CHAPTER SEVEN & EIGHT

Jongin tenses with every movement the boy’s making. He placed the boy in his bed. Yes, he brought the boy home, with his mother’s approval.

The boy’s still unconscious, but his wounds were treated with first aid and thankfully, they’re not that major for them to take him to the hospital. Jongin hates hospitals. He hates the smell of it. But most especially, he hates the aura that surrounds it. It’s uncomfortable for him just to think of it.

The boy on his bed still turns side by side and mumbles words. Also, he occasionally cries; tears uncontrollably flow on his cheeks. And Jongin, who witnessed all of those, can only do nothing but hold onto the boy’s small hands and tighten his grip every time the boy feels unsecured.

Just like now, the boy cries again on his sleep. He’s saying something like ‘Appa, no.’ and ‘Umma’ but Jongin could only watch, he couldn’t do anything about it. Besides, he’s tired. It’s 3am for pity’s sake and he’s got school later.

Jongin’s mother, on the other hand cooks their breakfast. Jongin could still remember how his mother looked so worried about him earlier, also, with the boy on his back. She hugged him tightly when he got home at around 1am, but as soon as she realized that there’s someone at Jongin’s back, she moved away a bit. But that didn’t took too long as she learned that that boy on his son’s back’s unconscious, with bruises and cuts and blood stained on him.

Jongin absent-mindedly felt himself smile a little as he remembered what happened earlier. Her mother for the first time acted like a mother to him, not that usual insensitive flirt that acts extra cute with the boys she brings to their house. That’s basically why he called their house a flirthouse, it just doesn’t feel like a home anymore. Not until that happened.

After a while, the boy stopped. Jongin then sighed in relief as he saw the change with the boy’s facial expression. He looks calmer now, he thought. He looks familiar to Jongin but the latter preferred not to think anymore. He’s tired, and sleepy, and is still hungry. And his stomach seemed to feel that too because it made a sound too.

As he’s about to stand up, letting go of the boy’s hand, the bedroom’s door slightly opened, showing a bit of his mother, with a tray of what looks and smells like food. He gulped visibly only to be seen by his mother who in turn chuckled at him. He groaned as he felt a little embarrassed.

“Still not awake yet?” His mother calmly asked. Jongin sat at the side of the bed and scooted a little closer to the boy just in case he convulse again.

“Not yet.” But he’s surprised a bit as he felt a finger poke his shoulder, it’s his mother. Holding a plate of spaghetti.

“Eat. I know you’re hungry. Son.” His mother smiled those motherly smiles Jongin swore he has only seen once or twice his entire existence. He nervously took the plate and he almost slide it on his hands as his mother patted him gently on his head. Thankfully, his mother turned to the other side to check the still sleeping boy.

“I wonder what happened to him. I pity this boy for experiencing something so brutal at a young age.” Jongin, whose still dissolved in his world of pastas, meatballs and red sauce looked at his mother extra gently wipe the boy’s damp forehead with a wet towel. And it didn’t go unnoticed to him on how the boy leaned on his mother’s touch. It’s like he’s desperately in need of it—of a mother’s touch.

Is he an orphan? He asked himself but only shrugged as he continued to devour his food.

“U—Umma.” He heard the boy speak on a hushed tone and then followed by the sound of a whimper. He looked behind him to see what’s happening, only ending up to see his mother lulling a boy she barely knows.

He knows it isn’t right, but he suddenly lost his appetite as jealousy, envy, and emptiness kick in him. He frowned at the scene but spoke none. He stood up, almost stomping and went to the door. But before he opened it, he excused himself with a forced smile that he himself forced his lips to do.

“You’re pathetic Jongin.” Is the first thing that he did when he got out of his room. He finished his plate and already washed it. He’s now sitting in front of the built-in-but-never-been-used dance room, but he couldn’t enter—rather, he doesn’t want to. He just wants to think.

And if he thought thinking at the park as early as 5am in the morning, he’ll only end up being a part of the daily yoga and aerobics free session conducted every morning at that park. Of course he knows it, because you have to be one to know one.

