Nightmares and Bruises
He Left Me Breathless
Anger had always been a willing companion of mine for as long as I could remember and more often than not, it had become my first choice rather than a last resort. Surging in an erratic and tumultuous manner, it almost sank the traces of my floundering rationality underneath. The sharp and stifling pinch of my throat failed the words that wished to maim and shame. It swayed my judgement and spurred on the fairly reckless decisions.
Under the billowing cloud of fury I was adept at assuming the worst in everyone and heedlessly embellishing their most unfavorable acts. It was the remorseless brand of truth that provoked my callous demeanor and I hadn't a thought to spare for those who had provoked such unforgiving ire.
I hated it.
I absolutely loathed being so blindsided by displeasure and disappointment that I failed to differentiate the right from the wrong. It made me feel weak, powerless and inevitably guilty.
After having taken great pains to bridle this belligerent and snarky temperament I realized, Mr. Oh could easily make visiting the shrink a regular occurrence with his insufferable attitude. Surely, his true talent lay in trying even the patience of a Saint and slyly goading people over the ledge of their dwindling sanity.
Our absurd dynamic was such that, Mr. Oh played the role of an arrogant pianist and I his wretched piano. He pressed the exact keys to produce the most jarring and bitter melodies.
In the movies, those deep breaths the damsels in distress took to restrain their emotions or the numbers they counted from backwards praying and appealing for composure, never quite had the same magical effect on me. I was left imploring the heavens for their compassion and kindness in protecting me from 6 feet demons that wore Louis Vuitton Oxfords.
Escaping from the sweltering atmosphere of the room had been my original intention, however, it drove me to roam around in an unfamiliar hotel teeming with strangers. Confused, I regard my surroundings to better understand where my reckless escapades had led to and spot the outdoor swimming pools that our suite had a clear view of.
Scratch that, Mr. Oh's suite, since clearly I would be banned from entering, following the wildest and dramatic exit of the century. Not that I was remotely apologetic or capable of remorse. Oh Sehun can wade in his ego, wallow in his pride and wither in his own anger for all the s I could muster.
The illuminated water laps restlessly and I am disgruntled to notice the unnerving resemblance in our states. My turmoil lingered inwards and hidden from sight whereas its disturbance lies outside. This sobers the remaining petulance instantly and my shoulders sag in quiet resignation. I despised not winning an argument just as much as having one to begin with.
Slowly, the fight drains from me and I wonder whether in hindsight it was necessary to react that harshly to Rafael's blatant attempt at causing trouble. I should have probably cursed him to a karmic destiny of Bill Cosby's balls eternally and gone about minding my business.
Too meek, my subconscious quips indignantly; ever the portrait of an insolent diva.
If Mr. Oh had the decency to hide the clip like he was meant to, then all of this wouldn't have happened in the first place and I needn't have burst several blood vessels in the process. I assumed we had a silent agreement on how the video would remain buried, provided I kept making A- grades in the weekly assessments but apparently not.
He had blatantly ignored the semi vague promise and revealed its existence to Beanpole aka unnecessarily tall twatface. Granted, the likelihood of me scoring an A- in his subject was as likely as the chance of pigs flying but not being given the benefit of the doubt had bruised my self confidence.
The video would have eventually surfaced, presuming, Mr. Oh's threat had been serious and I was preparing for the scenario to unfold but the absolute lack of faith in my abilities hurt. Especially after he had made the effort to ensure I received private lessons from Mr. Zhang and Jongin directly. If he did not trust me to respect my end of the promise why did he bother?
He had worsened the situation by lashing back and hurling unwanted accusations. Of the both of us, it is obvious he was more level headed than I, but the previous encounter had shown me how scathing his own frustration could be and how little he cared for the consequences it wreaked.
His statements had been brash and unexpectedly scary. I reckon, I did sell my soul to the devil itself to retain my position in the Academy but was it really worth the trade, when it gave Mr. Oh the pretext to think he somehow owned me until my debts were fully paid?
It gnawed at my conscience and I had to reconsider the sheer amount of patience I was forced to exercise in keeping my emotionally and mentally together.
Honestly, I had stopped attending regular classes in the University and I certainly hadn't stepped anywhere within the vicinity of the college in ages. However, I didn't feel as though I was sacrificing anything in return. In fact, I had weekly tutoring sessions in YJ Entertainment and Mr. Zhang had already drafted a detailed study plan for me seeing how my temporary stint with Mr. Oh would interfere in my normal coursework.
Maybe, I had gotten those 100 per cent power up cards in the game and all for free. I mean not entirely free, since my forbearance and survival hung in the balance.
Could I possibly buy my way out of this?
I had never actually considered the prospect of simply buying him another scarf given the fear that my offer could have belittled the sentimental value it held for him and given him plenty of excuses to put me in an aquarium infested with blood thirsty sharks.
