The Breaking of Nikki Kim

Author's note: This is the first story I've written that isn't in any way about me. It's still written in the first person, like all of my other stories, but all of the characters and events in this story are purely fictional. Readers of my other stories will recognize many of the same themes at play here, but I'm trying out some new kinks, too. If you like this story, then check out my profile, where there are many others like it. And if you like these characters, then let me know in the comments and I'll consider writing a follow-up. Happy reading.

...

They say there's nothing stronger than a mother's love, and I believe that's true. Usually, that maternal instinct is a strength, but it can also be a weakness.

The way a mother loves her children can her vulnerable and easy to exploit. Often, it's the children themselves who take advantage of their mother's love, using it get what they want. But our children aren't the only ones who use our feelings to manipulate us.

Sometimes, it's their so-called friends who are pulling the strings.

...

My name is Nikki Kim. I'm Korean American, second generation, born and raised in Los Angeles. I have two children, both boys. At the time of this story, I was 34-years-old, my older son was 14, and his younger brother was 11.

As you can probably tell from those ages, I got married quite young for a girl of my generation, but not so young when you consider the community I grew up in. Like a lot of Korean immigrants, the Korean church played a major role in my upbringing. Neither of my parents were particularly religious, but they were both very culturally conservative when it came to adopting American values. As a result, church or school made up basically all of my social life growing up, and the rest of my free time was spent helping out at the little hole-in-the-wall noodle restaurant they ran in LA's Koreatown neighborhood.

I was never very rebellious growing up, perhaps because my older sister was rebel enough for both of us. She was four years older than me, and throughout my childhood, most of my memories of her involve her fighting with my parents. She used to get into these epic screaming matches with my Mom about the way she dressed, her hair and makeup, her friends and her spending and her schoolwork. But the biggest blowouts always had to do with boys.

Technically, my sister wasn't allowed to date at all, but my parents might have let things slide a bit if she'd been going to get patbingsu or tteokbokki after church with some nice Christian Korean boy. Instead, she was constantly sneaking out of the house and climbing into cars driven by white guys that she had met god knows where.

Once, when I was around 13, I asked my Dad why he and Mom were always so angry at her.

"Your sister is brainwashed," he said solemnly. "White boys, they'll say or do whatever it takes to get what they want. We try to tell her, 'You can't trust them,' but she never listens."

"But what do they want, appa?"

"Don't ask such questions," he grunted, turning away.

After watching my sister go to war with my parents on a daily basis, I did everything I could to be the perfect daughter. I studied hard, helped out at the restaurant, and steered clear of the white boys I sometimes saw looking at me in the hallways at school.

I guess I should say now that my sister and I are both very pretty. I know that Koreans are supposed to be very modest and all, but of the Seven Deadly Sins, I've always been the most susceptible to Pride, and specifically vanity. I'm aware of the way that men look at me, and I know these details are especially relevant to this particular story.

I have the kind of natural features that many women in Korea try to achieve through plastic surgery. My face is heart-shaped, tapering gracefully along my jawline to my delicate, pointed chin. My nose is with a dainty and upturned, a little button at the bottom of a narrow bridge. My lips are full and pouty, which I like to accentuate with various shades of lipstick. Pretty makeup and cute clothes are two of my biggest indulgences, but they're easy to justify to my husband because he feels that he's the real beneficiary.

These days, I wear my dark, silky hair in long, light-brown waves streaked with soft, amber highlights. I have dark, almond shaped eyes and clear, soft skin that takes on the color of milk tea when I'm tan.

I'm about 5'4, and like most women who live in LA, I work hard to keep myself in shape. Thanks mostly to daily jogging and yoga, I'm proud to say that I wear the same size jeans (2) as I did before my older son Danny was born.

However, becoming a mom did change my body in a different way that my husband certainly appreciates.

When I first met Steve, we were both students at Santa Monica Community College. Like me, Steve is a second-generation Korean American and a Christian. He's the sweetest man I've ever met and handsome to boot. I fell for him right away. We dated for about six months before he proposed, and we got married right after we graduated from SMCC.

