✓ BECAUSE WE WERE YOUNG | NIKI

20 - The Boy Who Didn't Fly

Three days had passed since what happened in the park. Sunghoon and Jake stopped coming to Hope Haven and I understand. Actually, I think it's the best thing to do instead of pretending everything is normal when clearly, it's not. But their absence leaves a hole in our little group and I don't know how to fill it.

Niki is always there for me. Instead of going to Hope Haven, we go out and spend time together in hopes of feeling better about the whole situation. But I don't feel better. All I feel is guilty and hurt and conflicted. I haven't told him about the fact that I'm slowly dying, that my lungs are slowly being completely destroyed and I'm not able to do anything to fix myself. I haven't told him that I lied to him, that I don't want him tow worry about me. I haven't told him how much I love him. 

Heeseung's words replay in my mind and I suck in a breath. My cigarette is lighting brightly and nothing I do can seem to extinguish it.

"I'll be back in a moment," I mutter to my father who's working from home today. For the last week, he insisted that he has to be home in case something happens to me. By that, he means nothing other than death. At least that's what we both know. At least, if he's here, he can keep an eye on me, though I know there's little he can do to change the inevitable. I don't wait for him to respond or question my sudden departure. Instead, I slip out of the house, pulling my oxygen tank along with me as I fix my cannula. 

Living with lungs that somehow can't even support me with the basic task of breathing is a cruel irony. I've grown familiar with people's eyes glued to me whenever I go, to the way my every move is scrutinized as if I'm some kind of fragile artifact on display. You just cannot escape the constant reminders of your own mortality when faced with such circumstances.

However, in an attempt to escape, I'm heading to the grocery store to get the ingredients I need to bake. Whenever I'm in the kitchen, surrounded by the warmth of the oven and the comforting aroma of freshly baked goods, I find life a little less harsh. I step inside the store, my oxygen tank so noisy while I look for the aisle with baking supplies. I ignore the stares and the whispers that follow me and tell myself people are just curious and that's okay. We're human like that, always curious about things we don't understand. 

 "Jake!" I shout and his head snaps in my direction, his eyes widening with what looks like fear and embarrassment. I don't understand why he would be embarrassed in a situation like this. If anything, I'm supposed to call the cops and make sure he's safe. But as I approach, Jake quickly gestures for me to stop, his expression pleading. The man, who I now see has a menacing look about him, turns his attention towards me.

"Who the hell is this little bitch?" He growls and I freeze in my tracks when he lets go of Jake and walks to me. "Is this one of your little-"

"She's no one." I watch as Jake rushes to me, stepping between me and the unknown man who seems like he's inches apart from ripping my lungs out. "I'll give you the money you want. I promise. Give me one day and I'll do it-" Before he even can finish his sentence, the man holds him by the throat and leans in, whispering something I don't hear. But from the way Jake tenses so suddenly, I know it's not good. I know it's dangerous. 

I feel a knot form in the pit of my stomach as fear grips me, but then the man lets go of Jake, shoving him against the wall before he turns around and leaves as if nothing happened. Jake slumps to the ground, gasping for breath, his eyes filled with pain and frustration. I rush to his side, kneeling beside him and placing a hand on his trembling shoulder. "Are you okay-"

"Fuck off, Y/N." Jake yanks my hand away and pushes himself up from the ground, brushing off his clothes as if trying to rid himself of the encounter. I don't understand why he's angry at me when I only wanted to save him. I don't know what to say, so I stay silent, watching him with both confusion and concern. "That was my mother's boyfriend, got it? Now you know shit about my shitty life." He speaks and my eyes dart to the marks on his hand when he runs his fingers through his hair. They look like the burns one gets from a heated hair-curler iron and the thought makes me shudder. There's no way. He cannot be- "Don't pity me, Y/N. You have no right to pity me when you could literally die."

My jaw clenches and I bite my bottom lip so I don't say something I would regret. "Fine," I mutter, taking off my cannula and tucking it away in my bag. "But you have no right to pity me either. I could die, but I at least don't let anyone abuse me like you let him. Just because he's your mother's boyfriend doesn't mean you have to suck up to him." 

"Y/N, wear your oxygen," I watch as he reaches out to hand me my cannula but this time, I'm the one who yanks his hand away. 

"Not until you stop letting him treat you like that." For a moment we just stare into each other's eyes and we don't say anything. Until he winces and shakes his head. 

"You'd die at that rate." The way he utters those words is like a punch to the gut but when he reaches out again and helps me wear my cannula, the oxygen travels through my lungs and I'm no longer lightheaded. I'm no longer struggling to catch my breath. "Look, how about you come with me to where I live? We can talk there and... I missed you." I'm staring at him, really staring, and everything in me tells me I shouldn't accept, but I still nod slowly, my heart pounding in my chest as I follow him down the familiar streets toward his home. 

Jake's house is a small apartment in a neighborhood that seems to have seen better days. The faded paint on the walls and the cracked pavement underfoot tell a story of neglect and I start understanding Jake a little more. I start understanding what he said about Jay's wealth, about his huge mansion, about the stark contrast in their lives. Perhaps, when you live in a place like this, you're forced to confront the harsh realities of life much earlier than others. 

The apartment is modest, with minimal furnishings and a lingering smell of cigarettes and stale air. It's a far cry from the comfortable home I'm used to, but somehow, it feels more real, more authentic. You can see why I prefer spending time at Hope Haven," He says with a wry smile, breaking the silence as I look up at him. 

"I kind of like it," I admit quietly, glancing around the dimly lit apartment. "It feels... honest, you know? Like there's no pretending here." I take a sip from my soda, staring at it for a while before looking around at the small things I didn't manage to notice at first glance. "Is this what he used to...?" I trail off, unable to finish the question as I glance up at Jake, my expression filled with worry.

"What are you-" He takes the hair curler from my hand and hides it behind his back, as if I didn't see it. As if I didn't see the marks on his hand or the way he winced when I mentioned it. "It's nothing," he mutters, avoiding my gaze as he sets the hair curler aside. "It's Mom's. Just an old one. Doesn't even work properly anymore." But his words lack conviction, and I can see through his feeble attempt to dismiss my concern.

"He abuses you, right?" I hear myself blurt out and it's too late to take it back. Jake's breath catches in his throat and the room seems to shrink around us both. "Look, you don't have to pretend you're not hurting." 

"I'm not." He's so defensive it's hard to ignore. I could walk out of the place and forget everything I saw and heard but my life is too short and I'd like to find the little infinities that make it worth living. So, I reach out and gently take his hand, ignoring his attempt to pull away. "I told you, I'm not-" He stops and lets out a sigh and I watch, as if a dam has broken within him. "Yeah. That's what he used. Among other things." My heart sinks to the lowest pit of my stomach and I find myself struggling to hold back tears. "And Mom can't leave him because he promised he'd kill her if she ever tried. All I have to do is keep my head down and stay out of his way, and when he's drunk and needs someone to take his anger out on, I'll just be the punching bag."