THE ORANGE GIRL

chapter six

Wednesday, 28th October 2015

2:20PM | Yoongi's Apartment

When a man with jet black hair, ocean blue eyes, a grey hoodie adorning his torso and ripped black jeans dressing his slim legs became present within the frame of the spare bedroom doorway, you did not question who they were.

It was undoubtedly Yoongi, looking so unusual with scuffed high-tops and his hands shoved deep into the front pocket of his jumper. The spitting image of a teenager who thought the world was against him. You did not move from your position on the bed, laying on your back among the tufts of white cotton sheets while you had been counting the cracks in the ceiling - just gazed at him with those same empty eyes, awaiting a voice to crack through the silence.

"We need to go get you some clothes," Yoongi muttered, watching the drapes drift slightly with the breeze of the slowly turning overhead fan. "Because not only are you running out of clean clothes, but I am running out of clean business shirts."

Cement travelled through your veins, stilling your figure entirely as his words settled into your bones. Normally, you would question the disguise, bite back with a remark about investing some time in doing laundry. But you didn't.

Because for the first time in days, even years, you were going outside.

After you rolled out of the bed, Yoongi threw your coat to you, not seeming to notice that it whacked you straight in the face. You slipped it on quietly, buttoning it over the tattered jeans and sweater you had worn the day you left your confinement before slipping the same old sneakers onto your feet. When you looked up to him after fixing your garments, he was frowning and then wordlessly exiting the room. Instinct suggested you follow, but he was already returning with a thick bundle of forest green wool in his hands by the time you had taken a single step.

"Doubt they will be searching for you," Yoongi said as he approached you, pausing for an instance to glance over your expression before coiling the thick scarf around your neck, bunching it up to your nose. "But still, you are dying by my hand and nobody else's, so I don't want to take any chances."

Once he had tucked the scarf through the loop, something in his eyes softened. You gazed at him interestedly, noticing the sudden change in his features, the pink of his taut lips smoothing out, drawn together eyebrows relaxing. He was not particularly looking into your eyes, though his own were settled onto your skin, slightly glazing over as though he were remembering a fond memory, fingers unmoving as they still clung to the ends of the warm material. But then you blinked, disturbing him from his momentary daze, observing the alarm that replaced the brief tenderness as he twisted on his heel and grumbled let's go.

Instead of driving the steel Chevrolet that had taken you from the rundown motel to his apartment, the two of you caught three different buses that drove you right into the bustling centre of the city. Not a word had passed your lips the entire trip, for you were too fascinated by the world that whizzed by the window that you were perched beside; Yoongi sitting stoic between you and the aisle. Businessmen pedalled relentlessly on bikes, cars honked with aggravation as the jacked up traffic slowed, apartment buildings had windows that hung flourishing potted plants, children clung to the sleeves of mothers in the busy streets, the pavements held cracks that branched across the surfaces like strikes of lightning.

And for a moment, the peculiar urge to survive surged through your veins. The world was still turning while you were gone, the grass still growing, the people still living, the clouds still drifting. Everything was still alive and working while you were less than either. Though the white hot sensation that had the hairs on your arms rising, tiny mountains of bumps forming along your skin, was flushed out almost as soon as it arrived.

But Yoongi did not miss the sudden flicker of wonderment that glanced across your eyes and he found himself, yet again, entirely intrigued by you.

He kept close as you both roamed through department stores, combing through cotton and silk and denim. The necessities were obtained first, a five pack of knickers and socks, two bras, some ordinary shirts and a fresh pair of jeans, a thin camisole to wear whilst sleeping. You were surprised to find that Yoongi was insisting to get so much, because for all you knew, your memories could suddenly come leaking back into your thoughts the minute you returned to his flat. But then again, it could also take months.

If he was willing to put up with you for that long.

You thought it peculiar how any other shopper would assume that the two of you were just friends. Lovers even, spending the afternoon strolling through clothing stores, passing a few quiet words as you thumbed through hangers displaying garments that ranged from prissy singlets to chiffon bell sleeves. They would not second guess the light touch of his fingertips on your lower back, believing it was gentle guidance and not instead a threat, a taunt of if you try to run, I will always catch you. A bubble of laughter was caught in your throat at the thought, and you imagined that it would only add to this horrific facade. The others may even smile at the fact that your boyfriend has the ability to make you grin so wide, to create such a harmonic sound.

Nobody would assume that he was your kidnapper.

Nobody would assume that he had held a gun to your head.

Nobody would know at all.

The pair of you had been browsing a particular store, yet you were always returning to a single item that made Yoongi shudder, sickness stir a storm in his stomach. He gazed at your thumb running over the threads of the sweater for the third time, flashing lights of red and blue with bars sliding shut darted through his thoughts and he cringed. You watched interestedly at the way his nose crinkled, distaste and something more that you were yet to find out.

"Why orange?" He muttered, folding his arms and finally dragging his dilated pupils away from the garment, scanning over the racks upon racks of colour that were all but the vibrancy of his jail sentence. "There are so many other pretty colours here."

"All I have known that is real for the past three years is this," You mumbled, tracing your fingertips down to the hem and gingerly rubbing the soft fabric between a thumb and forefinger. "The colour orange means the truth."

Yoongi stared down at you, eyes widening. He had never given it much thought, the fact that all you knew was four walls and a jumpsuit and a constant fog that shrouded your thoughts with the ever impending question of what is real, what is a lie. You certainly were not the person you once were, but he didn't even spare to think that you were now just a girl with a mind full of cotton and curiosity.

You were just a girl. Not her.

Wordlessly, Yoongi grabbed the sweater, a size too big but you did not care to correct him, taking your wrist with a tight grip and leading you to the front counter.

He never asked you about the colour orange again.