"Hey!" I ducked out of Jiyong's reach. His eyes had that evil glint in them, his lips turning upwards in a wicked grin. Oh, no.

 

Cupped in his hand is flour. I know what he's going to do with it: flick it at me, much like I did to him when he'd made some ist pig remark during our cake baking. It's the day of Dami's birthday party, and me being the oh-so-generous person I am (I think I’ve said that too many times), had agreed to help him bake her cake. But since I don't want to end up like Jiyong with flour all in my hair and over my shirt (it is kinda funny, because I can't remember the last time I'd seen him in anything but black), I ran. Or I tried to...

 

I got just half way into the living room before I felt his ropy hands grasp onto the upper part of my arms, dragging me back. I squirmed and twisted, trying to break free from his grip. But it's no use when his arms encircled me completely, pinning mine beneath his. Damn.

 

Suddenly his mouth was near my ear and he whispered, "Just give up, Dara. I've won."

 

"Never," I cried, stepping back onto his foot. He loosened his grip, cursing in surprise (and pain?), giving me time to break free. I lunged forward, but Jiyong's hand soon wrapped around my arm again, pulling me back. Only this time, I'm not expecting to be tugged back so sharply or so suddenly, and fall back, dropping onto the floor. Jiyong's also dragged back (totally his fault), and falls down beside me.

 

I lied back and groan. Let me tell you, wooden floors hurt if you fall on them. A lot.

 

"Ouch," I complained. "Was that really necessary?"

 

"Was it really necessary for you to flick flour in my face?"

 

I considered it for a second. "Touché."

 

He stood up and offered me a hand. I took it, not expecting him to pull me up so suddenly or with such force that I stumbled forward, inadvertently colliding with his firm chest. His hands closed around my waist, steadying me. I looked up, his eyes flaring with warmth, their light flecks more prominent now, his eyelashes more distinguishable now. He's leaning closer.

 

My breath caught in my throat, my heart's beating at a cantered rhythm.

 

"Dara," he said softly, " I…"

 

"Oppa?" I blinked, startled. Dami's voice is accompanied by her presence in the doorway.

 

I jerked back from Jiyong as if stung, almost stumbling back again. She appeared indifferent to Jiyong and mine's previous close proximity, her attention solely focused on the squirming Gaho in her arms.

 

"When will my friends be here?" she asked, patting down Gaho's fur, fixing the blue bow she'd tied around his collar.

 

Jiyong glanced at his watch, his eyes widening infinitesimally. "Ten minutes!"

 

"Ok," Dami said, "thanks." She walked back out the room, her light footsteps just distinguishable as she walked up the stairs.

 

"Dara," Jiyong said, his voice urgent and panicked, "help me set the food on the table."

 

He rushed into the kitchen, rushing out with plates of sausage rolls, handing them to me. We went back in forth into the kitchen until everything's set. The 7th Birthday banner had already been hung, the balloons already blown up and scattered across the room. We're all set.

 

Jiyong's violin was situated in the corner of the room, positioned on the stand. I don't think it was a good place for a delicate instrument when a bunch of kids would soon be running around, hyped up on sugar and whatnot. I took a closer look at the violin. It was antique, well kept, with only a few minor cracks inflicted from age and use. Scrutinizing it closer, I realized there are fine engravings just under the chin rest. It's an ornate pattern I'd never detected before. I regarded the bow next, noting how it is also more ornated than I'd first realized.

 

"Fang?"

 

He peeped his head from out of the kitchen, cake mixture smudged at the side of his face.

 

I smiled, giving a short chuckle. As he frowned, I can't suppress the idle thought that flitted into mind as to how cute he looked like that.

 

I pointed to his smudged cheek, his finger coming away with the gooey mixture.

 

"I think you should pack your violin up," I said, jerking my thumb at the violin. "I'd hate to see it get damaged, it's a beautiful instrument. I've never seen anything quite like it before." Okay, I'm no expert on string instruments, but when violin searching with Durami and having been in numerous music shops over the years, I have never come across anything so delicately or articulately decorated.

 

He took my advice and picked the violin and bow up. "It was my Gran's." He plucked a few notes on the strings, a small smile alighting on his face. "She taught me how to play. She was anamazingviolinist."

 

I'm only too well aware of the "was", already anticipating what he'll say next.

