Privileged, I’ve always got what I wanted.
Everything, until I met Jane, she’s the only person I’ve never been able to have.
It’s funny when I first met her; Jane wasn’t the one who captured my attention. Mona was the one who mesmerized me; she was my type. I grew up in New York; my opposites always attracted me.
As a teenager, I was captivated by the hip-hop community as the Hallyu style and Kpop attracts foreigners.
Beyoncé and Rihanna were my babes, and as you can imagine in Korea well, a girl like Mona is the closest you can get to a woman of that caliber. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a fetish; it’s just black or middle eastern women appeal to me more. But Mona would say she isn’t black, she’s Egyptian, and if you call her an African queen, Mona will remind you she’s Egyptian, forgetting on which continent the country is.
That’s when my fascination for Mona ended, she seems straightforward, beautiful but she can go crazy on tiny details on which no one would give up a sweat. Her mind has these little twists. She’s the artistic, intellectual type.
Mona sees things in paintings and books that nor Jane or I can perceive.
I thought Jane was like Mona the first time we met, but Jane is more simple-minded. Jane isn’t the type to ponder about her self-existence; at least she didn’t before.
Jane has never known where she was going or what she wanted from life, and I liked that a lot. I quickly found myself trying to impress her; I fell in love with her eyes and outgoing personality.
It’s funny because Mona shows what Jane is inside and Jane is on the outside what Mona is inside.
But I love them both, no one can imagine how many times I wished I could combine them, but a heart can’t have two lovers, and I chose Jane.
My father is a wealthy entrepreneur, who lives with his 3rd wife, eight years older than me, so I call her noona; Hye Hyeon likes that.
I Am American, and so is my father; he got adopted when he was a baby. Dad renewed his roots when he came to Korea at age 19. He isn’t a complicated man; he lives for his businesses, and he ventures in anything legit or not.
Honestly, I’ve heard things. I’ve never verified their veracity. I know for sure that dad got a recommendation five years ago from a chaebol called Hong Kwon Jin, who introduced him to a French guy named Marc Joubert, the former owner of L’hexagone now exiled in France where he is purging his prison sentence.
This guy Marc had what the French call le sense des affairs.
He turned L’hexogone into something else. I mean, you had girls swimming in large glasses of champagne-like Béyoncé in her Naughty girl video. You had DJs from around the world, especially a lineup of the best of La French Touch; even for hip-hop, you had the freshest artist.
I was minor, but I wanted to be part of it all, and I had the money to access it. Of course, I took my girls with me.
Marc didn’t just open the most lavish nightclub in Seoul; he created a drug for the rich. A drug that the spoilt brat like me had to taste, and yep, I supplied my girls mean Jane. Like I told you, Mona’s bad girl style is just a facade, but Jane, she was the naughty one.
Now I hear you and your parents in all this?
Our parents aren’t parents who don’t care. They are parents who don’t have the time or don’t make time. Either way, they didn’t see the need at the time to be on our backs. We’re South Korea, a country with criminality so low that businesspeople portray the mobsters.
So we spent nights wasted, and even though we were on cloud nine, Jane still didn’t come to me. Isn’t it crazy? We were high, for goodness sake.
The thing which made me plunge, I mean, I became a real addict after that was when Jane lost her virginity to some random jock of our Ameican high school, the guy came to school giving me Jane’s phone back saying she forgot it in his room.
I thought I would die then, and when I confronted Jane, all she said was it’s not a big deal.
How can she say that?
Even now, I’m still sore to think Jane never conceded to even a kiss me, and she went along and slept with someone she barely knew. What’s even more incredible is that I, Brad Nixon, a guy who can have anyone, still loves Jane despite the heartbreak she inflicted on me.
Now I’ve done her wrong too. I turned her into a junky, and three weeks ago, I almost crossed the line with Mona, and since then, I have these weird thoughts.
Okay, back in the day, I dreamt of sleeping with either one; I even imagined a threesome. Those girls fill up my mind so much, I also dreamt of them while sleeping with other people.
I’ve never shown them any jealousy when they talked about their crushes and stuff, but three weeks ago, when I saw Mona grinding with a second class chaebol at l’hexgone, I saw red. Mona doesn’t rub with guys. She doesn’t even grind with me.
My mind just blew a fuse.
Jane wasn’t there, so we were in a duo mode, but Mona was all moody, and before I knew it, she was with that other guy.
So I got jealous. We argued and left the club, and we continued to quarrel in the car, okay cue the replay.
“I’m not your sister, daughter, or woman for you to drag me as you did back there.”
“Mona, that guy is a douchebag. His father licks my father’s Balenciaga’s. Come on, Mona.”
“Come on, what? You are not my man, okay; I do what I want with my body, I can take care of myself, so don’t act like I’m yours or you own me.”
I pulled up on the side of the curb.
“So what, I should let you act like a hoe?”
Error number one.
“Let me out of the car.”
“It’s raining, Mona.”
“I said open the damn door and let me out.”
Error number two.
There, a woman I don’t know appeared, fierce and violent. Mona slapped me, and she continued. Despite the shock, I tried to grip her arms; Mona fought, so I pinned her down.
And there I kissed her.
Error number three.
Mona kissed me back, and things started heating up before I knew it, I was unfastening her dress, and she was taking off my shirt, and then I got a grip of her tongue and started to pull.
And then MC Hammer made his appearance humming can’t touch this, I mean, Mona gave a don’t-touch-my-panties look.
“Mona, what’s wrong?” I asked, but I know they stare she had.
“Mona, don’t tell me yourㅡ.”
She glared at me, “shut up, Brad.”
“You’re a virgin!”
Error number four.
She began to shake my door like a Titan. I thought she would yank it off like Thor when hopeless she turned and then came the stare, making one feel like a molester.
I just wanted to get down on my knees and beg forgiveness; I’m not a dog, I don’t force girls to sleep with me, never, so I got all defensive. I don’t know what took over me, but I did not desire to have jackass tagged on my forehead.
“Yo, Mona, don’t look at me like I did something, okay.”
Mona straightened up and began to pull up the straps of her dress on her shoulders, “you are a douchebag. I don’t know what I see in you.”
“You heard me; you are a douchebag. That’s why you’ll never have Jane,” Mona said, rolling her eyes sideways.
“What the fuck, who do youㅡ.”
Error number five.
At that moment, world war III broke loose; the conversation became a succession of beep words, which I don’t need to repeat.
But I found out something that night, well two if you count the virginity part. I’ve known, but I’ve never been sure. Mona has this crazy facade that flips modes so fast even Busta Rhymes can’t rap it.
Mona fancies me, and I don’t know how to deal with it because I love Jane, but now there’s Mona, and we’re all friends.
Oh, shit, I’m not a kid, but my mind is in shambles, there’s this girl I love, I mean, I could die for her, and there’s Mona, a crazy but pure girl I adore.
I think about how I’ve treated Mona all this time. I mean, Mona is always going on about feminism and all. So I don’t hold doors or pay stuff all the time with her because she thinks I’m dissing her or something.
Now I’m wondering if it was the right thing to do. I mean, the stare Mona harbored in the car gave me the impression she needed protection. Okay, at that moment, I wanted to protect her.
Oh, shit, I’m done for this time.
All this to say, Mona and I ain’t talking, and I’m scared to death that she tells Jane.