XI. | Vesta.
Suicide Circle
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chapter ten
vesta
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They were in that room again. The one with the glass window, and the stainless steel walls that smelt like perspiration and broken futures. Jaejoong's fingers drummed against the vinyl table, his lips pursing into an unconscious pout. The man in front of him was leaning back in his chair; a black wife-beater clutched around his broad chest, with a small powdery stain drawing attention to the bottom side. His hair was tousled and messy with a few rays of oil shining through the black. He sits there without a gaze towards the detective, but to the rain chasing down the outside of the window pane. He had asked him for his name when the interview first started, but 'Kai' was the three letter scribble he had written on the napkin now placed in front of Jaejoong.
"Tell me everything you know." Jaejoong instructed, while his hand steadily jotted down some notes into his (now 75 percent full) note pad. Jongin shook his head, "I don't know anything." was what he had been saying for the past twenty minutes, but the detective didn't buy it. He knew that this boy was lying. He had this cocky half-grin half-smirk dancing around his plump lips. One that was mocking the very foundation of Jaejoong's pride. This boy angered him beyond amends.
"I'm going to ask you once again, but this time.." He paused to place his notepad down, clenching his jaw as he gave Jongin a stern look. "This time you're going to answer truthfully."
A glare from Kim Jaejoong would scare most people— but it wasn't the case for this man. Kim Jongin was fierce. He had been pushed around far too much when he was younger, so he had promised himself that he'd never allow that to happen again. He wouldn't. He shouldn't. He couldn't. Because that's Kim Jongin, and Kim Jongin always gets his way.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Was the words that filtered from the dark haired boy's lips. He had the whole cocky-jock look painted on his face; with broad shoulders, a raised chin and curled lips— he ego was blooming like a pink cherry blossom in the prime of Spring.
The mist of incoming cigarette smoke annoyingly bit at the inside of Jongin's throat— he wasn't a smoker, of course not. He'd never risk polluting his body with carcinogenic toxins and mephitic fumes— as a great ally once told him, his life is precious, he can't be throwing it away so recklessly. Adolescents like him were the future of South Korea.
"Listen. I'm not in the mood for this." Jaejoong couldn't vent his frustrations enough. He was late for a date with Jinah, and he didn't want to keep his Belle waiting for any longer. "So just tell me about this Suicide Club, so we can get this all over and done with."
"There's no Suicide Club." Jongin's eyes lowered into two thin slits. And in that split second, Jaejoong swore he saw a glint of annoyance illuminate those two orbs of darkness.
Bingo.
Kim Taeyeon layed her head on the side of the polished wooden table, a beer bottle clutched in her hand with the tinge of yesterday's kimbap mixing away with the spearmint she had dissolving on her tongue. Her eyes were watering, her bones were aching, but luckily she didn't seem to notice the pounding music from the club she was tossed into. How long was she expected to keep this up? She couldn't pretend forever. Besides, she was failure to her group. She'd almost died twice already. Twice. Why should they keep such a clumsy person like her?
"I need your help, Yeonnie."
"Why?"
"Because I can't do it by myself."
"How do you even expect me to do sumthin' like that, darlin'?"
"I know a way how."
"Nah, not everyone is like you, hun. We're not all unholy."
"You are. You just don't know it."
Taeyeon sighs, strands of dark hair were tickling the top of her eyelashes. She needed a trim. After she gets this done, she'll change her hair completely. Ah, yes— she'll make it a dazzling red. Wait, no— a beautiful brown would do the trick.
"Sure, maybe I am, but darling," Taeyeon taps her fingers along the edge of the table. "I don't want to die."
The two pause for a few moments, using the sudden silence to clear out their minds.
"It's not as painful as they say."
She doesn't know how any of this is going to work. Her and Jinah had been waiting silently for this woman to appear, but she was no-where to be found. Perhaps the drugs they had put in her drink didn't take effect? Who knows. She was never good with planning things out, she had clearly said that it was Jinah's job to carry out this part of the mission. The thought in general sent shivers down her spine.