He might very well annihilate Byun Baekhyun for merely suggesting such an outrageous idea but I couldn't bring myself to care enough. He seemed hell bent on finding faults in everything I did or said and if I had the chance to put an end to that, why shouldn't I? I would be saving us the trouble of resorting to these meaningless scuffles and incessant cold war.
The problem was, the only time I had ever seen the scarf, sent straight from the seventh circle of hell, was when he had worn it to the club and the rest of the incident had earned a special niche in my dark history of drunken mistakes.
There had been no lights in the VIP section during our fated encounter and coincidentally I was two sheets to the wind. I was so far gone in the haze of alcohol, I went about announcing I was a bloody swinger and awoken the next day to hoards of texts from random numbers wondering when we could schedule our Ménage à trois or the dinner party with many suggestive winks.
Safe to say, I hadn't witnessed that many s or in vivid detail.
Ideally, I preferred not having to relive that macabre experience and finding a less embarrassing fix to the woe of my existence.
Racking my brains I try to remember snippets of the pattern and the color, at the least but draw a pointless blank. I couldn’t complain when my memory was about as useful as diet water- excessively hopeless.
Perhaps there were pictures? The question is where I could find them, when Mr. Oh lived like a relatively medieval human being and snubbed all social media platforms. Somewhere in California Mark Zuckerberg wept.
The whole reason the universe is aware of his appearance is due to round the clock surveillance by the unshakeable paparazzi and his avid fan sites. There were men and women on the mission to unveil the cloak of mystery Mr. Oh was shrouded in.
Fan sites...
That's it!
They practically followed him everywhere and documented his every move, I'll be damned if they didn't know about his visit to the club. There are thousands of suggestions when I type Sehun in Instagram's search box and spoilt for choice, I pick a random one, the taste of victory looming in the air.
A single white post greets me and I expand the plain image despite my disappointment. The caption mentions a link attached beneath and an explanatory message from the admin,
"Sorry lovelies I have decided to deactivate this account temporarily but to those who remain interested, kindly follow this fan girl at her backup to stay updated on our stunning CEO Oh Sehun
XOXO"
I open the link in a new tab and instantly the page is filled with squared picture icons. The top, left corner of the screen grabs my attention instinctively and I drop the phone as if it were made of hot coals.
Outrageous, Atrocious, Appalling and downright scandalous - are the most harmless words I would use to describe the username. Squinting, through the pained tears I recheck whether I had read it right and when Sehunsglitteryanus is still displayed almost innocently my suspicions are confirmed.
I hadn't ever contemplated the purpose of my birth and existence in the same day until this precise moment.
Somewhere between nausea and hyperventilation I realize how naive I was to assume that my task would be fairly tame and above board. Mr. Oh’s fans were hardcore and faithfully dedicated to worshipping each part of him, regardless of where that particular part was located.
Had I lived thus far to witness this positively horrific nightmare?
What had the world come to?
What was normal anymore?
Who in God's name was interested in Mr. Oh's..Mr. Oh's... Mr. Oh's- Dear God were these the kind of thoughts people had when they saw him? Did they go like,
“Hey Susan, do you think Sehun's you-know-what is bedazzled?”
“God Janice, do you have to sound so pleb? Of course it is, haven’t you seen my fan page?”
I utter a string of mildly blasphemous yet graphic curses and the middle aged man in the pool throws me nasty looks. My mortification only increases when I feel the lewd temptation of peeking again and I understand why the curiosity killed the cat.
It wasn't fun being the cat but neither was sitting seconds away from clinching your currently invaded freedom for the sake of your al morals regarding your hot boss.
Shakily, I reload the link, pondering how many people would get second hand embarrassment from watching me struggling to scroll downwards until the name is hidden. There are hundreds of photos from the same day in different angles, different lighting and by the time I find the pictures of him entering or exiting the club I feel like I have memorized every feature of Mr. Oh so starkly and copiously that I could sketch him with my eyes closed.
Who knew that I hadn't noticed the tiny scar on his cheek till now after being in his arms thrice? Maybe my eyes had been busy elsewhere.
Cropping the scarf from the screenshot I attach the picture in Google Images and there are hundreds of related and unrelated results. One headline flashes prominently and my phone nearly drowns in the deep end of the pool. Holy Mother of !
What had I done?!
What the actual had I done?!
The scarf was one of the 30 silk scarves designed by the legendary, French artist Henri Matisse and auctioned for a whopping four million dollars to the Media mogul Oh Hyesoon aka The Chairwoman.
I couldn't even count how many zeros a million had much less four of them. Numb with shock I attempt to digest this but it is next to impossible when it dawns on me that I had thrown four dollars’ worth beer on four million.
I mean how doomed does a person have to be to ruin the priceless scarf worn by his boss which coincidentally was gifted to him by his dearest mother?
