An extract from Chapter 12 of Ambiguity

 

Naomi quickly fixes her hair into a ponytail as she rushes into the bar, twenty-five minutes late. Her manager, Bob, is behind the bar, a frown marring his forehead. His arms are crossed and she's never seen him looking this aggravated before. She gulps.

 

"I'm so sorry," Naomi apologizes. All she ever seems to be doing these days is saying sorry for this and that, concocting excuses that they both know aren't exactly true: I missed the bus again; traffic was terrible again; I forgot I was working today. But how could she tell him the truth?

 

"This continuous tardiness is unacceptable, Naomi," he gruffly scolds. "Is something wrong at home?"

 

She shakes her head. "No." Yes.

 

His features soften. "Are you sure?"

 

"Yeah, everything is just fine." Nothing's fine. Everything is just wrong, wrong, wrong.

 

He nods his head, the frown creasing its way back onto his forehead. "I want you on time tomorrow. Because if this continues, I'm gonna have to let you go, and I really don't want to do that. So please…make more of an effort to get here on time."

 

Bob leaves her at the bar, entering the kitchen. Naomi sighs and rests her elbows on the bar, burying her face in her hands.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

She jumps at the voice, turning round sharply, coming face to face with Ace. She doesn't want to speak to him: not now, or anyone else, for that matter. She just wants to sink into a corner and cry.

 

"Nothing," she snaps, "shouldn't you be chopping carrots or something?"

 

"I'm on my break," he replies, voice flat. He comes to stand beside her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder.

 

"Naomi, what's wrong? I heard you talking to Bob before about your recent tardiness."

 

She snorts, violently shrugging his hand off, rounding on him. "Oh, so you eavesdrop now, do you?"

 

He doesn't say anything, continuing to look at her impassively. She's angry, not so much with him, but more so at the torrent of emotions that have been welling up inside of her. The dam she'd built to hold them back is ready to collapse, and there is nothing she can do to stop the outburst.

 

"And why should I tell you, of all people? I don't know you, not really. Because whenever I ask you simple questions like, ‘what made you change jobs?’ You just answer with some nonsensical reply. So you can't really blame me for not wanting to tell you anything when you won't even extend that simple courtesy to me."

 

His face still remains reticent and it eggs her on even more. She wants him to react; she wants him to argue back with her. She's aware of the attention she's attracting from nosy customers, but can no longer care.

 

"You wouldn't understand 'what's wrong'. You've probably always had whatever you wanted, right? Seeing as you have rich parents, an' all." He'd previously unintentionally let slip that his father is a successful entrepreneur, the family having come from money anyway, and that he'd attended Harvard. She hadn't really needed her theory of his heritage to be verified: his clothes and refined manner just boast money.

 

Naomi continues, "You've never had to deal with adversity in your life. You don't have bills to pay or family to look after. Your kind wouldn't understand."

 

She's breathing hard when she finishes her rant, fists curled at her sides. She meets his steady gaze, surprised to see hurt in his eyes. Guilt instantly stabs at her: she shouldn't have yelled at him like that, but she'd just been unable to stop herself.

 

She wants him to take her in his arms, uttering soothing words as she cries into his shirt, letting herself go. She wants to tell him everything: she wants to tell him how she's struggling to pay for her father's medical bills and that college is surely out of the question now. She wants to tell him how her mother has been on a drinking binge every night for the past fortnight when she should have been at home with her son and Naomi's ten-year old brother, Jake. Naomi doesn't like leaving him on his own for hours on end when she's at work, but what else can she do? The neighbors are already beginning to suspect that something is wrong at home, what with all the late night arguments Naomi and her Mom get into when she's finally returned home, a surly drunk.

 

Time seems to hold an insurmountable amount of weight as she waits for him to say something…anything. "You'd be surprised what I'd understand," he says quietly. "You think my life is all flowers and roses? You're wrong."

 

He shakes his head, despondent. "Nothing is ever as it seems."

 

---

 

 

 

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, making sure no more locks have escaped the tight bun Durami had secured my unruly locks in.

 

"Hold on, Dara," Ji Eun said, coming towards me. They have been my 'makeup team' for the evening, insisting they dress me up for the fancy, swanky dinner party the quintet has been invited to play at. She carefully pulled out a few strands of hair that framed my face. She stepped back beside Durami, hand cupping her chin, frowning. But then the frown turned to a smile and she nodded. "I think we're finished," she reported, and then, "Oh my God, Jiyong won't be able to take his eyes off you! You look beautiful and…" Durami placed a hand over , her eyes wide. Ji Eun's eyes averted to Durami, the hand still covering . Durami gave an imperceptible shake of the head. What was that about? What had she said about Jiyong?