"Should we go in there and drag her out ourselves?" The blonde woman asks. The other woman turns to look at her best friend, silently taking a moment to admire her beauty. Death had turned Im Jinah into a statue of beauty. Honey brown hair, crystalline skin, lips with the skin of bruises and eyes darker than the abyss they'd returned from— She couldn't get why Jinah had gotten the better end of this whole 'demon ' they'd done. I mean sure, the latter had also gotten exquisitely beautiful. More heads were turning, more phone numbers were being scribbled on napkins— she loved the attention. But a majority of those heads were looking at Jinah, a majority of those scribbled phone numbers were being tucked into Jinah's pocket. Not hers. Jinah's.
"No need, honey." Jinah's friend gestures towards the entrance of the club. The blonde's head snaps into the direction mentioned, a cynical smile lifting the corners of her red-tinted lips. "She's here." Jinah coos as the tipsy woman from the entrance slowly wobbles her way on the side street. It's near midnight— little yellow dots twinkle in the sky, and Jinah's friend wonders if each and every one of them were really the balls of fire Satan had referred to them as. She unconsciously shivers at the thought, a hand rubbing at the skin on her arm. She'd been burnt multiple times by those so-called stars. "God," she mumbles. "No more glory days."
They wait until there's no one around until they finally make their move. Like the true hunters they are, they crouch behind the trees— silent, skillful, and deadly. Like true experts in the field 'ought to be. "I still feel uneasy doing this," Jinah's friend mumbles. Jinah interrupts before her friend had the chance to finish speaking. "Get with the program, unnie. I did it, now it's your turn."
Taeyeon's barely avoiding the objects in her path. She's too drunk to notice where's she's going, or where's she's meant to be going, or what she's meant to be doing— all she can register, is that her head is spinning at a thousand miles per hour, and she needs to sit down quickly or else she's going to pass out. So she finds a nice bench— in the middle of wherever she is— (she looks around and can see nothing but trees and a rocky footpath)— and tried to take a much needed breather.. She can hear nothing but the painful ringing from the insides of her ears, and she wonders just how much she'd had to drink.
Meanwhile, the beautiful hunter Jinah has her claws bared. Green leaves annoyingly rustled in the background— Eucalyptus, perhaps? It left a nasty tang on the inner rim of her nose.
"Unnie.. We need to do it now. Her guard is down." Jinah says in a dark voice. She speaks in only shades of grey. Her friend shakes her head, small goosebumps settle along the edges of her arms, and suddenly she starts to feel sick to the stomach,
"J-Jinah.. I-I can't." She admits, a pang of regret tainting her blood. Jinah recoils almost a second later. Eyebrows pursed in an unholy, uptight frown, she spits the words of evil.
"... You never had a choice."
The blonde-haired fiend leaps out of the bushes, and it's like time stops when she jumps onto Taeyeon's back. She digs her fingernails— an opaque black with sparkly golden tips— into the purple tinted eyelids of her victim. Taeyeon screams as hard as her little lungs allowed her to, but before the screeches could pass her lips, Jinah's already ripped out her tongue. She puts it in her pocket— "I'll add it to my collection," she thinks, and it makes her smile.
Jinah wasn't a woman of patience, unless there's a hidden agenda added to the plate. But sadly, for the young Kim girl who dreamt of nothing but pastel colors, world peace and everything the opposite of black, Jinah didn't have an ounce of that glimmery stuff left. What once held patience for this mission, was soon replaced with wrath, frustration and everything the color of black.
She pulls the revolver out it's leather case strapped to the inside of her thigh as positions the mouth of it against Taeyeon's temple.
Bang.
"There's not as much blood as there is in movies." Jinah yells out to her friend, as her thin, lean body crouches down to search for the Kim girl's wallet, mobile and any personal identification she might be carrying around. Small splashes of blood covers the once white, rocky path with a sickly red. There's a piece of flesh lying on the side of the bench, which adds a tad of color to the picture, in Jinah's opinion.
