“You have every right to be upset,” Sangwoo states. He’s poised to let me know. “Your cousin and her boyfriend have you involved with one of the most notorious gangs known for extortion, blackmail, and money laundering.”
I keep my eyes focused on the road, taking note of the fact that Sangwoo is driving through an unknown shortcut that leads to my apartment complex. I didn’t think about asking Sangwoo if he remembered where I lived, but Sangwoo is having no trouble navigating. I focus on the amount of traffic ahead of us.
“I can help you.” Sangwoo’s offer sounds more like a decision.
My eyebrows come together in question. “Thank you, but I didn’t tell you the truth or lied about my association with you so that you can help. I just wanted to confess.” I want to be clear that I am not about to involve him in this mess.
“Well, because you’ve associated yourself with me, I’m involved whether I want to be or not. That is a fact,” Sangwoo states with diction. “You do know that, don’t you?”
I nearly bite my bottom lip off at his stringent point.
My disheartened silence causes Sangwoo to turn his full attention from the road to me. His eyes deepen and the same intensity lashes out. Sangwoo continues to drive with a magic peripheral view. “You remind me a lot of this girl I used to know . . . that same passive-aggressive reaction,” he states passively.
“I know,” I retort too quickly. “You called for her when you were drunk last Saturday.” For a guy who claims that we’ve never met before, he sure likes to compare me to a girl he once knew. My intuition has her shady sunglasses on.
Sangwoo’s lips curl into a small, indefinite smile. He faces the road again. Sangwoo’s warning chills my spine. “You know, May, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about if you need to ask for help. Thirty thousand and Mayhem’s pride is not going to be easy to pay him back. They don’t call him Mayhem just because the syllables roll down the tongue easily. He is chaos and disorder as well as pandemonium and bedlam. He is also childish when he doesn’t get his way and will be manifest many things that the Bible warns against.”
I sit very still as I listen to Sangwoo’s rendition of Mayhem, including the colorful adjectives that describe the tantalizing gang leader. I am well aware that Sangwoo is trying to reach a point, but the other part of me has trouble with the idiom of the pot calling the kettle black in this situation.
“And what about you? If Mayhem means to destroy, then what is Crist?” I question. Far from trying to be smart with him, I really want to unearth the mysteries of these gang lords.
Sangwoo lets out an amused chuckle at my question. Deep humor cascades the features of his face. At the same moment, the car rounds down the familiar street. Sangwoo’s Mercedes comes to a slow stop in front East Point. He parks the car indiscreetly.
The leather seat gives in as Sangwoo faces me with undivided attention. In the darkness of the car, with only a dim street lamp as the only source of lighting, Sangwoo’s face is strikingly handsome. The more I look at Sangwoo, the more I am aware that his world and mine will never easily merge.
“I am different than the rest,” Sangwoo states with such confidence that it is difficult to object. “I am not your typical street gangbanger and neither is Mayhem. But what separates me from the rest of my cohort, including Mayhem, is my business strategies are anti-competitive and product driven. We sit on top of the average street gangs, but we are still under the palms of the mafia, the mob, and a private Council. This may be unnecessary information for you, but I highly recommend that you stand behind a wolf to deal with a snake.”
I feel as though my head is spinning from the influx of information. Apparently, I have hit a nerve with Choi Sangwoo and he is doing everything in his verbal power to drive home the situation.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize with dejection. “I didn’t mean to question you like that. Obviously, you’re different than Mayhem. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have helped me today. I just have a lot of preconceived notions about gangs and things like that.”
“I didn’t tell you all that for an apology, May,” Sangwoo repeats the same rebuttal structure I used on him earlier. “And if you stick around long enough, every single myth and stereotype you’ve heard about gangs will be debunked. I’m telling you all that to let you know I can help. You’ve inadvertently involved me now.” Sangwoo has a boyish smile on his face.
I glance down at my finger again. The gauze feels tight around my fingers. I am still holding his necklace in my left palm. Thirty thousand dollars is more than I can ever dream of. I have never imagined such money to fall into my hands much less be faced with the reality of having to pay it forward.