The man hardly accepted such gestures but the one, rare occasion he had decided to be gracious about his strict policy, I fling my Zen like calmness off the bridge and make a point through cheap beer. Wow.
If there were ever a meter for measuring bad luck, then the needle would go past the maximum level in my case. I was unfortunately unfortunate.
How was I ever going to repay Mr. Oh, if at all? A year of being his assistant wouldn't cover a fraction of the cost and it was driving me insane.
Who the heck gave someone expensive relics as gifts? Granted, mothers went overboard in pampering their children but this went above and beyond. I couldn't comprehend why it was so ridiculously pricey and extravagant unless Robert Downey Jr. had pissed on it.
Giving up, I settle down against the chaise lounge and struggle to get comfortable. Returning to the suite was not an option and renting another room was laughable given my empty coffers. This chair would have to do until morning arrived with my ticket back to Seoul.
After a night spent soaking in my sober regrets, I am reluctantly strapping the seat belt across my lap and doing my utmost to ignore Mr. Oh altogether, who for his part seems unaffected by the cold shoulder.
I hadn't expected anything less from the Ice Queen of the century.
The flight attendant reels the catering trolley to our seats and I politely decline the breakfast he begins serving. It looked sumptuous without a flicker of doubt but I would have to starve. I had a point to prove and I reckoned open rebellion was the way to go. The vigorous refusal finally garners Mr. Oh's attention and his brows rise in unison, sceptically.
"Mr. Byun it is bad faith to refuse the food that is offered to you" he half drawls and half chastises.
"I have lost my appetite Mr. Oh" I retort mulishly and to my chagrin he chuckles.
"I believe you have forsaken your hunger in exchange for throwing a tantrum" he muses, the supercilious expression driving the accusation too close to my real agenda.
"And I believed Mr. Oh was a man of his word if not considerate towards others but it seems like we are both destined to be wrong" I quickly interject, my sarcasm notched higher than usual.
"Ethan could you kindly tell the pilot to enjoy Mr. Byun's portion? It would appear he's rather full of himself to have space for anything else" Mr. Oh smiles disarmingly at the blushing boy and I scoff louder than I intended to.
Incorrigible .
“Yes Ethan, please do, I have had my fill of nonsense thanks to Mr. Oh” I quip, annoyed.
“You are being childish Mr. Byun” he sighs and I glare scornfully.
I was on the offense mode and here he was, comparing my defiance to adolescent outbursts. Did I have to win a Nobel for this man to take me seriously?
“We wouldn't be having this whole conversation if I was being childish Mr. Oh” I remark snidely and slot the ear phones in, shutting him out completely.
When the flight lands in the airport, pain throbs violently around my skull and I wonder why it didn't just crack open. My stomach heaves threateningly and every step intensifies the rhythm of blood pounding in my temple. Apparently, listening to heavy metal music for two hours constantly whilst planning the detailed execution of your boss, posed a health hazard.
Thankfully, the cab I had booked arrived earlier than the given ETA and I slink away quietly, foregoing a goodbye that would inevitably lead to another unsettling confrontation.
I practically salivate imagining the soft comforter draped over me and the unbelievably fluffy pillows welcoming me to my bed after I guzzled a bottle of water with some much needed Aspirin.
However, before I can accomplish the task my mother's superhuman agility allows her to ambush me in the foyer in all of three seconds; concern and worry written across her face.
“Honey, are you all right? You look haggard” she frets gripping my elbows.
Well, mother this is what happens when you spend the whole night on a deck chair in nothing but a suit and an abundance of remorse.
“Sleepy. Tired. Headache” I groan, drowsy and brutally exhausted. I had made everything worse by trading dinner and breakfast for a standoff with Mr. Oh.
“Of course, of course” she gasps shooing me towards the room and that is the last thing I remember as unconsciousness sweeps me at the foot of my bed frame. When I am awakened it is by the relentless blaring of my alarm tone and I crawl forward, legs tangling in a mess of blankets and half discarded pants.
Blissful silence greets me after I smother the unholy contraption and I shudder when the crisp morning air breezes in steadily. Good Lord, I had slept through an entire day without stirring once and now I was awfully late for work.
Releasing a guttural groan of defeat, I finish my daily routine in record time and rush downstairs summoning every deity known to mankind for a divine intervention. I could even handle a narrow hit and run accident to avoid Mr. Oh and his clever remarks, which were in complete honesty barbs, about my tardiness.
“Bye Mom, Bye Dad, Bye Minseokiki” I screech quickly running past the kitchen, but a sharp,
“Byun Baekhyun” in my father’s rumbling voice stops me cold in my tracks.
Was I in trouble?
Did they discover the truth of my Hong Kong trip?
“Daddy I have to go” I whine stomping my feet impatiently.
“Baekhyunnie you ought to be mindful about such things” he scolds brushing aside transparent, soap suds from my tousled mop of an excuse for hair.
“Oops! I’ll be more careful” I giggle and toss in a brisk salute.