 

I frowned. "Ji Eun, my boyfriend is Jaejoong, not Jiyong."

 

Durami removed her hand. "Oh, well…yeah," Ji Eun said, "Jaejoong won't be able to take his eyes off you. That's what I meant."

 

I'm still frowning and fixed them both with a hard look. Why would they think Jiyong and I are together? "Jae won't be playing there because he broke his hand. He won't see me," I reported, "that's why Jiyong's playing with us. He's filling in for Jae."

 

"I think," Durami began, "Ji Eun just got confused. She saw you the other day at the library with Jiyong, and I'd mentioned you had a boyfriend so…"

 

Ji Eun interrupted, "I just put two and two together. You seemed quite close together so I thought you'd both confessed your undying love for one another and…"

 

Durami placed a hand on Ji Eun's mouth again. Wow. Did she stop for breath there?

 

"We were at the Library," I said, "together, because we have been assigned to do a project together by Mr. Yang. Pigs will fly before Jiyong and I ever get together."

 

Ji Eun gave a sheepish smile.

 

"Here, Dara," Durami said, handing me a cropped, black cardigan. I put it on, fully assessing my attire in the full-length mirror. I thought I'd reached my quota of dresses for a lifetime, but once again, I find myself looking in the mirror, looking at this girl in a dress. I supposed it could be worse: they could have made me wear heels, but I'd provided the argument that using the peddle on the piano would be difficult to use otherwise. The dress is also black and plain, reaching just above my knees. A simple, silver necklace adorns my neck. Makeup accentuates my 'chocolate-coloured' eyes, a thin sheen of lip gloss coating my lips.

 

"Thanks, guys," I said. "I'm gonna have to go. See you later."

 

 

 

 

I knocked on Jiyong's door again, hoping someone will answer, and soon. It's cold, and I'm shivering in a thin cardigan. Winter is well on its way. He has no transport at the moment, so me, being the oh-so-generous person I am, had agreed to give him a lift. Magnanimous Dara, that's me.

 

I frowned as I looked up at the open window above me. Rock music blared loudly from the room. It's no wonder no one could hear me knocking, it's so freaking loud!

 

When the door finally opened, I expected to see Jiyong, only to look down and see Dami instead with her dog, Gaho, in her arms.

 

"Dara unnie," she chirped. "Seungri's playing his music really loud again and Jiyong's on the phone to Omma, so they didn't hear the door." She glanced behind her shoulder and looked back at me, downcast. "I think Jiyong's mad at Mommy."

 

I can just barely discern Jiyong's voice over the blaring music. Sometimes speaking in a low murmured voice, but more than not, shouting, "Come home. You have to stop doing this…It's not fair." He paused. I can see him through the gap in the door. He hasn't spotted me yet,he's too busy glaring at the floor, his fist clenched. "Oh for…"

 

He stopped mid rant, his eyes having flicked to the open door. He turned around sharply, his back to me, and walked into the kitchen. I can't hear him at all now. What the hell was all that about?

 

"They argue a lot," Dami said.

 

"Really?" I asked.

 

"Yeah." She frowned. "Mom never comes home until really, really late. She wakes me up when she comes home and I can't get back to sleep until much, much later, 'cause she and Jiyong begin arguing then."

 

I crouched down to her level. "What do they argue about?"

 

She shrugged. "Jiyong just says it's nothing and I shouldn't worry about it, but I can't help it sometimes. When I ask why Mom's home late, he just says she has to work late at her new job."

 

I forced a smile onto my lips, trying to reassure her. "I'm sure Jiyong's right and it's nothing. Your Mom just works late so she can provide for you guys. I've seen how much Jiyong eats! Your food bill must be enormous!"

 

Gaho struggled in Dami's arm and jumped from out of her grasp, running circles round me. Okay, that might get just a little annoying.

 

Dami giggled and wrapped her skinny arms around my neck, hugging me. "Thanks, unnie."

 

I patted her small head and she released me. Jiyong now stood behind her, violin case and music in hand, a small smile quirking his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes though. He must still be reeling from the tense conversation with his Mom. I stared for a moment, taking him in. He's wearing a tux that fits nicely on his well-formed body. He looks good. Really good.

 

"Just give me a second," he said, stepping back into the hall. He shouted, "Seungri, will you turn that music down! We'll be getting complaints from the neighbors soon!"

 

The volume dropped down a few decibels, but it's still clearly audible even outside. Jiyong came back shaking his head, his eyes red and bloodshot, as if he hasn't slept much of late.

