06 - UNWARRANTED
U N W A R R A N T E D
. C H A P T E R S I X .
Chansung spends almost all day rummaging through his class notes for ideas on his research thesis. At this rate, even a slight enlightenment about what he really wanted to do about it would frantically please him. But nothing struck his mind – not yet, he hopes.
After about four hours of tireless rummaging, he finally decides for a break. He leans back on his chair, legs hauled up on his study table occupied with piles of old musty special edition Psychology books he’s collected from their dormitory library downstairs, cluttered research papers, and unkempt handwritten class notes of his own. He closes his eyes, bending his head slightly forward at ease.
He stays like this for a few more minutes, hands clasped together on his abdomen. He tries to recall of his dream from earlier, and it comes back to him, slowly, as if teasing him with flickers of images.
A smiling little girl on a white robe beside him. Now crying, pointing over his shoulders. He follows the direction of her index finger. A loud gunshot. He purses his eyes closed, flinching at the torturous echoing gunshot, only to open them again in a different scene.
A dark deserted room, warm and gloomy, moist concrete under his palms. He sits there, legs curled up so that his knees now meet his thumping chest.
Another gunshot.
He looks up, a familiar man at his sight. He lies lifeless on the floor, his face sullen and wet with tearstains and blood on his cheeks. His face hung on the side, facing him, his dead gaze sending chills through his body. The man starts opening his mouth.
“Put your hands up, put your hands up.” He was singing a familiar tune in his voice.
Chansung furrows his brows in the middle, puzzled by the man’s sudden singing. “P-p-p-p-ut your hands up.” His voice fades into a song, instruments and beats now accompanying it.
His body jolts, stiffening. He opens his eyes, his phone ringing in tune on his study table. “Put your hands up.” He settles his feet on the floor, unflinching at the slight pain in its muscles. Rummaging through the cluttered mess, he looks for his phone.
He gets hold of it, unmindfully pressing the green button to accept the call so that now the tune stops.
“Hello?” He starts, though still trying to regain his senses.
“Where are you? You’re late.” An unwelcoming remark bursts into his ears. He glances at his wristwatch to check the time, his eyes circling as if in shock. He’s been sleeping for two hours. He looks out the window beside him, and notices it’s almost dusk.
“Oh .” He flinches, clumsily collecting his stuff. His neck cramps in pain as he moves. “I fell asleep. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Hurry up, we’re all here. Do you want me to order for you?” A familiar bustling noise in the background sends his stomach churning.
“Yes, anything would do.”
“I know.” A short raspy laugh, and the call ends with a beep.
He hurries into the dormitory corridors, descending onto the staircase. Thumping into the damp pavement, he straddles over his black motorcycle, slips his helmet onto his head, and steps into the starter, sending fumes out its mufflers.
o0o0o0o
She walks down the bustling pavement, flustering at the blatant stares piercing through her mere presence. She stares back at each of them, brows furrowed, as if mirroring any hint of disgust in their faces. “They’re crazy.” She mutters to herself, beads of sweat forming on her temples. She nudges herself away from the crowd, tightly cupping the grey furry thing on her arms. She brushes her cheek against its softness, the sensation never wanting to leave her. “They’re crazy, you know.” She whispers to it closely, and a drawly meow follows as if in agreement. “They don’t know anything.”
It was dusk – the streets were full of busy people heading home, the heavy clopping of feet and vehicles against the damp concrete. The familiar smell of onion, chives, and whatnots wafted its way through fumes and smoke of vehicles and cigarette from men who had nothing better to do. She dreaded smoking men.
Her stomach churns upon remembering dinner over the smell of onions – the chicken soup she’d prepared at home. She looks around her, brows furrowed. Where is she anyway? And why is she not in her home this time of the day? She paces faster, making her way into unfamiliar streets and corners.
She was lost.
o0o0o0o
Chansung reaches the place in ten minutes or so, crisp aroma of food and spices welcoming his presence. He nears their usual booth, passing through familiar clanking of plates and silverwares. He loves this place; more than anywhere else in this world.
“Good evening, sir.” A waiter greets on his way, smiling in complete recognition. Chansung pats him in the shoulder, and returns a smile. “Good evening. Looking good today.”
“Look who’s here.” Jaebum signals to him from the booth, and the rest of the guys turn to his direction.
“Yesterday’s birthday boy huh?” A raspy voice teases, its owner's teeth showing up in a smile.