Quarter of an hour later I stall in front of Mr. Oh’s office, panting like I had ran the longest marathon in Seoul and decided to climb the stairs to the Namsan Tower. Creeping inside his unusually freezing office I am baffled for the nth time at the lack of a sign on the door warning ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here’.
I am preparing to be hauled over the proverbial coals or strung above volcanic pits but to my utter surprise the chair behind the ornate, mahogany desk is unoccupied and the man in question is nowhere to be seen.
Perturbed, I study the folder containing his schedule and notice none of the changes that could account for his unannounced leave.
This is strange. Was Mr. Oh playing hooky?
If I had learnt anything while working for Mr. Oh, was that he absolutely hated wasting even a minute of his business day.
“My stocks plunged and I lost thousands of dollars as you debated your poor life choices Mr. Byun” he would hark whenever he caught me staring into space.
I walk down to the third floor towards Rafael’s cabin hoping to glean Mr. Oh’s exact whereabouts from him and the giant jumps comically at my abrupt entrance.
“Where is Mr. Oh?” I wheeze in between my chortles.
“You are his secretary Mr. Byun and I would expect you to apprise me of his presence or his absence” he scowls unimpressed and I clutch my sides to contain the bubbling laughter.
“He's not in his office and I have no clue beyond that” I snicker.
“Your job is to be informed before you are informed Mr. Byun” he tsks exasperatedly.
“Do you or do you not know where he is?” I frown vexed by his unwarranted preaching.
“I may or may not” he mentions propping his shoe clad feet on the table and I almost blind him with the pepper spray in my pocket.
“Can you stop being cryptic? The Jason Bourne act doesn’t suit you” I snort.
“These papers must be signed and sealed within this evening Mr. Byun. You better find him” he declares sliding the brown envelope across the table.
“You are absolutely unhelpful. How am I supposed to know precisely where he would be? We aren’t telepathically connected Rafael” I grumble retrieving the documents.
“After that giggle fest you had at my expense I am disinclined to help you Mr. Byun” he smirks.
“Ugh I cannot believe you’re the that won in the end” I exclaim and leave in search of Mr. Oh.
I had never met him outside of the company neither had we shared any details that weren’t related to business. I didn’t know where the man lived or where he went after he left work.
For Christ's Sakes he could be in Apgujeong or Gangnam or Jamsil or Sinsa or anywhere else in Seoul.
Only one person could solve the mystery.
“Hello, is Mr. Jung inside?” I ask the woman who exits his office. Was this Aunt Priscilla? A closer look reveals she is too young to be anyone’s aunt, much less Mr. Jung’s.
“I’m sorry he is in a meeting currently but you can wait in his cabin. He won’t be long” she answers in the shrillest voice I had ever heard and I cover my ears instinctively.
“Heiran what did we discuss yesterday?” Mr. Jung questions, appearing from the elevator.
“I forgot Mr. Jung” she chuckles just as jarringly and we wince collectively.
“Baekhyun this is my new secretary Kang Heiran. She was a soprano in the opera for two years before she had to quit because of vocal nodules” Mr. Jung introduces.
That explains it.
“Nice to meet you sir” she trills, bowing.
“Likewise Miss. Kang” I return her enthusiastic greeting.
“What did you need me for Baekhyunnie?” Mr. Jung grins ushering me into his cabin and I steel myself against the pushing.
“I just need to know whether you know where Mr. Oh is” I interject not willing to prolong this debacle longer than necessary.
“I’ll be damned if he isn’t in his office” he replies confidently.
“Then you shall be damned” I affirm, slightly amused.
“Unbelievable. Did they open a bubble tea store nearby?” he simpers, enjoying an inside joke.
“How is that relevant?” I whine realizing Mr. Jung might be a dead end after all.
“That’s a story for another day minx” he deflects.
"Another nickname?" I groan.
"What can I say Baekhyunnie? You're feisty" he smiles smugly.
“Alright. I’ll see you later Mr. Jung” I bid him farewell.
“Why do you have to meet him?” Mr. Jung queries, puzzled.
“His signatures are required for the revised contracts of Berkshire Holdings” I answer holding the envelope for his scrutiny.
“Can they wait? Sehun is never not here and if he isn’t here it definitely means he doesn’t wish to be” he observes pragmatically.
“Rafael said they had to be delivered by the evening and Miss Sunshine doesn't exaggerate anything except the number of his brain cells” I note.
"Miss Sunshine?" Mr. Jung enquires incredulously.
"I'm better at giving people nicknames" I concede.
“It is extremely, extremely important that he is kept in the dark about how you got this” he instructs suddenly.
“Who and what?” I probe and he heaves a tired sigh scribbling on the sticky pad.
“Sehun's address” he utters, slipping me the page.
“Will the guards allow me? This is my first time” I speculate, dubious.
“Guards? There will be none but…” he stops midway and makes a phone call.
