Hilde | Kim Taehyung fanfiction ✓

arya

1

"I'm going to win next time," I said with slumped shoulders, my voice raw with exasperation. I flung the chess piece across the table, the cold plastic skittering across the polished wood.

"Maybe, maybe not," he said, smugness visible on his face.

"In case you forgot," I spat out, my elbows now propped on the table as I leaned in closer, "I get to choose who wins and who loses."

"And how is that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge, leaning in as well.

"Why would I tell you and ruin the surprise?" I shot back, my eyes blazing with defiance. I was about to ask for one more game, but I did not feel like it.

I rose from my seat, his gaze fixed on me as he analyzed my every move. "When will you be back?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

"Soon, same place?" I countered.

"Where else?" he retorted making a laugh escape my lips. "It's not like I'm not bound to this damn chair."

His remark brought a smile to my lips. As I left the little room and closed the door behind me, memories flooded my brain like a dam bursting. I leaned against the door, my hands clenching into fists as I took a shuddering breath. My throat felt like sandpaper, my hands slick with cold sweat. I was lightheaded, my vision blurring. Why was I still waiting?

I walked upstairs, leaving the basement behind me. For now, I needed to focus on getting something to drink. Sitting down at the kitchen counter, I picked up a bottle of water, intending for the cool liquid to soothe my parched throat. But my mind wouldn't rest. The horrific events of that night six years ago played out in my mind like a movie.

No amount of head shaking would help me put aside those awful memories. My mom's desperate pleas and my sisters scared cries still wake me up at night. Sometimes I would find myself staring into the void and images from that night would flash before me. I could still remember the sound of my father's blood dripping on the floor, the splatter being the only thing that would break the silence every three or four seconds.

Nothing could have helped me predict that sour ending: not the black and blue bruises on my mom's arms, not my father's constant nosebleeds, not my sister's dead eyes. I had always tried to overlook things, hoping my family would go back to how it was. But I was wrong.

While reminiscing about the past, a muffled noise interrupted me, and I quickly realized that there was a thud emanating from the basement. Sighing with annoyance, I drank some water before gazing at the woman who sat restrained to a chair with her mouth covered by tape, an arrogant smile on my lips. "Shall we go see your husband together?"

As I walked towards her (I think her name was Melissa), terror began to fill her eyes as tears streamed down her cheeks. I could not help but be mesmerized by how beautiful she looked under the kitchen light, her tears looking like pearls.

However, I found her muffled noises bothersome and wondered what she could possibly have to say that was worth the struggle. I removed the tape from her mouth, allowing her to both breathe and talk.

"I'm certain you have the wrong person, please-" she began to protest before I slapped the tape over her mouth. Would every single one of them resort to using that tired excuse -You've got the wrong person?

I casually mentioned, "Your husband is in the basement, by the way," and waited for it to sink in. Her eyes widened, and she began hyperventilating. "Or maybe you're right and I have the wrong people here," I said, dramatically looking down and holding my head with one hand. "So, just to be sure, your last name is not Amato?" I asked. After hesitating briefly, she shook her head no. "I almost believed you," I explained with amusement," but you took too long to answer."

As I watched her cry, I contemplated how to move her downstairs without any trouble. Should I knock her out? Or break her ankles and avoid any possibility of her making a run for it? I simply grabbed the knife on the counter and held it close to her face. I decided against the first two options as she would just become dead weight.

As I reached out to her, my fingers closed around her face. "Melissa, right?" I asked with a smirk already knowing the answer. "We're going to see your husband now." My grip tightened as I warned, "so, behave," brandishing the knife close enough for her eyes to catch sight of it. With that done, releasing her visage and positioning myself behind Melissa was quick work as strands of hair ended up wrapped tightly within my fist and forcing her to look up at me, "unless you don't want to leave this place alive, that is."

After releasing her from the chair and tossing away the piece of tape, I kept Melissa's hands bound as I took hold of her upper arm. With the knife still in hand, I guided her down to the basement where banging sounds reverberated throughout the space. Upon opening the door, Amato gave me a challenging stare amidst an overturned game of chess. "What a mess," I commented dryly looking at chessboard and its pieces on the ground as I entered with Melissa in tow. "Thank God I won't have to clean this up," I said jokingly, still, bothered by the disorder. "So, where is he?" I asked looking at him while closing the door behind me with my foot. His wife was now standing between him and me, her fear palpable as she was visibly shaking.

My question was met with silence, "Maybe you didn't hear me. Where is he?" I asked once more only for him to reply with, 'I don't know who you're talking about'.

"Of course you want to make this as difficult as possible," I remarked, then with a swift kick at the back of his wife's knees, forced her into a kneeling position.

Amato hissed, "Be careful with how you handle her," in response to the small action.

"I will, I promise. If I get the answers I'm looking for," I reassured him. "I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you really do not know who I'm talking about, so I will try to be more specific from now on so that we can all go on with our lives. Novikov."

As soon as I mentioned that last name, Amato's eyes slightly twitched. He clearly recognized the name but chose not to speak about it.

"Anything? An address, maybe?" However, my question was met with more silence from the man and more whimpers from his wife. With my knife poised near her face, I warned, "Don't blame me for what's about to happen."