She has quick fingers and a unkempt desire for more. She also has a flair for drama and a sickly sweet smile to follow along and keep her unhealthy addiction afloat. If there's one thing she loves about her best friend's company, it's that she didn't try to dissuade her from continuing.
"Come, unnie, it's all over now. I did the hard part for you."
Slowly, ever so slowly, Jinah's friend emerges from the dark green shrubs with glittery tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Her body is shaking, and a red tint engulfs her eyes. Jinah looks up at her with a cocky grin, "Jeez, I took it way easier than you did."
The other woman ignores her, and instead keeps her attention firmly glued to the dead body in front of her. Sure it'd been the second time she'd seen something like that— and it sure as hell didn't make anything better, but the sickly feeling still remained. She doesn't know why she even thought of doing something like this. Why she agreed. How it was even possible. But from this point onwards, the underlining question always remained, "When will it end?"
"Soon. Unnie, I promise you."
Jinah stands up, her body slowly walking over to wrap around her best friend, lazy and lightweight. As expected, her friend's arms entangle themselves around the latter, but her gaze never left the limp body that laid in front of her.
And so the legendary story of these two women begins; the the women born to be exuberant young ladies, grew to be embodiments of effortless femininity, and all that the color pink is supposed to represent— all bathed in evil, that is. But unlike her friend, Jinah figured it was alright to be who she was, what she was, brutally, if needed; one would say she was proud, even. She figured it was alright to be in her own natural shell; figured it was alright because no matter what bad deed would be done, she'll always have her best friend by her side. But it wasn't always like this, oh no. When she had first been born again, she had used to think that she wanted to be good, she wanted to be kind, she wanted to help, but it was all pretty difficult. The strain and effort were too much, too wasteful of time, too much of a burden.
Jinah takes her friend's hand, silently stepping over the dead body to sit on the bench. Her bottom drops onto the seat with a soft 'plump', her friend soon following behind. She's still shaken up, Jinah can tell. So she lifts her hand up to tuck a stray lock of her friend's hair behind her ear.
"Your fringe is growing out, " Jinah says softly in an almost ethereal voice, "I'll take you to the barber tomorrow, unnie."
Her friend stays still.
Jinah nudges her side with her porcelain elbow, "Come on, I think you're being a drama queen now."
Everyone stays quiet for the next few minutes as a large gust of wind blows past the two young women. The previously tucked-back piece of hair breaks out of its constraints and flows along with the wind, leaves follow, and the girls allow the soft 'whoooosh' sound calm their minds.
"I-I.." Jinah looks up as her friend starts to speak, "I watched myself just get killed by my best friend."
"Technically this doesn't count because it's your past self.. And you'll be taking her place, so no one will notice."
"But still!" The future Taeyeon rises up from her seat, her cheeks are still wet and salty, but she makes no attempt to dry them. "I know we're not... Not... Normal, but how can you live knowing that you traveled back in time just to kill yourself, all for revenge?!"
Jinah sighs softly, a hand tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. Her skin is as pale as the rocky path that's under their feet. "I need to do what I need to do," She says, rising up to face the girl with dark eyes. "You said you'd help me. If you're going to complain like this, then you might as well leave. I'll talk to Lucifer about all this later, so you won't get in trouble."
Taeyeon tried to keep her eyes strong, she wasn't going to let Jinah overpower her again. —( she shouldn't, wouldn't, couldn't, could've, could've)
"..I-I'm sorry, hun."
Jinah smirks that trademark smirk— curled up, pretty, evil, pretty-evil, lips a thousand shades of viole(n)t. Of course, it condemned her. Little Taeyeon knew all about the devil with violet lipstick and sparkly nails, the girl with no concern or empathy for others, the girl possessed by something demonic. Unholy. Jinah shrugged and sat back down beside her best friend, pulled out a honey-flavored lollipop and lifted her feet up to rest on the dead Taeyeon's corpse.
"It's okay." She giggles, "Just do what I tell you and everything will be fine."
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