“Suho it’s me, Yunho. Hmm Yeah, Uh-uh, totally, let’s meet for a drink in the weekend. Hey I’m going to cash in on that favor for his house passcode” he speaks and the conversation proceeds seemingly reluctantly thereafter as the other man expresses his unwillingness to part with the said information.
Finally Mr. Jung succeeds and few minutes elapse in silence while Mr. Jung twirls the slip, squeamish.
“What happens if Mr. Oh miraculously discovers that Mr. Jung gave me this?” I muse prying the paper from his resisting fingers.
“Anything ranging from a Hannibal Lecter style dinner party to a bloody massacre” he admits with unusual seriousness and that garners my sympathy.
“Well good luck then” I thank and leave him to his fate.
The unapologetically urban cityscape grows farther away and the sheltered camellias, gnarled camphor trees, oaks, alders, zelkovas replace the city planted blooms. Glassed monoliths of concrete soaring out of the ground in architectural patterns are forgotten amongst the state of the art manors, French styled chateaus and charming villas.
Landscaped yards, lush gardens and unbelievably large water fountains dot the residences on either side of the pavements. The hundreds of sprinklers going off by the minute to feed the exotic flowers are a testament to the wealthy and fashionable neighborhood we were in.
The taxi halts in front of the splendid mansion that looked like it had travelled through the time and I gawk blatantly. Could this man get anymore outrageous and lavish? I think not.
Large, iron gates open automatically and I walk in hesitantly, afraid of finding the next fancy thing that would alter my opinion of the world in general.
Carved wooden doors fortify the entrance and I wonder whether they were as impenetrable as their master. I type the pass code into the electric lock on the side and it beeps loudly in confirmation
Ambling inside timidly, I expect to be scolded by Mr. Oh any second but when I have barged inside ten rooms without being interrupted, I turn bold and adventurous.
I dance a duet with the imposing statue of a galloping horse, gorge on decadent pieces of chocolates placed conveniently in the bowls, wear three different bathrobes and eventually get tired after punching sandbags in the gym area.
As I reach one of the last two rooms in the second floor I realize Mr. Oh might not be home and I may have trespassed onto his property. Yikes talk about living life dangerously.
"Pardon the intrusion" I announce before entering; my only act of courtesy since I fixed the bed I ruined in the first room.
In my defence the mattress was bouncy and irresistibly entertaining.
Before I know it I am tackled to the ground by a white ball of fur and blood curdling screams escape my mouth. Cold wetness slides against my cheek repeatedly and two black orbs flit excitedly. I push frantically but something sharp latches onto my cuff.
"Please don't kill me" I pray desperately to the assailant.
"Woof woof woof" comes the excited bark and I freeze. A pink tongue trails big slobbery kisses and I carefully disentangle the ecstatic, furry animal.
"You're not the 8 foot monster I feared" I reveal sheepishly to the pup.
"Woof" the dog barks, unimpressed. Mr. Oh's pet indeed.
"Alright, Alright. Where did you come from you pretty little baby? Did this bad man kidnap you?" I coo scratching his fluffy ears but the hound barks insistently and circles around me.
"What is it baby? Are you hungry?" I ask standing straight and the dog simply drags me forward by biting the hem of my pant. Painful keens echo from the middle of the room and startled I stumble forwards haphazardly.
"Mr. Oh?" I gasp when I see the sleeping form curled and trembling on the bed.
He is panting feverishly and his entire face is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Tangled sheets are coiled across his body uncomfortably and the pillow is soaked in perspiration like the rest of his clothes.
Mr. Oh's face is a mask of agony and the obvious suffering constricts my throat. Even though he is fast asleep, he somehow looks as if he is in a world of pain. His brows are deeply furrowed, and his breathing is sporadic, failing to fall into a peaceful pattern.
"Mr. Oh please wake up" I stammer, touching his arm tentatively.
"No, no, no don't leave" he screams, clawing the sheets and thrashing violently. The action momentarily displaces my concern but when a large tear drop slides down the corner of his eye it becomes sympathy. He was hurting.
I disregard my previous reservations and unfurl Mr. Oh's fingers slowly. They unhook themselves from the bedspread and lock onto my hand instead. I wince when his nails scrape the back of my palm and use my free hand to wipe the sweat coating his forehead. Mr. Oh is very cold and the low temperature of the AC was not helping.
I tuck him within the duvet he had discarded and he whimpers miserably. There is a pang in my heart when he pulls the hand he is holding until it is lodged between his arms and against his chest. Whoever he thought I was, must have been close to Mr. Oh otherwise he wouldn't allow this proximity.
"Please don't, ple-ase don't leave" he begs brokenly and I have never felt so hopelessly lost.
He needed someone who couldn't be by his side and there was nothing I could do to help him. The devastation he is experiencing is difficult to witness and I ache to offer Mr. Oh some sort of comfort.