After graduation, Steve transferred to UCLA to get his bachelor's in engineering, but I got pregnant soon after we got married. This was actually what I'd been hoping for: I'd always wanted to be a mom, so much so that it almost felt like this child was my destiny. I planned excitedly for his arrival as my belly grew, my breasts growing larger as well, swelling from a modest 32B to a fully loaded 34D that looked even larger on my petite Korean frame.

At first, I was embarrassed of my large breasts, and I tried hiding them with pregnancy dresses and loose-fitting clothing. But Steve seemed to love my big tits, frequently joking that he didn't realize babies came with a free boob job. I told Steve that my boobs wouldn't belong to him once the baby was born, but that actually turned out not to be the case, because neither Danny nor his brother would breastfeed. We tried with each of them, but eventually, we just resigned ourselves to using the bottle. This might be part of the reason why my boobs never returned to their former size. More than ten years later, I still wear a 34D bra, and Steve still can't stop congratulating himself for landing a wife whose tits got bigger after the wedding instead of her waist.

But I can't stall any longer before I tell you about my older son, Danny. My sweet, beautiful, incredible Danny.

Danny is the on autism spectrum. The first few years of his life, he was practically nonverbal. Those early years, before he was diagnosed, were the worst of my life. I did everything, tried everything, to get my son to open up, and nothing worked. I never knew I could feel like such a failure. I wasn't even 21-years-old when Danny was born, and I felt completely in over my head.

Things seemed hopeless, but when Danny was finally diagnosed, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I knew what was going on, and I was going to try everything in power not to let it rob Danny of the life I wanted for him.

We tried so many things. and then one day, Danny picked up a Rubik's Cube in the waiting room at his doctor's office. It was almost magical watching him with it--I still get chills when I think about it.

I'd never seen my son show so much interest in... anything. His level of focus as he manipulated the cube, spinning the rows from one side to the other, was absolute. No one had told him what the rules were, but he seemed to understand intuitively that the same colors go together.

I pulled out my phone and bought him his first Rubik's Cube that very minute. When I got home, I looked up how to solve it, and spent the weekend watching YouTube videos with Danny so that we could learn how to solve it.

Today, 11 years later, Danny is among the fastest Rubik's Cube players in the world.

The progress he's made has been incredible to watch, and not just as a Rubik's Cube champion. I had no idea about this when Danny started, but there are actually whole communities and competitions that bring people together. People will travel the world to play this game, and Danny has. For a kid with developing social skills like him, meeting friends like this has been a godsend.

Of course, it's also how Johan entered his life, and mine.

Before they'd ever even met, Danny idolized Johan. We'd found him on YouTube, where he posted videos of him speed cubing in front of his webcam. Danny had never seen anything like it. Johan was solving these puzzles in seconds, sometimes one-handed, sometimes blindfolded. It was like he was some kind of sorcerer on the screen, casting his spell over the cube, and by extension my son and me. As I made dinner, I would watch over Danny's shoulder as he sat in front of his iPad, playing with his cube, trying to solve the puzzle as fast as this blond German boy living in South Africa.

As Danny watched more and more videos, I came to know a bit more about Johan.

He was five years older than Danny, the son of a German diplomat and his South African wife living in Praetoria. He was the reigning champion and world record holder in several speed cubing events, including the coveted 3x3 title. In addition, his YouTube videos were wildly popular, and he was probably as close to being a celebrity as you can be solving a Rubik's Cube. To Danny, whose whole world revolved around the Rubik's Cube, Johan was practically a god.

Of course, he was still just a shy, gawky 13-year-old when Danny met him for the first time at a tournament.

The thing that impressed me more than Johan's cubing was the kindness that he showed to Danny. He was so generous towards him, gracious even, in a way that teenage boys rarely are. He befriended Danny despite his autism, and despite the age difference between them. They were bonded by this shared love of speed cubing.

Or so it seemed. I don't really know anymore. After what happened, I can't stop second guessing things.

Johan and Danny became closer and closer friends, talking online, seeing each other regularly at tournaments. And Johan was more than just Danny's best friend: he was his mentor, his rival, his older brother.