“I’m pretty dumb, huh?” I mumble. “I sign a contract to pay back money I don’t even have. I used your necklace and claimed I’m a Crist member. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Yeah, what the hell were you thinking? My conscience wakes up from her nap.
“No. You’re not dumb,” Sangwoo answers quietly. “You let your heart decide. It was very brave.”
At his kind words, I want to ask Sangwoo if he is an angel sent from above to alleviate mortal matters of mine.
“Are you always this nice to everyone you meet?” I can’t help the curiosity biting at my tongue.
“No,” Sangwoo answers deliberately. “I’m only nice to you.”
“Why?” My heart picks up a few more beats.
“Because you helped me last Saturday. If you haven’t taken me home, someone could have killed me if they spotted me alone and unconscious.” Sangwoo’s answer is so logical it makes the doubts disseminate. “Mayhem isn’t the only person after me,” he continues.
How can he sound so happy about that? “So your life is worth thirty thousand dollars?” I break into a small smile, anticipating Sangwoo’s comeback.
“It’s worth more than thirty thousand, but I can spare some for you,” Sangwoo retorts with good humor.
We both laugh at our banter.
At the same moment, the familiar flash of Sangwoo’s cell phone lights up the dark car. Because the phone faces the side pocket of the car, its bright white light causes an eerie shadow. The frustrated look on Sangwoo’s face intensifies when he looks at the screen.
I take it as my cue to leave. I remove my seat belt when Sangwoo places his cell phone back into the car’s side pocket. He chooses to ignore it.
“Here.” I extend my left palm to give his necklace back. “I’m surprised you haven’t realized it’s missing.”
Sangwoo reaches up to his neck, drawing my attention along with it. There is another sliver chain under the collar of his shirt. “I have another one. Keep this one.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Since you’re associated with me, you should.”
I try to suppress how pleased I am at Sangwoo’s gesture.
“I’ll walk you out,” Sangwoo offers with great sincerity.
“It’s ok, you don’t have to. My apartment is on the other side,” I tell him. Again, my voice is above a whisper. Why is he so forward?
“I don’t mind,” Sangwoo answers with a nonnegotiable tone.
“Ok,” I mumble in response.
We get out of the car from our respective sides. I pull the strap of my tote bag over my right shoulder and walk over to meet Sangwoo at the head of the car. He motions for me to lead the way.
The walkway through East Point is similar to an elaborate labyrinth. Overgrown trees, weeds, and tall grass surround each complex. The only sources of lighting emit from the recessed outdoor lights. Usually, it takes me two minutes to reach my apartment complex from the front gates. Today, however, I decide to take my time because Choi Sangwoo seems content on walking at a snail’s pace. He is busy observing the surrounding area, giving off the impression that he’s fascinated by where I live. I imagine Sangwoo living in a mansion with tall, white gates and his own swimming pool.
“You carried me through all this last Saturday?” Sangwoo asks with surprise.
His question dissolves my reverie.
Now I understand why Sangwoo is marveling at the area. I cannot get over how tall he is and how he moves with ease and agility. Even Mayhem, who rivals Sangwoo’s height, possesses the same grace. Where do they breed these gang lords?
“Yes I did,” I answer Sangwoo’s question. I inhale a deep breath of the cool night air. “Amazed?”
“Absolutely,” Sangwoo remarks. “Now that I’m fully conscious, I can appreciate it.”
I laugh at Sangwoo’s comment as I steal a glance at him.
“What do you want to study in college?” Sangwoo surprises me as he brings the question back to what we discussed at dinner.
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” I tease him lightly, testing the boundaries. “Since you critiqued my choice of going to college.”
“Hey, I went to college.” Sangwoo surprises me again. He looks over his shoulder and says, “I’m serious. I went for four years and studied business management.”
Business management? How apt. I am not sure they have a course on how to be a gang leader, unless this is a special college designed for gang lords.
“What are you studying?” Sangwoo brings me out of my thoughts again.