 

"She died this March," he continued. There had been warmth in his voice when he'd previously spoken of her, only to be superseded by the dull monotone he usual adopted: the mask of stolidity he so often wore is back in place.

 

The strange compulsion to hug him and make him feel better suddenly overridden my movements, and I did, sort of, coming over to him, patted his arm. I offered him a small smile, only to be met by eyes b with moisture. He looked away suddenly, towards the ground, blinking rapidly. I've never seen him like this. I've never seen him looking so hurt. His Gran had meant a lot to him.

 

The doorbell rang suddenly and Dami can be heard bolting down the stairs.

 

"Why don't you put them upstairs?" I suggested, indicating the violin and bow, "while I answer the door."

 

He nodded imperceptibly, his expression schooled, as if a knight's visor has erased all the emotion that had previously been b in his eyes.

 

I answered the door with Dami practically jumping up and down beside me, poor Gaho jostling in her arms. I'm met by an assault of six and seven year olds who are just as bubbly.

 

Oh boy, this is going to be an eventful party.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An extract from Chapter 15 of Ambiguity

 

Naomi wishes she were in a nightmare so that she can wake up, and soon. Because if this were a dream, then she wouldn't really be in the back of Ace's car with a drunken mother, who'd relentlessly been shouting abuse since Naomi had buckled her in. Well, actually, there had been some reprieve from her facetious tongue: when she was throwing up all over Ace's leather seats.

 

After her mother had refused to leave, Bob had turned to Naomi, sympathetic, the puzzle pieces as to her recent tardiness suddenly fitting into place. But she doesn't want pity and she doesn't want sympathy. What she really wants is a sober mother, but that hasn't been so for almost two years, even after Naomi's persistence to get her help, practically shoving her through the doors of help groups. All had failed and yet Naomi still persisted. Her mother's addiction stemmed from her father's Alzheimer's. Her father's disease can't be cured, so does that mean there's no cure for her mother?

 

"For the last time," her mother shouts, "I'm not drunk! Will you stop telling me I am? I only had one glass of wine."

 

"More like a bottle," Naomi bitterly retorts, shrinking away from her mother, the rank stench of alcohol and sick on her breath.

 

Ace catches her eye in the front mirror.

 

Naomi looks away quickly, ashamed.

 

After Ace had discovered she had no other means of getting home save the bus, he'd offered to give her a lift back straight away. Initially she'd declined, but Bob had convinced her, stating she should get her mother home as soon as possible, and surely the bus driver wouldn't let her mother on in the state she's in.

 

The car comes to a stop and Naomi's slowly deteriorating terraced house comes into view. The lawn is infested with weeds, some slate tiles missing off the roof, and everything is worn out and needing repair.

 

Ace gets out and comes to open her mother's car door, helping her out. She stumbles, swaying, clinging onto his arms.

 

If a black hole were to swallow Naomi up right this second, she wouldn't be complaining.

 

Naomi doesn't invite Ace inside their home; she doesn't want him to see the mess. It isn't grossly unclean, but there's a pile of washing on a chair, books and papers scattered everywhere. She also hadn't dusted this week…yet.

 

She settles her mother onto the settee, who sits with no fuss, in seconds snoring away.

 

Naomi goes back outside, noting how Ace is leaning back against the car. The car is new and expensive. It's strange seeing him in this impoverished neighborhood, she thinks, as he's an anomaly. Ace being rich and seemingly elegant in manner and positively pristine, compared to herself and her home; poorer by day and needing help. Only they both know she'll never ask for it: she's too proud, too stubborn.

 

"Thanks for the lift," Naomi says, looking anywhere but at him.

 

Ace doesn't respond to her thanks, he has other burning questions. "Has this happened before? Does your mother drink a lot?"

 

"Define 'a lot'."

 

He rolls his eyes, annoyed at her evasiveness, but more so at himself for not realizing something was wrong sooner. She'd come to work tired all the time, receiving phone calls that would force her to leave work unexpectedly early or in secret, if Bob would not allow her more time off. Ace had asked her whether everything was okay, but she'd just deflect the questions and ask him one's in return, which he'd in turn felt just as uncomfortable answering. In truth, he'd done just what she had: deflecting the questions and concealing the truth.