So he decided that it would be safer if he’ll just take a quick nap there rather than any part of the house, but actually, it isn’t. Because the moment he closed his eyes, his mother found him; a glass of milk in hand, and a sly smirk plastered on her face.

“Jealous much, honey?” He scoffed at the endearment his mother used on him but took the glass of milk. He sipped a little before placing it at the floor beside him.

“You can’t blame me.” He answered looking directly into his mother’s eyes. But her mother didn’t seem to be intimidated by her son’s coldness, instead, she stepped closer to him and sat near him, on the floor.

She then looked up, tears pooling on her eyes but never did they fall. She spoke, not looking at Jongin, who also looked at the high ceiling as if it’s the most interesting thing on Earth.

“Do you want to hear a story Jongin-ah?” She asked, but the silence of her son which was because of him, thinking if he must answer a yes or a no, served as a cue for her to start.

“You know, Jong, there was once this beautiful lady. She was fifteen back then. She was rich, spoiled, and was educated on one of the best schools in Korea. She also was the only daughter and the heiress of her family’s wealth and estates.” Jongin caught a tear roll on her cheek, but he ignored it. Much as how much he wanted to wipe those tears away.

“Her father’s a very intelligent businessman. He was also a kind-hearted man, full of concern and thoughtfulness to his people. Her mother’s the same—caring, loving, motherly. That’s her family. That was her life.” She chuckled, but Jongin couldn’t understand why. So he just let her mother continue with her story.

“But as the saying goes, ‘Your hardest enemy are the people closest to you’, her father’s so-called friends, betrayed him. They manipulated him. He’s intelligent, but he’s a fool to believe he can find the best of friends on that field of business.”

“Both of her parents were set-up on a really, really big case that they didn’t even know if they’d encounter. And of course, there came the two-faced people they trusted. Being on the trials as if they were encouraging her parents that everything will be alright, when the truth is, they’re just gathering more data on the proceedings and fall of her parents.” She gritted her teeth on the last part. Jongin, on his peripheral view saw his mother fist her hands until her knuckles turn white. But she continued.

“ When it’s the time for their last session, the announcement that they won the case, her parents left her on the house with a promise of a congratulatory celebration that evening. She waited. She readied her best dress, shoes, and she even ordered a gift for them. She patiently waited for their return. But neither of them came home that… day.” Her tears are now more visible and are freely flowing down her cheek. It’s now Jongin’s turn to speak.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” He intently looked at his mother. She smiled on him, but that smile is the most painful one Jongin saw on his life. He wondered more about the reason why his mother suddenly cried on her own story, but he’s hushed by her mother’s lame reason of ‘Nothing. You know, just carried away.’ And Jongin would be a fool to believe that, but neither did he want to force his mother to spill if she didn’t want to.

“So as I was saying, her parents didn’t come that night. She fell asleep on the couch, her gift tightly embraced. The next morning, she woke up by the sound of running people, of their bustling servants. Once able to stand up, still on her dress, she grabbed one of their maid’s arm. She asked what’s happening, but the said maid exploded on tears and ended up dragging her on her room. She locked her there, but before that, the maid told her that she shouldn’t go out of her room. Not until everything’s alright. She was supposed to ask more, but the door’s shut to her face.”

“And then, after some time, everything went silent. She’s about to open the door when she heard a gun shot. And then it was followed by more gunshots, of more screaming, of breaking vases, of shouts. She was terrified. She was so terrified that no words escaped , fearing that if she spilled any noise, she will be shot. So what she did was, she hid at the hidden room; that was found behind her bookshelf. It was a stupid idea to stay there, she thought, inside their house when everything’s going that way, but she couldn’t think right anymore. She just locked herself inside until no noise was heard outside.”

“It lasted for almost a few hours before everything went dead silent. She shakily opened the door and she was more than mortified with the sight before her. A dead body was showcased in front of her, and that was the maid that she spoke earlier that day. She was lying with her blood flowing on all directions. She ran away from their house, gathering everything she can at the little time she gave herself to resist the urge to breakdown. The fact that her parents were dead finally sinks into her. And by the time she found the last will and testament her parents hid at the hidden compartment of their family picture she escaped their house.”