 

He crouched down to Dami's level and gave her a one armed hug that she eagerly reciprocates.

 

"Is Seungri still refusing to leave his room?" she asked, worry tingeing her tone.

 

"Yeah. I'm sure it's just some teen phase. He'll grow out of it soon," Jiyong replied, straightening up. He'd placated her worries in such a light and indifferent tone, that I suspected his words had not solely been for Dami's sake, but also to reassure himself. I tried to catch his eye, but he seemed obstinate about not meeting my gaze.

 

"Mrs. Min will be here in a second to look after you," he told her.

 

Dami scrunched up her nose, frowning. "I don't like her," she grumbled, "she smells."

 

"That's not very nice."

 

"Well…she does. And she doesn't like us since Deukkie set that stink bomb off. She tells us to just sit down and be quiet."

 

"It won't be for long. I'll be back before you know it."

 

"Can't I come with you? I wanna hear you and unnie play."

 

He shook his head. "Not this time, sweetie."

 

He straightened up and looked over my shoulder. "Mrs. Min's here. I'll see you tomorrow morning, okay?"

 

"Okay," she grumbled. "Bye, Dara unnie."

 

I smiled. "See you, Dami."

 

"Jiyong!" A shrill voice cried. Mrs. Min jogged up the drive, knitting needles sticking out of a large expansive bag. Gaho began yapping then, bounding down the drive to greet her. Or is trying to ward her off?

 

Mrs. Min looked to be about in her mid-50s, her grey hair is fixed in a tight bun, her lips red and her eyes layered with heavy makeup. Her attire, a long flowing dress, befitted someone who is to attend the opera, and not someone who is about to babysit a couple of kids. Total's teeth latch onto the end of her dress, pulling and tugging, growling as he does so.

 

"Get off, you stupid mutt," she yelled. Dami gently tugged him away, shooting dagger-like glares at Mrs. Min

 

Suddenly, when Mrs. Min has checked the state of her attire, she looked to me, blinking, as if she's just noticed my presence. "Hello. Who are you?"

 

"Dara," I introduced.

 

She smiled, clasping her ringed hands together. "It's about time Jiyong got a girlfriend. He's way too handsome to remain single."

 

"Oh, no," I said, blushing. "I'm not his girlfriend."

 

I looked up to Jiyong and noted the color in his cheeks. He's biting his lip. TIA. This is... awkward.

 

"Oh," Mrs. Min said.

 

"We better get going," Jiyong remarked quickly, "otherwise we're gonna be late." He glanced at his watch, his eyes looking back on Mrs. Min. "Seungri's upstairs listening to music. I've told him to keep it down, but if it's too disrupting, don't hesitate to tell him to turn it down. Deukkie's in his room also. All stink bombs have been confiscated, so there shouldn't be a repeat of last time."

 

She pursed her lips. "Good. The smell had been so foul, I was practically heaving when he'd set it off. Kids shouldn't be playing with such stupid contraptions. I seriously worry for the next generation."

 

"Right," Jiyong absentmindedly replied. "Bye. Be good, Dami."

 

"Bye, oppa. Bye, unnie."

 

I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth as we jogged over to my car. I can feel Jiyong's eyes on me all the way, and I can feel them on me when we get into the car. I turned to him, surprised to see the warmth that radiated from them, and then surprised to see him leaning towards me. Something flared inside his eyes, their color dimmed by the feeble light in the car. It's 6 o'clock and already the sun is setting behind dark clouds, the light of the day being displaced by the ading darkness of the night.

 

I in a breath. His hand moved a lock of hair that has flopped in front of my face, slipping it behind my ear. He inadvertently brushed my cheek during this movement, causing a blush to blossom on my cheeks. His eyes locked with mine, swimming with that same emotion I've glinted before. "You look nice."

 

He pulled back, suddenly and sharply, looking out the window. I flustered for a moment, starting the engine and then looking in my rear view mirror. "You don't scrub up that bad either."

 

He chuckled. "'Not bad' is an understatement. All the women won't be able to keep their eyes off me."

 

"You're totally delusional," I sang, pulling out of the driveway.

 

"Totally hot."

 

"Totally not."

 

I turned my CD player on, deciding to drown out his egotistical remarks. I turned the volume up, Nickelback's Gotta Be Somebody blaring through the speakers. Jiyong tapped his hand to along to the music on his leg, humming. I looked over at him, smirking, my eyebrows raised. He met my eyes and asked, "Have you ever wondered about putting together a quintet version of this?"

 

I frowned. "No, why? Have you?"

 

"Yeah. I just thought it might be fun to do, y'know? We're playing at a couple of school's in a month's time, right?"