“Psychology,” I answer with a smile. We are nearing my apartment complex now. I point to Sangwoo towards the stairs. “I want to be a psychologist.”
The playful smile on his face fades slightly, but Sangwoo overcomes it quickly. “A psychologist? Why?”
I am reveling in the fact that I surprised Sangwoo. He gives me the impression that very little will take him back. “I think it’s an interesting profession. I can help others figure things out.”
“You know there’s more to it than just helping others right?” Sangwoo inquires. There is humor in his voice.
At the same time, we are climbing the stairs to the sixth floor of my apartment. I lead the way with Sangwoo only a step beside me.
“I know that,” I agree with him. “But like I said, I like helping people.”
“But you don’t like to be helped,” Sangwoo corrects me.
“Are you out of breath yet?” I deflect the conversation, surprised that he is able to keep up with me. I look back to see Sangwoo with a fresh grin on his face.
“You’d be surprised by my physical stamina,” Sangwoo replies quickly.
Oh wow. “I’m sure.” I turn around and continue up the stairs. I am not sure if it is the stairs or Sangwoo’s comment that makes my face deepen another shade of color. Fortunately, it is too dark for him to see. Girl, you are out of your element! my conscience barks at me under her stunner shades.
“You don’t believe me? I can show you sometimes.”
“Do all gang leaders have big egos?”
“Ha ha.”
When we finally descend the sixth floor, and my apartment door is just a couple of steps away, I face Sangwoo. Once again, he sticks out like a sore thumb underneath the dreary lighting of the apartment hallway. Sangwoo’s mouth stretches into that charming smile of his, and there is a tint of playfulness in his eyes now.
“Have a good night,” I tell him shortly.
“You’re not going to invite me in? That’s a little rude.” It’s a joke, but there is a notion of truthfulness to it. The playful light in Sangwoo’s eyes dims when I stare at him, slightly gaping.
“I’m sure you have work. I can’t stay long either,” Sangwoo recovers with a soft tone.
“I took tonight off from The Trax, so I’m working double shifts tomorrow,” I tell him. This handsome, mysterious, dangerous, and intimidating man wants to come into my dreary apartment to talk to me? I will probably have a heart attack if I am alone with him tonight.
“You really do work seven days a week,” Sangwoo notes. He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re a workaholic like me.”
“I’m not a workaholic.” I feel the immediate need to defend myself. “I just . . . work every day.”
“Why are you afraid of idle time?” Sangwoo asks poignantly.
No one has ever come out and ask me this question so bluntly–at least not anyone besides Lina. I get the feeling that Choi Sangwoo has an insatiable thirst to obtain as much information about me as he can.
“I’m not afraid of idle time. I just work hard to save up money for college,” I remind him again. “I have goals I want to reach.”
“I know you do,” Sangwoo replies with calm. “I just wonder if it’s your schedule or you who can’t stand to sit still.”
“What about you? You chose a job that requires you to work twenty-four seven.” I take the liberty of reminding him.
“Yes, it does. But I choose to take breaks,” Sangwoo replies with contention.
“I take breaks.” I make it clear that I don’t want to explain why my schedule is packed. “Good night Sangwoo.”
“Will you think about my offer?” he asks with haste. It is the first time I hear the impatience and speed in his question. “About helping you with Mayhem?”
I can read it in Sangwoo’s face that he isn’t just offering to help me because it is a money issue. Sangwoo is offering to help because he fears the consequences if he doesn’t.
“Help me?” I repeat again.
“Within professional grounds,” Sangwoo adds. “We will draw up an official contract, including clauses and stipulations.”
A contract? What kind of contract and details will I have to adhere to? My instinct kicks at my heart who is struggling to breathe.
“A contract?” I repeat like a minion again. You really are incompetent, snaps my conscience.
Sangwoo stares at me as though he is wondering about my intelligence too. “Yes. So, it doesn’t mean I am just giving you money. You will be providing a service to me as well.” His eyes burn with intensity, as though he is afraid of my rejection.
“What kind of service?” I want to pick at this longer.