"I'm here" I lie not knowing what else to say. He continues murmuring incoherently and the pain is evident in everything he mumbles.
Mr. Oh's hold doesn't slacken and eventually I have to lower myself to my knees and twist my body to make it easier for the both of us. his hair, I hum a tune my mother sang when hyung and I were younger.
Minseok hyung used to have nightmares every night from when he was 10 years old. The first time I saw him writhing in his sleep I had run to my parents sobbing in terror but seeing them distraught I understood how important it was to comfort him rather than being scared.
After watching him suffer for days I decided if I couldn't protect him from those invisible nightmares then I would live through them with him. My mum always said hyung loved lullabies and I would sing him the rhymes I learnt in school until hyung fell asleep peacefully. I made it a habit to slept next to him until hyung started high school and had to kick me off his bed because he stopped being scared of his night terrors.
A while later the crying subsides and Mr. Oh snores softly. Choosing to let him sleep longer, I free myself and collapse onto the floor, petting the patiently waiting dog. Throat parched, I walk towards the kitchen to drink water and rest on the island chair while the pup happily eats from the bowl labelled Vivi.
"Vivi-yah your dad is a mean but troubled man isn't he? I don't know if I should pity him or act like nothing happened. This is confusing and...sad, so sad" I sigh upset over what I had witnessed.
Something about Mr. Oh's vulnerable display of grief had weakened me and I did not want to bother getting the signatures I came for. I wanted to leave and forget the entire incident but the documents were too important to neglect. I would have to wait for Mr. Oh.
The PlayStation console dominates the center of the hall with stacks of video games and I settle for Call Of Duty: Black Ops 4. Immersed in the game I abandon the responsibility of babysitting Vivi and the pup is nowhere to be spotted. Anxiously, l call his name but Vivi doesn't respond and the quiet is unnerving.
Wandering through the house, I land in front of the door separated from the others and barrel in before I can debate how the act violates Mr. Oh's privacy.
It is an enormous room filled with old paintings and artwork; the kind which are meant to be flaunted in the museum. The lights are dim and the brown curtains are closed but that doesn't deter me from exploring.
I ogle each frame in rapture but the lone portrait that catches my interest is hanging from the blue ceiling by the golden chain. It is of a younger Mr. Oh, maybe in his early teens and a beautiful, blonde haired boy.
What is astonishing in the portrait is not the way Mr. Oh is embracing the guy securely but the grin he sported, stretching from ear to ear as if he hadn't a care in the world. He seemed full of life and laughter while the other man gazed at him in elation.
I had never seen Mr. Oh smile much less laugh in pure bliss. Curiously, I step closer and observe the other boy. Large, doe eyes crinkled in delight and soft wavy hair framed the either side of his small, elfish face. A pretty twinkle graced his pouty lips and highlighted the arching cheekbones. He was overwhelmingly stunning and could urge the protective instincts in anyone.
Was this the person Mr. Oh begged not to leave?
If so why did Mr. Oh have the picture where they definitely appeared happy when in reality it was very different?
Who was he and what relationship did he have with Mr. Oh?
The more this question swirled around in my mind the more sour and sullen I felt. It was weird but I was oddly resentful of the joy reflected in the portrait. How could he make Mr. Oh this happy when the man couldn't even stand my mere presence?
Abruptly, I am jerked backwards and thrown against the corner wall forcefully. My cheek crashes sickeningly and my vision swims as tears pool in reaction to the pain. A large palm holds my face pressed in that position and the arm Mr. Oh was clutching is twisted behind my back in a painful and weird angle.
I groan when the person caging me purposefully shakes me in such a way that my body slams harder into the wall again. The grip on my wrist is tightened and I feel like it will snap in half if it were twisted a second longer.
"Let me go" I grunt in agony and there are crippling stabs of discomfort.
"Mr. Byun?" I distantly hear Mr. Oh's incredulous query.
Tears had started to pour with blind abandon and I clamped my mouth shut to avoid the sobs that sought to escape.
"What are you doing here Mr. Byun?" Mr. Oh asks, suspicious.
"Let me go" I whimper and finally the situation dawns on him.
Mr. Oh releases the agonizing clench and I crumple to the floor, carefully cradling my injured wrist. It was beginning to color a nasty shade of purple and I dreaded having broken a bone from the unpleasant crunch I heard earlier.
"Mr. Byun who gave you the password?" Mr. Oh grills, tone irritated and my mood plunges dangerously.
"What is wrong with you?" I grit out trying and failing to control my rising anger.
"Excuse me?" he replies, displeased.
"I said what is wrong with you?" I repeat, unruffled by the scathing glare.
"I could ask you the same question Mr. Byun, for trespassing into my property without my permission" he points exasperatedly.
"You are unbelievable" I chuckle humorlessly.
"And you are insubordinate" he snaps.
