“Why didn’t you pick up your cell phone?” Sangwoo’s tone is arctic and distant, perhaps even accusing and aggressive.
Damn. He’s mad that I’ve been ignoring his phone calls all day. “I was out with my cousin.” It is slightly annoying having to report to him. “I’m sorry,” I add out of courtesy.
Sangwoo doesn’t answer me. My eyes travel back to the partially empty bottle of Vodka in the cup holder. Was he drinking while waiting for me? Choi Sangwoo has an indefinite sad side to him. It is dark and lonely, cancerous and decaying. Why is he drinking already? In the short time that I have known him, Sangwoo’s affinity for alcohol seems to have skyrocketed. Alcoholic! my intuition chortles.
“Sangwoo, how much did you drink?” I am wary.
“Hmm. This many.” He extends ten fingers. There is a glossy look in his eyes. If anything, it is an indication of a weakness.
I have never seen Sangwoo so childlike. I briefly conclude that only when he is drinking does the gang leader demeanor deteriorates.
“Get in the car May. I want to talk to you.” Sangwoo motions with his head towards the passenger seat.
“Sangwoo, you’re drunk.” It doesn’t escape the both of us that my tone hints frustration.
“No. I’m not.” His brown eyes dilate. This strange, erratic behavior is a flaw of Sangwoo’s. “I want to talk. I’m usually a patient person May, but you are testing my limits today. You ignore my phone calls and now you don’t want to talk to me. What did I do wrong?” There is sorrow in his voice. Sangwoo is at the very edge.
A gentle, prickling sensation attacks my eyes. I swallow hard. My palms are clammy and my heart is heavy. How do I tell Sangwoo I need time and space away from him? What can I say to put into words all the things I am not feeling about him? I know I cannot run from him and avoid the necessary conversation, but at the present moment I am desperate to avoid it all.
“May,” Sangwoo calls to me again. This time his tone changes. It is heavy with judgment and contrite.
“Five minutes.” My intuition shakes her head at me over her black rimmed glasses. I ignore her and make my way to the passenger side of the 320i. There is no point in turning back now.
Sangwoo leans toward me once I am in the seat. His brown eyes glaze over, murky and lost. “I am a very patient man May. But with you, I think I am starting to lose my discipline.”
My blood freezes at his conviction. Discipline? What is Sangwoo talking about? He cannot insinuate that I am wearing his patience thin when he expects not only loyalty from me, but also absolute submission. Last time I checked, I didn’t sign an initiation contract.
“May,” he calls to me. His voice becomes so soft that it distracts me. “I like you. I really like you.” He leans forward and his hands are around my back. The smell of alcohol coils around my senses.
Emotions sweep me away. My heart pounds a mile a minute. Shit. He knocks my breath away with the confession. Without any qualms or reservations, Choi Sangwoo tells me that he likes me. Memories of last night’s kiss grip my mind. I let Sangwoo hold me, hoping I’d feel something, hoping that I’d say, “I like you too.” But my lips won’t move. The forlorn realization slips over me. I don’t have the feelings that I should for this man. Maybe it is because I know Sangwoo is under the influence of alcohol. Or maybe I know that his feelings for me are marred and tainted. It’s not me he wants; it’s the girl I remind him of. Why won’t he come out and say it?
Sangwoo reaches for my hand. He intertwines his fingers in mine roughly. I can’t let this go on any longer. I pull back from him. “Sangwoo, I think you should go home.”
“Do you know how worried I was when I couldn’t reach you today?” Sangwoo ignores my suggestion. His brown eyes are tracking beams. “You’re distancing yourself from me. Why?”
I lower my gaze. My hands rest in my lap. How can I explain to Sangwoo that I cannot return his feelings for me? He is pursuing a relationship with no future. “I think we’re better off as friends. I don’t ha-have the same feelings for you Sangwoo. I’m sorry.”
The hurt sears across his composed facial expression. The alcohol has already lowered his first line of defense. Now, I am tearing through the concrete walls of this poor soul.
Sangwoo withdraws from me and sits back in his seat. No longer making eye contact, he stares out of the front windshield. “Why not?”
