Zion's Garden - Chapter 3.2

“Have you been taking the medication I prescribed?” I asked, tone steady, clinical.

“Yeah,” Zion replied with a hint of mischief. “Otherwise, I’m sure the doctor would scold me again. But I preferred that version of you, the one who argued. Now, you’re stiff, like a machine dressed in a doctor’s mask.”

I ignored his provocation and moved on. “Any side effects?”
Zion leaned forward, the tip of his tongue running over his lips. His eyes glistened with amusement, as if oblivious to—or perhaps aware of—the disruption he caused. A sigh escaped me as I tried to maintain my composure.

“After the second week, we’ll have a clearer idea of its effectiveness. If necessary, we’ll consider adding another medication. For now, let’s just say there are no noticeable side effects…”

“Yes, there are side effects,” Zion interjected.

I paused, meeting his gaze. “What side effects?”

I adjusted the metal frame of my glasses and tapped the ballpoint pen lightly on the open notebook in front of me. “Answer,” I said, voice tight with insistence.

The pen, which had been skimming aimlessly over the page, came to a halt. Zion watched me, his eyes languid as he blinked slowly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I felt trapped under his gaze, the me in my reflection wavering like a ghost. His voice broke the silence, clear and resolute.

“I’m not going to do it.”

Heat rose to my face, and I struggled to regain control. “Antidepressants, especially SSRIs, can have side effects like decreased sexual function. It’s usually temporary, so we need to give it time and monitor how it progresses…”

“There’s no time for that. If it stays like this, I’m not taking your medicine.” Zion’s eyes bore into mine, a stubborn defiance shimmering within. He looked like a child making demands, but the weight behind it was anything but innocent. I reminded myself that depression was a disorder born of hormonal imbalances, a condition with a statistically high recovery rate. I wasn’t about to back down.

“If you stop taking your medication, your symptoms will only worsen,” I said, firm and unyielding.

“Or,” he countered, leaning forward with a mischievous smirk, “you could share that hidden stash with me. It wouldn’t matter if we both had it, would it? Right, Doctor?”

The realization crashed over me. I should have known when he’d appeared at my door at dawn, desperate for treatment, that beneath the facade was something darker. Zion, the angel, was a guise for Lucifer himself. My brows knitted in frustration as I shook my head.

“I knew it would come to this,” I muttered, the weight of the truth settling like a stone in my chest.

Zion’s demeanor was unexpectedly calm, a composed mask that left me breathing a sigh of cautious relief. For a moment, I believed he had accepted reality without resistance.

“Then, the doctor should help me instead,” he murmured. Almost before the words registered, Zion’s hand pressed against my shoulder, while the other removed my glasses. His face was suddenly so close, sharp and flawless, that I had to avert my eyes to resist the pull of his gaze.

“What are you doing, Mr. Kim Si-on?” I managed, fighting to keep the tremor out of my voice, though my jaw betrayed me with its telltale quiver. His warm breath brushed my ear, unsettlingly intimate.

“This won’t work… That won’t work… again and again,” he said, the words soft but edged. “I don’t like being rejected. Stop pretending to be the doctor and just give in. Admit it, you want this too. It’s not a sin to acknowledge what you desire.”

“Leave now, or I swear I’ll hit you,” I warned, my teeth clenched tight in a last stand. Zion cupped my face in his hands, the gesture tender but laced with a mocking amusement.
He leaned back, exhaling a laugh, eyes crinkling as if savoring the absurdity. “It’s funny, isn’t it? A doctor, but hooked on whiskey and smoke. Acting as if he’s seen it all, knows it all, but only saying the right things when it suits him. Maybe this time, his father’s gifted him with something truly entertaining.”

The hand I had used to push against his shoulder was swiftly caught by Zion, his grip unyielding. Before I could react, a rush of force pinned me back against the bed, leaving me breathless with surprise at the raw power radiating from his body. His lips grazed my forehead, trailed down the bridge of my nose, and paused at my lips, tracing a line along my philtrum. Zion’s slightly long hair brushed against my cheek, tickling my skin as I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my racing heart.