"Oh for s sake! I wouldn't be here if not for you and I certainly wouldn't have stayed if you weren't..if you weren't" I falter unwilling to reveal the state I had seen him in.
"If I wasn't what Mr. Byun?" he muses nonchalantly.
"That's not the point! You were supposed to be in the office and sign the damn papers. Taking a leave of absence without even telling your own secretary burdens everyone" I steer the conversation.
"It is my company Mr. Byun and I don't need to tell anyone, anything. Specially not you" he glowers menacingly.
"You know what? Fine. You can it your way Mr. Oh, I ing give up!" I retort, leaving the room hastily. I was tired of everything and wanted nothing more than to get away.
"For once I would appreciate it if you could do your job properly" Mr. Oh rebukes, grabbing my injured hand and I cry involuntarily.
"Why are you always doing this to me? What have I done to deserve this kind of treatment from you? I know I ruined the ing scarf from your precious mother but I didn't mean to!" I yell losing it completely.
"Mr. Byun don't dig a deeper hole for yourself" he warns.
"Since the day we met, you have made my life hellish in all the possible ways and I honestly don't know why you hate me so much Mr. Oh. Why make me work for you if you can't stand the sight of me? If money is what you want from me then I will pay it back. Every single cent" I assert stubbornly.
"Mr. Byun you are forgetting your place" Mr. Oh fumes discarding any notion of patience.
"I can't do this anymore Mr. Sehun. This might come as shocking to you but I am human too. I have feelings and believe it or not you are fully capable of hurting them. I cannot work for someone who despises me to this extent. You are free to do whatever you wish- expel me from the Academy, sue me, fire me or better yet I quit" I stammer unsteadily and gaze at his stoic expression hoping he had understood how unnecessarily he had hurt me and when I see no difference I reach for the door handle.
"Sorry" the single apology is faint and I almost don't hear it being uttered.
"What?" I sputter in disbelief.
Mr. Oh strides forward silently and grasps the injured hand in his. I resist instantly, afraid he would make the bruise worse but his clasp turns firm and determined. He brushes his long fingers above the swollen skin lightly and inspects the damage wearing a persistent frown.
"This needs bandaging Mr. Byun, I sprained it pretty badly" he sighs absentmindedly.
"I can do it myself Mr. Oh" I murmur, dazed but he halts my clumsy retreat.
"In your state I cannot see that happening Mr. Byun, I have inconvenienced your dominant hand" he avers, pulling me along.
The warm tiled bathroom is brightly lit unlike the rest of the house and Mr. Oh nudges me gently to sit on the ledge of the bathtub. He busies himself, rummaging in the ornate cabinets and I am beyond dumbfounded at his behavior.
The smell of vanilla and cinnamon clings to the air and I recognize Mr. Oh's perfume, the familiar scent reinstating the ridiculousness of the situation.
Was this a dream I was experiencing in an alternate universe or an hallucination conjured from my muddled brain? Both were possible considering that I did smack my head hard.
It was as if Mr. Oh's personality had done a complete 180 and another soul had replaced his. He was actually offering to bandage my hand and I didn't know what to make of his nicety.
"This will burn" Mr. Oh conveys apologetically and kneels in front of me, wetting the swab of cotton in the antiseptic liquid from the first aid kit.
"Mr. Byun I won't hurt you. I promise" he reassures in all seriousness when I flinch instinctively and the unexpected sincerity is baffling. I stretch my hand after a bit of hesitation and he wipes the liquid onto my skin gently. Tiny, cuts dot my fingers and Mr. Oh's stubborn scowl deepens.
"Did I do this to you?" he probes, jaw clenching palpably.
"No, I broke the wine glass in the restaurant where we lunched with Mr. Kim" I murmur uncertainly and Mr. Oh quietly nods, unconvinced and I cannot discern his guilt from the concern.
He resumes his ministrations and applies the ointment to the shallow cuts and fastens them in band aids. Strangely, Mr. Oh pauses near the ring adorning my pinky and looks at me in something akin to shock and recognition.
"This ring...How?" he whispers vaguely and I am perturbed.
"I found it in the playground when I was five. To be fair I didn't steal the ring, I waited for the owner to come claim the band but no one did" I explain nervously since his gaze flickers between the silver circlet and I. For a moment his head lowers as if in prayer and Mr. Oh exhales loudly. He was doing that a lot today.
"Don't lose it" he insists tiredly.
"Okay" I agree, lost for words.
Why did it matter to him whether I lost the ring or not?
"You can take Tylenol if the swelling causes you discomfort" Mr. Oh advises, flashing the small container. Spraying the pain relief, he bandages my wrist in the orange gauze and binds it snugly.
"No I'm fine Mr. Oh" I decline staring a literal hole in the wall.
"Where are the documents?" he eventually interrupts the hush and I am reminded of the forgotten task.
