Whiskey.

 

It was whiskey that was on his breath this morning.

 

Your arm was grabbed in tight grip and your body swept around.

 

The fingers would leave bruises, and you would cry for it later, but not now. Not in front of him.

 

"What the hell do you think you're doing, little girl?!" His rank breath washed over you, almost making you retch but you fought it back. You didn't bother to open your mouth. It wasn't like he'd listen. It was a daily thing, something would set him off and you have to find yourself a way out of it. 

 

You attention was snapped back as he shook you violently, your eyes unwillingly darting to his. A sick leer crossed his face then, and he inched closer, "You afraid of me, girlie?" You never knew how to answer that question. A yes hurt your pride and earned pain. A no earned more pain. The daily struggle was to find which it was. 

 

You shook your head, defying him for the day. A slap across your face for the effort. You were thrown to the left, slamming your hip against the kitchen table.

 

Wincing you fell, clutching the injured cheek. He leaned over you, screaming in your ear, grabbing your hair tightly in his fist. Your neck tensed and you tried to lean up with it, but he yanked on it. 

 

The phone rang, shattering the mood over the air. He looked to it once, then back down at you, "Be lucky I've been waiting for that call, girl. May get me a new job!" He grinned, the yellowing of his teeth glaring under the one fluorescent bulb. He dropped you harshly to the floor, walking over to the phone and picked it up. "'Yellow." He leaned against the wall to watch you ease from the floor, balancing yourself on the wobbly table. You pulled the sleeves of your sweat shirt down further, to hide the reddening marks. 

 

It was back to work, even as you sniffed the tears back from your eyes. There was no crying in front of him. You could hear him in the background as he talked, about the job they were going to do. He never had an honest job that you knew of; the only way he paid for this trailer was the money he got from fencing electronics. You put your hands back in the soapy water, trying to avoid the shattered remains of the cup. You had been doing this task when you had dropped one, costing him 'money.' He had stolen it. 

 

Father of year he would not win. 

 

The disconnecting of the phone jerked you out of your thoughts and you tensed, hoping he would just go away. "I'm going out to case this place. You leave and I'll beat you until you never think about it again. Got that?" You silently nodded, but he barked his request again. 

 

"Yes, sir." You ground out the sir, trying to swallow past it. 

 

The door slamming was your answer and you melted, trying to stay upright. You wiped a wet hand across your forehead, scrubbing the dishes with a new vigor. You wanted to be done with this so you could maybe take a nap. He had come in last night, ranting and raving about pool, waking you up with a worse headache. 

 

He would be gone for at least a few hours...your mind started to drift, wanting to go back to something happier...

 

In an instant, you were taken into a flashback.

 

A cheeky grin. It was your favorite smile from him, something you were used to when playing with him. He was your next door best buddy. His little round cheeks and big eyes always drew you in. Coming early in your life to Korea had you worried about all your friendships, but he made it better. 

 

"Come on!" He held his hand out to you, the tiny fingers looking so much bigger to you then. He was smiling that smile, wanting you to climb over the fence like you normally did. 

 

"But what about Daddy?" 

 

He pressed his lips together at this, seeming to think deeply. You frowned, your eyes watering. What if he didn't want to play anymore? Last time Daddy saw him, he yelled at you both, and Mumma cried. 

 

"Forget him. He's just mean." The young Kim Joon Myun narrowed his eyes, holding his hand out firmly. "Come on." 

 

You shook your head, frantically looking back. "Be quiet! What if he heard you, you'd be in trouble like last time-" 

 

He cut you off, reaching down and grabbing your hand himself. 

 

"I don't care. I like playing with you..." A smile you had never seen crossed his face; it was something sweet and trustworthy. 

 

You took his hand, letting him help you up. "Thank you M-myuri...?" 

 

He grinned, nodding his head. "You're almost getting it!"

 

The flashback burned out and threw you back into the reality of the present.

 

The sink water had turned cold by the time you returned from your mental trip and you pulled the plug. Your head hurt even more now. All you wanted was to

lay down, and you used the towel next to the top cabinet to wipe your hands dry. Taking a peek out of the window you didn't see his truck and sighed. It was peace, at least for a moment.