“Hm…”

　A thin moan escaped from his throat. A beautiful white venomous tongue ate into my mouth, found my tongue, entangled it, and sucked it. The scent of whiskey from him, or from me, was dizzying. His two hands were tightly interlocked with mine, and so were his and my lips. My body, which was buried under Zion’s body, struggled in vain, but I had no way to escape from his body.

　”Ha.”

　”Doctor. I… am completely erect right now… want to touch it? No, it would be better if you suck it.”

　”Stop talking nonsense and get off my body.”

　I could only stare at him, panting. I know that drug addicts in withdrawal have incredible strength, but if I tried my best to run away, it wouldn’t be impossible. That’s when I tried to push him away with my knee.

　”That tone of speech suits you better, doctor.”

　Zion’s hand entered my pants without hesitation and began to grope inside. It was a merciless terror to me, a merciless attack.

　”Omg”

　A groan-like sigh escaped my lips. My plan to push him away and get up was shattered in an instant. Zion’s lips landed on the nape of my neck, and his hand grabbed my center, which had swelled up tightly.

　”Huh…

　”Zion excites the doctor…….”

　He whispered while sucking my neck earnestly. I could only close my eyes tightly and sob at him. My body, chasing excitement, was responding to his touch in an irresponsible and honest way.

　”Don’t do this…….Please…….

　“Zion’s body also becomes hotter as she looks at the pleading doctor…….”

　I felt like I was really going to cum if I kept going like this. His hands moving over my thin underwear were more intense than any other stimulation. My reason was screaming that I should stop here, but my instincts were screaming that I should erupt quickly. After lingering on my neck and collarbone for a while, Zion’s lips slowly parted and slowly opened towards me, who was lying on my side facing him.

　”Zion wants to have s3x with the doctor…”

　The first time I saw Zion was on a Christmas day in Dongducheon, a town that seemed oddly still in the thick of December. That day etched itself into my memory, not for any particular festivity but for the change I saw in my mother. From the moment she woke, her expression was strained, her movements sharper than usual. She bathed in the cramped space that doubled as our kitchen and bathroom, then pulled out a neatly folded white blouse and a black skirt from the lowest drawer of the old dresser. The clothes smelled faintly of mothballs and hope.

“Mom, where are we going?”

“To church.”

“Why are we going to church?”

“Because it’s Christmas.”

“Why do we need to go to church on Christmas?”

“To pray that our family will live well.”

She applied gel to my hair, brushing it carefully to the side until it lay smooth, and smiled—small, wavering, but real. With her plain face, unmarked by makeup, she took my hand firmly, and we set off to a modest church on the top floor of a worn-down building. There was nothing to signify it was a church, save for a lone wooden cross nailed above the door.

Inside, the room was dim, warmed only by the oil stove at its center. People gathered around it, their voices mingling in a low hum. One man turned and greeted us, his smile bright and welcoming despite the shadows in his eyes.

“Welcome, Sister. Just stopping by?”

“Yes, for today.” My mother’s palm, cold and damp, squeezed mine tighter.

“Come in, come in. It’s freezing outside. And who’s this?” He looked down at me, his eyes crinkling kindly. “You take after your mother, handsome boy.”

He was a thin man with hair that looked like a magpie’s nest, and he called himself an evangelist. We found seats crammed between the room’s diverse mix of faces—Filipino workers who exchanged quick jokes in their language, homeless men wrapped in layers that reeked of the street. Each time the preacher spoke, my mother’s face lit up, cheeks flushed and bright as apples. I flinched away from a Filipino woman who kept reaching out to touch my hair, tears streaming as she smiled through them.

Drawn away by the chaos, I spotted a small television set on a rickety stool in the corner. With hesitant hands, I switched it on. That’s when I first saw Zion, glowing on the screen like something celestial, breaking through the drabness of that makeshift church.

　Silent night, holy night. A night shrouded in darkness.

I stared at the glowing caption: Christmas Special Live Broadcast. The scene was set inside a grand, echoing church, its vaulted ceilings holding centuries of stories. Among the choir clad in flowing white gowns, a boy stood alone, his voice poised to meet the silence.