"Downstairs" I respond, descending the stairway hastily and he follows suit. Placing the papers for his perusal I fidget restlessly and Mr. Oh signs them after inspecting thoroughly.
"Thank you sir. I will deliver them to Rafael straightaway" I state.
"That is not necessary Mr. Byun, I can manage. You have the rest of the day off as I won't be in the office" he affirms grabbing the coat from the rack in the foyer.
"But sir" I begin to protest and Mr. Oh dismisses the outcry.
"Come" he instructs and I pursue him to the maroon Aston Martin idling in the driveway.
"Where are you going Mr. Oh?" I question insistently.
"We, Mr. Byun are going to your house" he declares, opening the passenger seat door.
"I can hail a taxi Mr. Oh" I persist.
"Put your address in the GPS Mr. Byun" he directs, manoeuvring me inside the car.
"Mr. Oh I don't want to trouble you" I protest but he pays no heed and drives ahead.
"So Krav Maga huh?" I guess, remembering the technique he had used to physically manhandle me.
"Mixed Martial Arts" Mr. Oh corrects in amusement.
"Why?" I wonder aloud.
"I had quite the rebellious streak and my boredom only aided the cause" he divulges and I laugh heartily imaging the unruly teen.
"Did you participate in tournaments?" I ask curious to unravel more.
"For an entire year until my mother caught me in the local news for winning the under 18 championship" he indulges my inquisitiveness and admits wistfully.
The rest of the ride passes in silence and I awkwardly try to avoid gawking at the man beside me. The whole evening had thrown me off balance and shown me a side of Mr. Oh that I couldn't have pictured the existence of. I had learnt so much about him in a few hours than I had in weeks and felt like I was probably barking up the right tree.
"Is this the correct house?" he questions peering outside the window.
"Yes Mr. Oh" I nod vigorously and fumble to exit the vehicle.
"I'm sorry" he apologizes earnestly and I am astonished by the fact that I had received an apology at all.
"Thank you for dressing the wounds Mr. Oh" I return genially.
"It was the least I could do" he remarks frankly and I smile despite the insinuation.
"Does this mean we've called a truce Mr. Oh?" I tease half heartedly and that elicits his booming laughter.
"Not if you keep threatening to quit Baekhyun" he bids in farewell and I gape. Had he just called me Baekhyun? As in Baekhyun and not Mr. Byun? My name Baekhyun? Wow. How did he make it sound so...wicked?
In my daze I nearly walk into Minseok hyung who is waiting for my arrival.
"Byunnie who was that and what happened to your hand?" he ponders carefully steadying me.
"My boss, Oh Sehun" I reveal ignorantly.
! Please don't hear what I said Hyung please, please, please, I pray belatedly.
"Your what?!" hyung exclaims and I realize what my stupidity had accomplished. Great, I had gone and put my foot in the mouth again.
"That is a very long story hyung" I groan in defeat and he drags me along determinedly.
Hyung hounds me for details and I have no option but to reward his tenacity with the whole story. After a relentless interrogation he is breathing fire and declaring war on Mr. Oh in his typical overprotective brother manner.
"I can help you Byunnie, I can make arrangements" he remarks gravely.
"No Hyung" I refuse adamantly. There was no way I was robbing him of his hard earned money.
"Byunnie you don't have to" he argues.
"Hyung one year isn't that long and there are perks to being his Secretary" I persuade him and he caves in grudgingly.
"Okay. Kyungsoo called. He wants to confirm the final set list for your music thingy" Minseok hyung huffs, sour about being denied the opportunity to play superhero.
"My battery died, lend me yours" I note and find myself face to face with a grinning Jongdae.
"Hyung why is Jongdae inside your phone?" I demand and he reaches for the mobile frantically. Using my taller legs to advantage I hold it higher and evade his attempts to reclaim the device.
"This is childish" he grumbles and plops down.
"Kim Minseok are you ing blushing?" I squeal, excited.
"Baekhyun ah shall I acquaint your facial features with the sidewalk?" he terrorizes and I guffaw uncontrollably.
"When did this happen? I need an explanation pronto" I prompt eagerly.
"This is why I don't tell you anything. You make it a big deal and create such a Hoo hah" he scolds weakly.
"Please hyung please. I have been shipping you guys since forever. You are the OTP of my life" I plead and he blushes crimson red.
"Fine! We are dating. I like him and his confession was adorable enough to kill me. How could I deny him anything?" he babbles shyly.
"Dude you are whipped" I observe, thrilled.
"We're going to Japan for his birthday because he wants to visit the Mizuki Shigeru road" Minseok Hyung laughs spontaneously and my heart melts at the sight.
"I need to tell Chanyeol and Kyungsoo. They will be happy to know our JongMin ship is finally sailing" I announce and he locks me in a chokehold which results in an impromptu wrestling match.
Very Very sorry for the late update :( We promise to update quicker next time! Much love to all those who waited for us <3
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