And the closer they became as friends, the faster Danny got with the cube in his hands. Pretty soon, my son was the one setting records and winning world championships, and Johan was coming in second... or worse. After a few years of this, Danny had broken almost all of Johan's world records, except one: the 3x3.

The reason that the 3x3 is such a big deal in speed cubing is that the 3x3 cube is the classic, iconic Rubik's Cube that everyone remembers. They make cubes in lots of other sizes, but they're mostly only used by people like Danny and Johan who cube competitively. The 3x3 cube is the one on people's desks, their lab benches, their bedside tables.

That year, the World Championships were in Australia. Usually, the entire family would come to these events, but tickets to Australia were breathtakingly expensive, and Steve had to work, and my younger son Riley had baseball. So Steve and Riley stayed in Los Angeles, and for the first time, Danny and I traveled by ourselves to a Rubik's Cube tournament overseas.

When we arrived in Sydney, there were a variety of social events set up for the cubers and their families to do outside of the championship themselves. The first was an ice cream social kickoff at Bondi Beach.

I always go with Danny to these events because they're the best opportunity for him to socialize with people in real life. But because some people aren't sure how to talk to Danny, they'll approach me instead, and I help redirect them towards talking to him.

Of course, traveling alone with Danny can be distracting, and I knew I would forget something. As soon as we unpacked at the hotel, I realized I'd left my beach bag in the backseat of our car at LAX.

We were late and I was rushing, so I stopped into the boutique in the hotel lobby on our way out the door.

"Do you have any one-piece bathing suits?" I asked hurriedly.

"No, I'm sorry," said the pretty blonde teen behind the counter. "They're all bikinis."

"Welcome to Australia," I laughed.

"Pretty much," the girl smiled.

"Do you have that the coral one in a size small?" I asked.

"No, but we have extra small," she said. "Better for you anyway."

"You think so?"

"Hell yeah," the girl laughed, and I paid her for the suit.

Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at Bondi Beach, and I could see that the girl really wasn't kidding: of the thousands of women milling about on the sand and in the surf, I saw a few topless women, but I didn't see a single one-piece suit.

I walked over to the changing huts with Danny.

"Go get into your swimsuit, honey," I said, pointing towards the men's hut. "I'll meet you right back here in a few minutes, okay?"

Danny nodded, and walked off with his own beach bag, which I had obviously remembered to pack.

As soon as I was inside the changing hut, though, I felt a moment of panic. The extra small suit the shopgirl had sold me was... extra small.

The bottoms fit well enough, and for the old me, extra small would've been just fine. But even after years of walking around with them, I still forget sometimes that I'm a 34D now (not a 32B).

I managed to get the clasp to close, but when I looked in the mirror, I saw myself practically spilling out of the top. Thankfully, you couldn't see my nipples, which I figured would be enough given that I'd seen topless girls walking around out there.

But Steve would like this top, I thought. I felt so sorry that he wasn't able to come with us to Australia. Maybe I should do something nice for him.

I held my phone up, and impulsively, I pulled down one of the cups, letting my nipple spring free. I looked away, feigning embarrassment, and snapped a selfie. I flipped open my chat with Steve, and before I lost my nerve, I pressed send. I couldn't remember the last time I'd sent him a dirty photo, but it had been years, at least.

With a shiver of excitement, I slid my phone into my bag and walked back outside to find Danny. He wasn't outside the changing hut, so I began scanning the beach, looking for him.

"Hi, Mrs. Kim," I heard a voice say. "Do you need some help?"

I turned around, and there was Johan, looking not at all like I remembered him.

"Are you looking for Danny?" he asked, his English lightly accented with an appealing melange of German and South African inflections.

"Johan, is that you?" I said with surprise. "You look so different."

"It's been awhile," he nodded.

I couldn't remember how long it had been since I'd seen Johan, but it had to have been at least 3 years. He'd been a tall, awkward 16-year-old back then. Now, he'd started growing into his height, filling out a lean frame that towered several inches above me.

He'd cut the tousled, boyish mop top I remembered into a tight, clean crewcut that felt almost military. His youthful features had sharpened into angular corners that cut against his cheekbones and jawline.

"What year are you in school now?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder to keep an eye out for Danny.