 

"Yeah. So?"

 

"Most kids aren't interested in Bach and Vivaldi. They think it's boring."

 

I'm about to protest but he interrupted, "It's true, Dara. A lot say they hate orchestral instruments. If you want to make them think it's cool and encourage them to play classical instruments, you have to play music they like first."

 

Okay, so maybe he had a point, and maybe doing an arrangement of Nickelback wouldn't be so bad. In fact, it would be pretty damn cool. "We could ask the guys," I said, "and see what they think." I don't have to turn to the side to know he's smirking: he knew he's brought me round entirely.

 

I changed the subject, "Is Seungri okay?"

 

"He's fine. He's just being a moody teenager."

 

"Is that just it?" I asked, persisting. "'Cause losing your sight is a pretty big deal. And then there's your dad leaving…"

 

"We're doing fine!"

 

I didn't speak for several minutes, startled at his sudden outburst. Quietly I said, "If you ever want to talk, you know where I am."

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Where have you been?" Seunghyun demanded as he greeted us at the door. We're twenty minutes late, having taken the wrong turn several times before I realized my mistake.

 

"Dara got lost," Jiyong, oh-so-helpfully replied.

 

"You were in charge of the map," I reminded Jiyong, "so technically, this is all your…"

 

"Okay!" Seunghyun snapped. "Just hurry up. Jiyong, you need to tune your violin as soon as you can. The guy hosting the party keeps nagging at me, asking me when we're going to start."

 

My eyes roamed round the expansive hall as I settled myself behind the grand piano. Oil paintings are secured in thick gold frames across the room, divided by wide, oval shaped windows that are partially hidden behind great red curtains. Men and women are dressed in their best clothes: tuxes and long flowing dresses, seating themselves at tables with neatly placed name cards. Everything is immaculate: I just hope we can deliver, although, I'm not sure if they'll really hear us amongst all the chitter chatter and clunking of cutlery and clinking glasses.

 

I smiled at Daesung and Bom, checking which pieces we're playing first. I won't be accompanying all of the time: some of their pieces being solely for strings. Since Jae would have been a spare part coming here and unable to play, he'd stayed at home, having texted me earlier to wish me luck and that he wished he could be playing with us tonight. I'd text back thanks and that I'll see him soon.

 

Torrents of nerves suddenly rushed through me, and I'm praying I don't suddenly mess up and make a complete fool of myself. It's easier to disguise mistakes on a violin, but a piano…if you press the wrong key, you'll play totally the wrong note and will discord with the other notes you're playing, and that of the other players. I'll stand out like a sore thumb.

 

As Jiyong took his place beside Bom, he gave me a small smile and winked at me. He met the eyes of Daesung, Bom and Seunghyun before looking with mine again, nodding his head,‘We're ready to play.’

 

I began the piano's introduction, my previous worries ebbing away as I immersed myself in the music completely.

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

I sat smiling behind piano, listening to the guys playing their last piece, mildly jealous that my part in our suite had finally come to an end. I'd really enjoyed playing on the grand piano: I wanted to take it home with me; it's just so nice to play on. Unfortunately, our small dainty house will not accommodate such an expansive instrument, it barely housed our much smaller, upright piano as it is.

 

I watched Jiyong's fingers travelling up and down the neck of the violin, deftly shifting positions. His bow transcends from short, snappy movement to the longer, more flowing movement of legato: another smooth transition. The upper part of his body begins to gradually move as the piece picks up momentum again, a frown forming on his forehead as he completes a series of complex notes. I've noticed he does that whenever he hits a particularly difficult section in the music. It's kinda cute.

 

The last note was played and there's a round of applause. I didn't anticipate it and was surprised to find all eyes on us. Throughout most of the evening all the guests had been idly chatting, eating, and occasionally, taking part in the odd toast. I hadn't thought many had registered our presence in the corner.

 

I grinned broadly as I bowed with the rest of the guys, Daesung even blowing kisses, until Bom punched him in the arm. Ouch.

 

I could get used to this whole performing thing.

 

 

---

 

 

I hope this chapter was able to show other ambiguous elements in the story. The idea of 'not everything is as it seems', as Ace states in the extract, was meant to be a theme not solely applicable to Dara and Jiyong's relationship. I hope I didn't show it in a confusing way.

 

I updated this to make up for TOTL. I'm sorry again. I'll focus on that after this update. Sorry again, and thank you guys.

Happy new year! Happy G-Dragon and Daragon year!!

^__________^

 

Hello G-Force ladies!! Ouley, Sera , Pink, Rana, Cana Unnies, Tia, Inah, Maknae!!! =)