“Shut up Taec.” Chansung hisses, almost forgetting about last night. He elbows him in the stomach, only to end up drawing back in pain. It feels like hitting a rock.
“Oooh, feisty, I like it.” Junsu whoops, gawking.
“Hey you owe us a story.” Junho finally starts, directing the conversation into something Chansung obviously isn’t in the mood for.
“You made me come in here for this?” He rolls his eyes on the bunch, settling on the empty chair beside Jaebum. “Can I at least eat first? I’m starving, you know.”
“Oh come on. You know why you’re here.” Wooyoung scoffs from across the table.
“Yep, I know.” Chansung idly replies, positioning himself in front of his plate, as if ready to attack it any moment. “I’ll tell you okay, but first, let’s eat. I really am starving.”
“You’re always starving.” Nichkhun hisses, and they all continue with their food.
o0o0o0o
She flusters her way into the streets, pacing through the unmindful crowd. She runs her fingers through her hair – at that time blonde and put up in a bun, excess curls hanging over her temples despite being secured by an inch-wide band around her hairline. She cups it in her palms, as if positioning it so it doesn’t fall off.
“Hey beautiful.” Her neckhairs rise at the raspy voice creeping out from behind.
She looks around, glaring. She walks faster, her boots thumping into the damp concrete. She hears a hiss, and she flinches before turning into the next alley. It is dark, surprisingly gloomy, and smoke came out of the exhaust fans fixed on its damp concrete walls. Smoke that smells of chicken, and garlic, and chili, and everything else – perhaps ones coming from a restaurant. This sends a twinge of pain in her stomach again, this time strong enough to send her hand rubbing against her abdomen as if to stop it from hurting.
“Ohhhh, snobbish. I like it.” The raspy voice. She almost forgot about that. She turns, her brows creasing in the middle.
“Stay away from me.” She paces faster, though with her head still turned to the man, who is, at that time, a yard or two away from her. His ugly face behind the exhaust smoke. He almost looks like a monster looking after a prey.
The man nears her, now grabbing her hands. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine with me.” A smirk forms out of his ugly evil-looking lips. He pulls her against his chest, her hair with his fat fingers. She loses her grip on the cat, which now leaps off her arms, running.
“P-please…” She sobs, shutting her eyes tight. She stands there, stiffened. She kicks him, inside her head. She pushes him away and kicks him hard in the groin, cursing him with words. But only in her head, never in reality. She can’t bring herself to do it. She doesn’t move, not even when his fingertips start trailing down her neck, and into her collarbones, sending cringing chills through her body. She feels his breath on her neck – his breath that smelled of cigarette, and alcohol, a good amount of both. “I think I’m gonna like you.” Her neckhairs trickle at his voice creeping behind her ears.
He holds her elbows now, his grip strong, but his other hand still trailing down her chest, so that now his fingers play with the lace of her bra.
“P-please no!” She sobs, tears now blocking her sight.
She shuts her moist eyes even tighter, allowing her mind to drift away, but leaving her body there stiffened in horror and disgust.
o0o0o0o
Something was wrong. He could feel it in his body, his blood rushing in familiar rhythm.
He excuses himself from the bunch in the middle of his story telling, leaving them all puzzled and begging. He makes his way through waiters, tables, and chairs, and opens the door to the moist smell of vehicle fumes and smoke.
He stops in the pavement, figuring himself out. Maybe he’s just gotten sick of all the questions about last night, that’s all. He turns to the left, deciding for a walk around the block for air before returning. He exhales, mist coming out of his breath, and slides his cold hands into his trousers’ pockets.
“P-please no!” A weak sob catches his attention, and he looks around, trying to figure out where it came from. He pokes his head into the corner, so that now he catches a glimpse of her – her hair gleaming from the street lights, her body stiffened in horror, and her eyes, such beautiful eyes, glinting with tears, weak tears – and all of these in the presence of a cruddy, drunk man.
. A U T H O R N O T E S .
Okay, honestly I already had this and chapter seven written weeks ago. But only until seven. I've been busy with school. I was kind of forseeiing that when I started this fic last summer, so I decided I'll be working with a co-author (sort of). But not until chapter seven I guess. So yeah, I'll be introducing her to you soon!
P.S. Shoutout to glitteryy. Because I kind of read back all the comments and noticed she's still the most active reader. I'd love to hear from you as well! I love you all!
Chapter seven is finally up! Though I'm telling you guys to not put your hopes too high up there. It's such a short update, but things are happening! - UNWRNTD
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