 

He kept secrets just like her. But perhaps it's time for the truth to come out...perhaps it's time to tell her everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I stood at the back of the room with Jiyong, watching as the kids gape and hang on every word of the magician as he asked them for the magic words. He told them that if they chant the right word, then he'd be able to magically pull a rabbit from out of his hat.

 

Jiyong had hired your stereotypical magician: black cloak and hat with wand in hand. He's middle aged with a small beard spotted with grey, and yet despite his age, he's just as hyped as the kids.

 

The kids shouted out the magic word – abracadabra – and with a few taps of his wand, a rabbit wass miraculously pulled from out of the hat.

 

"How do you think he does that?" I asked, genuinely curious.

 

Jiyong turned to me, serious, and replied, "It's magic."

 

I rolled my eyes and 'gently' shoved him. He smirked in return and turned back to the show.

 

"I'm serious," I persisted. "Do you think he'd tell me if I asked?"

 

"A magician never reveals his secret, Dara. Everyone knows that."

 

I glanced at my watch, realizing the cake should be just about done. "I'm going to check on the cake," I said.

 

He nodded, engrossed in the show. What a big kid!

 

I leaned down, looking through the oven's window. It looks….done, I think. I've never made a successful cake before, so am not completely sure. It's risen, yes, and it doesn't look like charcoal, another good sign.

 

I grabbed a pair of oven mitts, preparing to take it out the oven, when I heard a short, sharp rap at the back door. I looked up, surprised to see the face of an attractive middle-aged woman with dark, tousled hair, tied back into a messy ponytail looking through the window. I recognized the woman as Jiyong's mom. I thought he'd said she couldn't be here. I thought he'd said she'd been forced to work.

 

I opened the door. "Hi," I said, "I'm not sure if you remember me…"

 

"Dara," she said. "I haven't seen your mom in forever. We'll have to meet up soon, it's been way too long."

 

She suddenly laughed and threw her head back, removing a few strands of hair from out of her face. She stumbled inside and laughed again.

 

I frowned and asked, "Are you okay?"

 

I looked to her feet and noted the heels she's wearing. I think even I'd trip up in them.

 

"Fine," she replied, seemingly unperturbed, "I'm dandy."

 

She looked around the room, noting the left over balloons and streamers on the counter.

 

"Is there a party going on?" she asked, confused.

 

The frown found its way back onto my face. "Yeah," I said, wary, "Dami's birthday party. I thought you knew because…"

 

"Birthday?" A look of confusion situated itself onto her face. She puts a hand to her head, her other resting against the counter to support herself. "That's not today, is it?"

 

She swayed for a moment, her handbag dragging against the floor as she stumbled towards the calendar. She dropped her bag, and something clanked inside. While she scrutinized the calendar, I picked up her bag, worried she might trip over it. She doesn't appear too steady on her feet.

 

The bag's partly open, so I noticed the bottle of vodka that's inside.

 

She turned back around and saw me with her bag. She smiled. "Can I have my bag? It's my girl's 7th birthday, so I want to celebrate a little."

 

I didn't want to relinquish the bag over to her, but I'm powerless when she snatched it from out of my grasp. She pulled out the bottle, rifled through the cupboards until she procured a glass, pouring herself a generous drink.

 

"I don't think you should be drinking that," I warned.

 

She waved off my comment. "You sound just like, Jiyong. I shouldn't do this and I shouldn't do that. I'm the adult and I'm not doing anything wrong. I have a right to drink to my Dami's birthday, so either join me or don't say a word."

 

I can discern the slurring in her words now, and I realized just how disheveled her clothes are. She’s a complete mess.

 

I'm about to get Jiyong when he appeared in the doorway, his eyes instantly locking on his mom and the drink she held in her hand. He gritted his teeth and snatched the glass and bottle, pouring their contents down the drain. His mom went to stop him, but Jiyong instantly pushed her to the side, roughly.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" he whisper-shouted.

 

"What do you think you're doing?" she loudly accused. "Why wasn't I told about Dami's birthday party?"

 

Jiyong's eyes flitted towards the door, fearful her voice has carried into the other room.

 

"Outside," Jiyong ordered. "Now. You're not ruining this for Dami."

 

When she didn't move, Jiyong grabbed her by the shoulders and forcefully steered her outside.