Why not? A million thoughts explode like a supernova in my mind. How do I even begin to explain the turmoil and confusion I have? “I just don’t think we’re compatible,” is my feeble attempt to save feelings and cap pain.
“Compatible,” Sangwoo repeats the word as though he is trying it out. He faces me now. “You’re right. We’re not compatible. I’m a gang leader revered in my world for not only what I do, but also who I am. You are just a citizen in the mainstream world scraping by under a law and a government you don’t understand. I have access to all the riches the global sphere can offer while you barely make minimum wage. I am knowledgeable and skillful at things you cannot even fathom while you struggle with everyday mortal problems. So you are right. We are incompatible to the last fault. But the feelings I have for you, my persistent chase after you, is sincere and true. It has nothing to do with compatibility. It has to do with the emotions that govern us all. This is my weakness–my feelings for you.”
Don’t cry May. You are stronger than this! I bite down on my bottom lip. I want to unleash the brutal truth that is on a tight leash around my heart. But I am quiet as I listen to Sangwoo’s rage. I have never been much of a fighter. I am weak and passive in adulthood due to my upbringing and circumstances.
“Did you know the end of the month is coming May?” There is deep pain traveling through Sangwoo’s tone.
“Sangwoo, please.” I find my voice. I don’t want to talk about anything remotely relevant to that subject. This game of I-know-that-you-know is causing me great grief. He knows, my intuition hisses.
Sangwoo closes his eyes. The silence tears through us. He is coping with a headache and indifferent emotions. Little does Sangwoo know I am afraid for him. I’m petrified of the consequences of our actions. I must put a stop to it. “I’ll drive you back to your hotel.” I glance anxiously outside of the window.
Sangwoo turns to me. Surprise colors his pale facial expression. It is clear the alcohol is moments away from consuming him. All it takes is one phone call and his members will be here. But I know that is not what he wants.
“You will?”
“Yes. It’s the least I can do.”
“Yes, it’s the least you can do for breaking my heart.”
Without another word, Sangwoo opens the driver’s door. He stumbles and rounds the car. I step out of the passenger side and wait for him. Once he is in the passenger seat, I make my way to the driver’s side.
Do I have the mindset to drive right now? Yes. I’m determined to take him home and get us out of this situation. Drop him off for good! My intuition rolls her eyes. She is over him.
“You’re going to have to give me instructions.” The driver’s seat is too low for me. I play with the side buttons until the seat’s incline matches my length. Thank goodness for the automatic transmission on the 320i. I can drive without worrying about shifting gears.
“I have a GPS system.” Sangwoo points to the screen above the middle instrument panel. “Talk to it.” His cell phone rings, but Sangwoo ignores it.
I have never driven such a powerful and lustrous car before. Its advanced technology is beyond me. I fish for the keys in the ignition and turn the engine on. The car hums smoothly. I fiddle with buttons on the GPS panel until a female voice speaks. “Good evening Mr. Choi. Where would you like to go?” Even the car adheres to the needs of the gang leader. What is money not able to buy? You. My intuition has a smug smile on her face. I wave her aside to focus on the directions.
“The Aston House at the W Seoul Walkerhill Hotel.” I still remember the first time I was there with Sangwoo. At the time,
he was alert and earnest to speak with me. Now, the alcohol has consumed his consciousness. Sangwoo’s eyes are closed and his heavy breathing takes over.
“One moment please. I am calculating the fastest route to the Aston House at the W Seoul Walkerhill Hotel.” The GPS acknowledges my command. The screen blackens as a red bar streams across it. Then, a majestic map pops up on the screen. “Please make a U-turn onto the main road.”
“Here we go,” I mumble. I release the brakes on the 320i and feel the smooth engine roar to life. Although I received my driver’s license at the age of nineteen, I haven’t driven a car in a year. But the car’s familiarity ignites my beginner’s skills. Although the 320i was built for speed and agility, I drive slow. I follow the instructions of the GPS system for the thirty-five minute car ride. The drive to the W Seoul Hotel is quiet and eerily tense. I do my best to shun my thoughts. I need to concentrate. The sooner I drop him off, the sooner this will all be over with. Sangwoo remains sound asleep in the passenger seat.
