocket. He leaned in to checked the RFA messenger. Two missed calls from V, four missed texts from Rika. Deciding to call his friends back later, Jumin punched one of his speed dials and listened to the dial-tone.
"Mr. Kim...? Please call Bed, Bath, and Behold and tell them I want their finest bed delivered today, one without a headboard," Jumin ordered calmly. "Also, clear all my morning appointments." Then he hung up. He really did need to get a new assistant. Preferably, an unattractive, male assistant.
He was almost done cleaning up before he spotted the wine spilled on the ground and decided to drain the Château Pétrus 1846 down the sink, suddenly in the mood for champagne instead of Merlot. After finding Elizabeth the 3rd sitting on the couch in the living room, he sat next to her and ran his fingers through her soft, therapeutic, Persian fur. Then he poured himself a glass of champagne, trying to fill the hollow ache he felt inside.