 

I peeked inside the living room, wondering whether the kids have picked up on the argument transpiring outside. But all appeared totally engulfed by the magician’s performance, shouting and cheering. Good.

 

I lingered between the back door and the kitchen, not sure what to do. In the end I remained in the kitchen. I can easily discern their voices anyway.

 

His mom slurred, "What's your problem, Jiyong? I want to wish my Dami a happy birthday."

 

"I don't want her knowing that her mom's a lousy drunk and couldn't give a damn about her family."

 

There's the short, sharp sound of a slap. "How dare you! How dare you accuse me of being a bad mother." She's sobering up now, her words more coherent.

 

"You are!" Jiyong declared. "I've been looking after this family, keeping us together. What have you been doing? Looking for the solution to your problems at the bottom of a bottle?"

 

She scoffed. "Someone has to work. Someone has to provide for you, cloth you and feed you."

 

Jiyong issued a short, bitter laugh. "That's not you. That's Dad and me.Dad's been sending us money, and unlike you, I've got a job."

 

She's in a large intake of breath.

 

Jiyong continued, "Surprised I found out? The first time you didn't come home, I called your work. They told me you'd been fired for being 'drunk and disorderly'. You couldn't even stay sober for work, for God's sake."

 

Her voice was thick with emotion when she retorted, "You don't know what it's like."

 

"Enlighten me."

 

She sniffed. "My mother died and then your father left me for another woman. I just need something to keep me going every now and then."

 

"She was my Gran and he was my Dad. We're all suffering. You're just making it worse!" He paused for a second, breathing hard. "And you're drinking more 'every now and then', it's more like every day. What's the first thing you think about when you get up in the morning, huh? I bet it's not that you need to get the kids up for school."

 

"I'm not some bloody alcoholic, I'm your mother, and I won't have you speaking to me like this."

 

Jiyong lets out a frustrated sound and suddenly kicked the back door, making me jump back in surprise. "You are a bloody alcoholic, all right. You need help, and I've been trying to give it to you. Why won't you go to the AA meetings?"

 

"I'm not like them! I'm not an alcoholic, and I don't have a problem."

 

Jiyong scoffed. "Why do you think Dad left to be with another woman? You drove him to her. He was sick of the lies, just like I am. I know you've taken some of my money as well."

 

"What?" She sounded genuinely surprised. Perhaps she doesn't remember taking the money. Or perhaps, she's just innocent.

 

"I'm missing $50," Jiyong stated hotly, "you can't honestly expect me to believe that someone else took it?"

 

"Maybe you lost or misplaced it…maybe that Dara-girl took it."

 

WHAT?

 

"Don't you dare accuse, Dara. She's the only person who's been able to get me through these last few weeks."

 

"What have you been telling her? That I'm some drunk?"

 

He gave another short, bitter laugh. "I didn't need to. Seeing you then, in the state you're in, she's already realized." He sighed. "Do me a favor? Come back later…sober. You'll ruin Dami's birthday party otherwise."

 

"I want to see her."

 

"In your state? Do you remember Dami's school concert this summer, when you walked in drunk and had to be dragged out by a parent? Do you remember how upset she was? You'll just be repeating what happened last time if you do."

 

She didn't respond.

 

Jiyong continued, "The party's still going on, so Dami will want to be with her friends. Just come back later."

 

She sighed, exasperated. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. I'm just going to get my girl something for her birthday."

 

I can hear her heels clacking against the pavement as she retreated down the steps. I can hear Jiyong letting out a deep breath, grunting in frustration as he repeatedly kicked the fence, again and again until I'm by his side, my hand resting on his arm.

 

Why had he kept secrets from me? Why didn't he tell me about his mom?

 

He refused to meet my eyes, choosing instead to glower at the fence.

 

"Jiyong?" When he didn't answer I called his name again, waiting for him to look at me. When he did, I realized the mask of stolidity he wore so often has been shelved, his face having taken on a despondent and dejected look. His eyes shone with grief, his lips fixed in a firm line. I pulled him into a hug. He's tense in the beginning, surprised at the gesture, and I'm almost certain he's going to stand stiff throughout.

 

But then his arms encircled me... Holding me tightly.

 

 

 

---

 

 

I think I lost a lot of readers. T___T So few are commenting nowadays... Huhuhu ;__; 
Anyway, thank you to those who are still reading this. I love you!!!