25: OLD CONTACTS

"Zig Zag," by Kwon Jinah

                Jungkook could almost feel the sweat dripping down his forehead. He was literally cornered, with iljin on every side, forcing his shoulders to dig into the walls behind him. Juyoung’s face was just in front of his, demanding his full attention. It was funny, somehow even at this distance, Jungkook managed to look anywhere but into Juyoung’s bulging, angry irises.

                “Listen, Jungkook…”

                Jungkook could feel the older boy’s breath, smell its acrid scent—a result of his frequent cigarette and alcohol consumption.

                “We’ve been really patient with you, haven’t we?”

                “Y-yeah.”

                “We’ve given you a lot of chances.”

                “Yeah, I-I know.”

                “And what have you got to show for it, huh?”

                Jungkook swallowed. He was pretty sure that Juyoung was going to respond the same way no matter how he answered. Should he even bother? Maybe he’d get even more angry.

                “I’ve…tried to…listen…and, you know…”

                Juyoung grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulling Jungkook away from the wall.

                “Do you think we’re just going to tolerate this?! Your stinking friends are practically spitting in our faces! That girl is walking around as if we didn’t just beat her up a few—”

                “They’re not my—my—”

                “And don’t make me mention that bastard brother of yours again…”

                “I-I told you! He’s not—he’s not my brother!”

                “Look here, this is what’s going to happen. Either you do something real quick to prove your loyalty to Bul-ui Agma, or we’re kicking you out, got it?”

                This wasn’t good. Jungkook could feel the sweat on his skin go cold. Because Bul-ui Agma didn’t just kick people out. That wasn’t how Bul-ui Agma worked. Best case scenario, Jungkook would be bullied for the rest of high school. Worst case scenario…

                “What do you want me to do? Tell me. I’ll do it. I will.”

                Then, slowly, a long, gleaming grin grew on Juyoung’s face.

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                Every curse word Jungkook knew was running through his brain. It was all he could do to distract himself from the gun sitting under his pillow while he waited for the lights to go off in his house. His mom always took a long time to fall asleep, but tonight it felt like she was lingering in the kitchen longer than usual. He knew she wasn’t. It was just that every second in this hellish night was going to feel like an hour. There was nothing he could do about it.

                Jungkook turned over in his bed, sticking a hand under his pillow and clutching the handgun’s grip. He wasn’t surprised when Juyoung gave it to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if Juyoung gave him a severed foot.

                But it didn’t feel real. None of this felt real.

                Jungkook squeezed his eyes shut.

                None of this should be real.

                When the crack of light underneath his bedroom door finally went out and his house fell silent, Jungkook got up, put on his shoes and coat, stuffed the handgun in his pocket, and climbed out of the window. It was a warm night. The perfect night to do something insane. All he was really doing, though, was surviving. And surviving was all he could do.

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                Gunshots and screams woke up that sleepy neighborhood at around four in the morning. An alarm went off somewhere. Glass shattered. Lights and blazed through the quiet darkness. Doors opened. Someone was shouting.

                Jungkook’s footsteps fell hard on the cement of the back alleyway he ran through it. He pushed pass the piles of trash and cardboard, clutching at his side, too distracted with the explosive pain to realize there were tears gushing from his eyes. Much too distracted to try and stop them from falling. He wanted to scream, just to let something out, instead of holding in all the pain. There was so much pain. He didn’t know it would hurt this much.

                There were sirens wailing in the distance. Were they at the end of this alleyway? On the other side? On another street? Was he running toward them or away?

                His head throbbed. It wouldn’t shut up about the pain and let him think for more than two seconds. He couldn’t think. Aish, he couldn’t think! What to do, what to do?

                Jungkook looked all around him, finally settling on a dumpster.

                He scrunched his nose up and climbed in, hissing at the pain that shot through his side when his back hit the bags of trash. He shut the lid and prayed that the police wouldn’t find him—or that he wouldn’t bleed to death before they passed by.

                Fumbling through his pockets, Jungkook finally pulled out his phone. There were so many numbers in his contacts that seemed so meaningless to him now. The number he wanted, well, he hadn’t dialed it in ages.

                “Yoongi-hyung,” the glowing letters on his screen read.

                Jungkook tapped the little green icon and pressed the phone to his ear.

                It rang, and rang, and rang. No answer. He dialed again. No answer.

                Jungkook could feel fresh tears pouring down.

                His pushed the dial button again, fingers slipping on the moist surface.

                “Please hyung…” he whispered. “Please…”

Author’s Note

Yes, this chapter is very short, probably my shortest. But let’s be honest, if I write anymore I may make myself cry and then I would be useless to everyone. Ha! Just kidding…I think…

Also! Good news! My laptop seems to be functioning again! NOW IF IT WOULD JUST STAY THAT WAY DANGIT.

So, ideally, if I’m not swamped by random homework tomorrow, I can write the next chapter tomorrow. It might be a long chapter though, so I’m not sure if I’ll finish it. But I’ll try for sure.

Thanks for all your patience :)  This semester is kinda up in the air for me right now.