“With the money her parents left her, she changed her identity. She changed her name, lived far from that place, but not outside Korea. She was more than afraid to explore the depths of the world. She also managed to finish her middle school, but never did she take college. She also forced herself to shut down any connections she had with everyone. She didn’t make friends all those time. She lived alone, ate alone, cried alone, and suffered alone.”

“Her wealthy life didn’t last long before she knew it as one morning, she was being forced to be out of her apartment room. It’s a first-class suite anyway, but she failed to care about that as she checked in.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She also looked down, playing with her thumb as she closed her eyes, like remembering something. Jongin isn’t sure what she’s doing, but he did nothing to ask, nor speak, afraid that it will just ruin the moment.

“She then lived on a smaller unit. A unit even smaller than her room. At first, she found it hard to live that way but she got used to, eventually. She also tried to apply for jobs, but they’re asking for a college diploma, she knew, she didn’t have.”

“But one night, as she was walking downtown, she saw a flyer. It was the job she once believed was the lowest one, both financially, and morally. But maybe, due to desperation to live and loss of hope, she took it anyway. And that night, she started.”

“Maybe they’re still heating up on her that’s why she was put as an entertainer first. It was a safe job, she thought. But not until that time when she was started getting offers from customers. She declined them all. But as she was turning down the clients, her senior grabbed her and brought her at their fuming manager. She knew that the nineteen year old entertainer was declining offers from some of their big time clients, and she was not at all happy about it.”

“Everything went regretful since that night. She got pregnant to a twin, but didn’t abort them. And she’s on bones and skins already as she decided to give them to the nuns. She cried and cried and cried almost all night after she did that. But she thought of it the other way, she thought that it would be better for them not to live the life she’s living that time.”

“She then recovered on self-blame and decided to work again. She was lifeless, but still attractive. And that’s why she still got offers even after she gave birth. And much to her disapproval, she got pregnant again. It was a year or two before she conceived on a baby girl. But just like the first ones, she gave her to the nuns. She was a sinner, and it’s eating her to just step inside the house of God to commit another sin. But her conscience escaped her, a long time ago.”

“Then, after that, everything went better. She still got offers, she got money. She saved them, with her hopes of going to college and taking up a course.” Jongin sideglanced at her and saw her smile, that one reaches her eyes.

“But as a night came, she was only a few thousand bucks away from her goal, this man came and offered her. He was handsome, she thought. So she accepted his offer. But as they entered a room which seemed like a presidential suite, he did nothing. He just looked at her, then, absent-mindedly he told her she was beautiful. She then swore, that that man’s different. And those thoughts of her were configured after she saw the man blush with his own words and explained he didn’t say any. He was getting more handsome when he’s embarrassed, she thought.” Jongin couldn’t believe what he’s seeing now, his mother’s blushing. Red was so evident on his mother’s cheeks, and he couldn’t help but silently laugh at it. But wait,

“Mom, why are you… ahm… blushing?” He hesitantly asks his mother.

“H—huh?! I—I’m, not! You’re just seeing things Jongin-ah.” And Jongin could do nothing with his mother’s failed attempt to hide her obvious and proud blush but to roll his eye—

“And don’t you dare roll your eyes on me! Aish! Yah! What time is it?” She’s obviously changing the topic, he thought but checked the wall clock tho.

“It’s only 6:35 Mo—OHMYGOODNESS! Mom! I’m late for school!” He hurriedly stood up, went to his bedroom and wait—

“MOM! THE BOY’S MISSING!” He shouted from his bedroom because he found his bed alone in his room which supposedly be with the boy he found last night.

But, wait. It smells like food. Why does it smell like… spaghetti?!

“MOM! ARE YOU COOKING AGAI—“

“What are you saying Jongin?”

Wait again. If he’s mother’s here, and it still smells like a cooking spaghetti sauce, then, could it be that—

Jongin interrupted his own thought as he alternately looked at his empty bed, then the way to their kitchen, then to his bed again, then—

“Mom! The boy’s cook—where’s mom?!”

And with that, and a lot more cutting of statements greeted his morning.