Rose

Also known as "The Vietnamese Woman with the Love Bite"

Rose (name fictitious) sat on the very crowded MRT train. She was wearing a low white top exposing her shoulders, which she kept covered with a thin jacket made of the same white cotton as her top.

She left the jacket unbuttoned. And at the spot above her white top where the left flap of the jacket opens is a crimson red love bite. The unmistakable pair of lips that left the marks of the passion it shared with Rose's breasts. The brand of a possibly illicit affair which needed to be kept clandestine, but yet consumed in the light of day.

Rose clenched her fists, attempting to hide the gold ring that adorned her left ring finger. Isn't it easier to just remove the offending sight of the ring?

Perhaps not. Or she might forget her status that she is married and is merely here to hook unsuspecting Singapore men for hot passionate sex in exchange for cold hard cash.

Her phone rang and she spoke in quick tones. She never managed to mask the irritation and mild frustration. The call ended pretty quickly and a glaze covered her eyes. She was in her own little private space again.

Could she be thinking of the passionate love she had a while ago or is she already imagining the next bout of making out that might just take place at some condominium at Lakeside? Just then, the passenger beside her vacated his seat and Rose immediately took it and started speaking in her native tongue to her other friend. So, they had been separated by the passenger in the middle.

Unmistakably, Rose's irritation could be discerned even though the language was unfamiliar. She was complaining about something. Yet, her right thumb and index finger never left the ring on her left hand. She twiddled it as though it was something that she very much wanted to remove.

Or perhaps not. It was the ring from her hubby in Singapore. It fit better than the one given to her by her Vietnamese husband, to whom she was betrothed when she was just a little girl.

Good life in Singapore has made her knobbly fingers fleshier and the ill-fitting ring soon gave way to a better fitting one, just like her marriages. Legally, she had not divorced her Vietnamese husband.

It was tough to divorce him now that she is here and had been unable to contact him for a long time. She thought of him once a while, but she never felt bad ditching him for another guy.

This Singapore guy gave her her pink identity card. This effectively made her a citizen. Even though the marriage was merely for show. After all, he had never been interested in women. They did not even consume their marriage. They had a flat but each had led separate lives. Sure, they attended the occasional event as a couple but they had never shared bed or been intimate with each other.

He never knew, much less minded, her wanton ways, sleeping around with guys for the additional cash. While he gave her money each month for some expenses, she had been able to lead a pretty comfortable life from the additional pickings from those dirty old men "who can't stay hard enough to put on a condom".

She knew it, but hey, it gives her a good life.

The train pulled into Lakeside. She got off with her friend and soon they parted ways as she made her way to the condominium beside the train station.

#15 - YYY. She entered the lift and went up to the fifteenth storey.

She walked towards the door and pressed the door bell.

The door opened and she was roughly pulled in.

@ @ @

The next evening, the headlines of the Chinese local tabloids screamed, "Viet Woman Slashed to Death by Jealous Husband".