"Sophomore," he said. "In college."

"Wow, college," I nodded. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," he said, his eyes flashing downwards momentarily before returning to meet my own. "Congratulations to you, too."

"For what?" I asked.

"All of Danny's championships," Johan said. "His records. You must be proud."

"I am," I said, beaming. "But he's only come this far because of you, Johan."

"You had something to do with it," he smiled.

"Aww," I said, surprised at him. "That's very sweet of you."

"Here's Danny now," Johan said, pointing as my son emerged from the changing hut.

He walked over to greet Danny, giving him a hug. He was one of the only people who Danny would let hug him.

Then, the three of us walked over and got in line for some ice cream.

"Where's Riley?" Johan asked as we waited.

"Home," Danny said quietly.

"Why's that?" he replied, looking at me for an answer.

"Riley had a baseball tournament, so he couldn't make it," I said, reminding Danny as much as answering Johan. "You're both so busy these days."

"Does that mean Mr. Kim isn't here?" Johan asked, a strange look crossing his face. "He didn't come?"

"Not this time," I said.

"It's just the two of you, then?" Johan said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Just the two of us," I nodded, wrapping my arm around Danny.

"Well, my family isn't here either," he said, glancing at my son and then back at me. "Danny should feel lucky that at least you came to look after him."

"Wait, you're here by yourself?" I said, furrowing my brow. "Really?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"Then you should join us for dinner tonight," I said. "You're practically Danny's older brother. I won't take no for an answer."

Johan smiled. His teeth were bright and white, like a wolf.

...

That night, the three of us went out to a pizza place near the hotel. I was taken a bit by surprise when Johan ordered a beer.

"He's too young for that," I said reflexively to the server.

"She's incorrect," he said, pulling out his ID card.

The server looked at his card, nodded, and handed it back to him.

"The drinking age here is 18," he smiled. "I turned 19 a few months ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, putting my hand over my mouth. "It's 21 in America! I completely forgot where we are."

"Would you like something to drink, miss?" the server asked.

"Just water for us," I said.

"No, c'mon," Johan said. "I haven't seen Danny since he broke my record in the 4x4. You can't toast with water. It's considered bad luck."

"Oh," I said. "Okay, well... Danny, what do you want?"

"Coke," he said softly. "Please."

"One Coke, and one..." I looked down at the drink menu.

"One Coke and two beers," Johan said, collecting the menus and handing them to the server.

"Did you just order for me?" I asked, a little shocked. "I... I don't really drink beer."

"Just for the toast," Johan said. "Then I'll drink it, if you don't want it."

"Should you be drinking the night before the tournament?" I asked.

"No," Johan laughed. "But it doesn't matter, but I don't think anything is stopping this guy right here."

"You hear that, Danny?" I said, giving my son a nudge. "Johan said something nice about you, so you should say something nice back."

"Thank you," Danny answered.

"Anyway," I said, "One beer each, but that's it. Tournament or not, it's still a school night."

...

It turns out one beer was all it took for me to get tipsy. As we walked back to the hotel, I felt the warm Sydney air caress my body, my nervousness temporarily forgotten.

This tournament was a big deal for Danny. He was the favorite for almost all of the events, and people expected him to break Johan's 3x3 record on the third and final day of the tournament. Danny himself expected that he was going to break the record. With all that pressure, I knew that if he didn't perform well, he would be crushed.

Arriving back at the hotel, I the three of us rode the elevator up to the 11th floor, which was where many of the cubers were staying in a hotel block.

"Well, that was a fun dinner, Johan," I smiled.

I leaned forward to give him a hug goodnight, but I wasn't prepare for the way that his long, lean arms wrapped around me.

"I need to speak with you, Mrs. Kim," he said softly. "It's about Danny."

I began to pull back from the hug, but his arms held me there for several extra seconds. He was several inches taller than me, so my head was about at his shoulder height.

"What do you mean?" It was an innocent question, but somehow, the fact that his arms were still around me made it feel somehow conspiratorial.

"Let's talk in my room," he said, still holding me.

"I need to help Danny get ready for bed," I said, trying again to pull away.