When I pull into the familiar Aston Walkerhill curb, the gorgeous view stuns me just as it did the first time. The familiar incandescent lights lead to the hotel’s broad entrance. I follow the winding curb until it stops in front of the entrance. A valet approaches my driver’s side. He peers in and immediately recognizes Sangwoo in the passenger seat.
“Good evening.” Confusion lives in the valet’s eyes.
“Good evening,” I answer him shortly. From my side, I see three men approaching the car. From their dark suits to the signature chains peeking from their necks, I know they are Crist members. One of them takes the valet by the arm and moves him away from the car. The other members flank the car on both sides. One Crist member reaches for Sangwoo while another ushers me out of the driver’s seat.
“Leave me alone.” Sangwoo wakes with great effort. He is sluggish and disorderly. Sangwoo bats one of his members away. In a direct manner, Sangwoo points to me. “She’s with me.”
In the meantime, I look for the familiar tattooed man. But Ren is nowhere to be seen. It becomes apparent that Ren must be on a special mission or absence of leave. I turn my attention back to Sangwoo and his men. They are bowing to me in such a way that I don’t know what else to do but bow back.
“Let’s go.” Sangwoo points to the revolving doors of the entrance. He stumbles forward and hands are ready to catch him. Sangwoo slaps them all away except for mine. He lets me hold his right side. Just like the night when I took him home, Sangwoo leans against me in his drunken state.
We make our way into the grand hotel with his members in tow. A Crist member is already holding an elevator for us. Hotel guests in the elaborate, golden lobby are staring at us with muddled facial expressions. I keep my eyes focused on the ground away from the speculations and judgment.
Inside the baroque elevator, Sangwoo leans against the glass walls with his eyes closed. His men are darting fervent glances at us. The worried expression on their faces becomes paramount when the elevator doors ding open. Sangwoo stumbles back into my arms and orders for his men to fall back.
The grand foyer of his state-of-the-art penthouse suite is just as extravagant as I remember. The similar décor of white and royal blue furnishing sweep the entire grand area. The fireplace, adjacent to the grand windows is dark and portentous. Silence, dancing with loneliness, pervades the air. Although elite and rich in its texture and design, the suite is forlorn. Great power and anonymity requires an intense price of solitude.
As we pass by the living room expanse, I realize I don’t know which hallway leads to his bedroom.
“Where is your room Sangwoo?”
He mumbles an incoherent response. Staggering towards the left hole of darkness, Sangwoo moves down what turns out to be a hallway. I follow him, taking note of the paintings that line the walls. Most of the paintings are accounts of nature–sunsets, sunrises, mountains, and oceans. It strikes me that Sangwoo probably didn’t choose these paintings.
At the very end of the hallway are large French doors. The doors lead to a master bedroom that’s larger than my apartment. Two magnificent windows display the extensive view of downtown Seoul. Bright, shimmering lights glitter through the window. Varying degrees of color dance richly in the room.
Sangwoo stumbles onto the oversized bed positioned in the middle of the room. His room is empty except for the bed and a large circular office desk. To the right side of the room is the bathroom. Directly across from it is another door to a walk-in closet. There is nothing in Sangwoo’s bedroom that reveals the dark underground world he rules. In all honesty, it is a simple bedroom of a very sad man.
“Sangwoo,” I call to him softly.
He is unconscious on the bed in a deep sleep. I approach the bottom of the bed. My heartstrings tug in various directions. I let out a deep breath, bracing myself. Slowly, I reach down and take off his shoes. Tough black boots clatter loudly to the floor. I reach for the comforter and cover it over Sangwoo.
I watch him for a few seconds. Sangwoo’s eyebrows are together in a frown. I swallow hard. I feel a sense of sorrow wash over me. Choi Sangwoo’s addiction to alcohol is escalating.
Taking a glance around the room, I note the amount of pills on the bed stand nearby. More specifically, a stack of photographs catches my eyes. Curiosity takes over and I pick up the pictures without consideration. They are old Polaroid pictures–glossy and square-shaped.
The blood freezes in my veins.