“Why are you alarmed?” Sangwoo ignores my question.
“Why are you so nice to me?” There, the burning question finally slips out. “Two weeks ago, I didn’t even know you existed. And now, you want to help me.” Just admit that you know me from somewhere before, my intuition growls impatiently.
“Because I was you once. I was helpless because of circumstances. And because I want us to be friends.” Sangwoo’s reasons are all over the place.
“So, a contract is the answer?”
“A contract will help you get comfortable with the idea I want to help you,” Sangwoo remarks. “We can talk about the details tomorrow night.”
Just like that, he stops me in my tracks. I want to talk to Lina first before I agree to anything else. If only Sangwoo knows that I want to take up his offer so badly my throat is hurting from rejecting it. “Ok. We can talk about it tomorrow night.” Finally, I muster up the response.
When he gets his way, Sangwoo’s eyes sparkle with agreement. He is still hard to read, but he appears more youthful now. “Good night May.” My name hangs in the air.
“Good night,” I reply breathlessly.
All of a sudden, I see the sadden expression return to Sangwoo’s face. Last Saturday was the first time I saw that facial expression– when he was drunk beyond consciousness.
Tonight, it returns. Sangwoo calls to me as though he can no longer control his impulse. “Can I ask you for something?”
“What is it?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Can I have a goodbye hug?” Sangwoo’s gaze reaches my face with a definitive pull.
What? My insides curl up and the butterflies are expanding in my stomach. He wants a hug? My conscience scrambles to pick her jaw off the ground.
Before I can answer or think, Choi Sangwoo makes his way over to me. He reaches out in a precise manner and wraps his arms around my back, enclosing me against his body. It isn’t the type of hug in which he wants to prolong the night with me, and it isn’t even a hug that is meant to be romantically affectionate. It is a heart-wrenching hug, a metaphysi
cal hold. The difference, I know, is in his words from last Saturday night. And I know, as I am locked in Sangwoo’s embrace, it has to do with the girl he says I remind him of. I feel the pain still living and growing inside of him like a virus. The powerful memories, along with tears of happiness and pain, is in the strength of his clutch.
I feel myself swept away in Sangwoo’s warm embrace. He has a distinctive smell to him, not the typical kind easily assessed at the mall or store. It is the scent of someone from his world, dangerous and vibrant. I am not sure what I am doing, but I wrap my arms around him in return. I attempt to share his pain as if I know an ounce of it.
“It’s getting late. You should go in now.”
In a matter of seconds, it is all over. Sangwoo releases his hold and I am free from him. Sangwoo steps back from me as if he cannot stand the pain of touching me anymore. It is a rare moment of weakness.
My heart starts racing and the more I want to speak, the harder it is to hold the tears back. You silly putty. My intuition is dabbing her cheeks with a tissue.
“You know, you remind me of someone from my past.” Sangwoo’s voice is soft and heartbroken.
“You were calling for her the night you threw up,” I tell him. A faint image of Dead Girl haunts me again. “Is that why you were so drunk?”
Sangwoo looks up at the sky as if the answers are up there. “Yes.”
“Because you wanted to forget her?” I ask him.
Sangwoo’s face hardens suddenly. “You can’t forget someone who doesn’t want to be forgotten.”
My eyebrows come together in confusion, but the right words fail me.
“Good night May.” Without another word, Sangwoo retreats. Just like that, the moment is gone.
The feeling of having someone in such close proximity walking away calls for sensations like abandonment and rejection. I watch as Sangwoo makes his way down the apartment stairs with the same dejected feeling in my stomach.
“Sangwoo,” I call to him. I finally find my voice, but it is too late.
He is already gone.
I stand listening to his footsteps retreating until the echoes disappear altogether. When Sangwoo is indefinitely gone, I head inside my dark and desolate apartment with bouts of emotions riding on me. The weight of confusion and uncertainty falls upon my shoulders when I press my back against the door. I stare at the darkness stretching ahead of me. My heart is pounding. My ears are throbbing. My soul is aching.
April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions Page 13