Younger versions of Choi Sangwoo are smiling, smirking, and grinning at me. But he is not alone behind the exotic backdrops. In all of the photographs, there is a girl with Sangwoo in various intimate poses. Her large, dark eyes accentuate the halo of hair around her youthful face. Her smile is stunning and vibrant. She is easy to fall in love with.
Dead Girl.
My heavy heart realizes that Dead Girl looks like me.
Misun.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I am shaking all over when I rush by the Crist members. They gape when I make the hasty exit out of Sangwoo’s suite. I look like I have seen a ghost. The last thing I care about is what they are thinking. I abandon all of my senses and better judgment as I run from the Ashton Walkerhill.
My heart is heavy and my mind slips into a chaotic daze. No matter how hard I try, the images of Choi Sangwoo and Dead Girl replay in my mind like the photographic memories I inadvertently thumbed through. How was I to know I was picking up Sangwoo’s past? I want to cry and let all of the emotional discrepancies out. I am weak with jealousy and betrayal. Those photographs confirm everything that I have been suspicious of. I am beyond hurt by the revelation. The potential of having feelings for Sangwoo, of having any type of relationship with him–friendship or romantic–is over and done. The true reason why Sangwoo pursues me is too bitter to take.
By the time I reach the end of the road, I am a puddle of tears. Breathing hard, I do my best to gather my composure. My cell phone rings in my tote bag. Dreading who the caller is, I retrieve my phone and answer the call. To my dismay, it’s an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“My shin stills hurts.”
I swallow hard at the sound of his voice. My throat becomes rigid. Slowly, I look across the street. A dark figure perches on his expensive and fine-tuned motorcycle. The distinctive sleek body of the bike contrasts with the setting sun’s cascade of colors. Mayhem has his helmet on and he’s dressed entirely in black leather. At a distance, he looks like an enigma and is the epitome of a shadowy figure from the underground world. Oh em gee! My intuition dances on her tiptoes.
“Are you stalking me?” My tears stall for the moment. I am in too much shock. How did he get my phone number? How does he know that I am here? Is there nothing that these gang lords don’t know about me?
“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. Did it ever occur to you that the world is round?” Mayhem drawls. His black helmet glares at me. I cannot see his face, especially those dark eyes of his. Even though his face is cove
red, Mayhem is still strikingly attractive.
“You live in the same hotel as Sangwoo?” I ask shortly.
“He lives in the same area as me,” Mayhem corrects me. “Judging from your tears, the meeting with Sangwoo didn’t go so well did it?”
“Why do you care?” I cannot digest this coincidental meeting fast enough. My stubborn streak rears its ugly head.
“I don’t.” Mayhem’s tone changes to arctic ice. “Call your mother back. My uncle wants to know what happened too. I don’t want them thinking you ran out because of me.”
“No, we wouldn’t want that.” I hold my cell phone close to my ears, keeping my eyes steady on him. Even from across the street, Mayhem is still disarming behind his massive helmet.
“I warned you about Choi Sangwoo. Sometimes, the bad guy is actually the one you should listen to. We’re the pariahs for a reason.” Mayhem’s voice remains calm and undisturbed.
“Why don’t you just tell me what you want to say?” I am hot-tempered. I don’t have time to decipher his cryptic messages.
“I don’t want to suck all the fun out for you.” Mayhem tilts his helmet. “I suggest you head home before Sangwoo stumbles out here in his drunken state.”
I bite my lower lip, reeling in haste. Why does he care?
“I don’t care about the melodrama you have going on, but I would hate to see something unnecessary occur because Sangwoo is out of his mind right now.” As though he can read my thoughts, Mayhem tosses out a sound advice.
I am speechless as I clutch my phone to my ear.
“If you want a ride home you can ask me,” Mayhem adds as if he’s testing me.
“I can find my way home,” I reply. Can’t you see I need your help? My intuition pouts.
“Suit yourself.” Mayhem hangs up.
I listen to the dead phone line as he kicks the motorcycle stand. Mayhem settles onto the motorcycle and starts the engine. Its fierce roar pierces through the silent street. Without another moment to waste, Mayhem leans on the steel body and races down the dangerous slope. At the same moment, a taxi crawls around the bend.
April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions Page 36