THE ORANGE GIRL

chapter thirteen

Tuesday, 3rd November 2015

1:12AM | Clan of Clandestine, Base Four

Eyes wide, heart hammering, you could sense Kiyoung hovering to the side of your shoulder, staring at your hand that seemed as though it held an earthquake in its palm. The trembles would not stop no matter how much you willed them to still, and so without further wait, you inhaled shakily and finally lunged your fingers at the door, grasping the handle and yanking it down. But your feeble endeavour at exiting the confined room of fluorescent light and white, peeling walls was silenced with a hard click, the hinges unmoving.

The two of you were locked inside.

Your hand slipped from the icy silver metal as you stumbled back, the hold of your younger brother grappling onto your upper arms for once not channeling any warmth into your system. You felt bone cold, a slab of ice floating in an endless Arctic ocean, and you knew that the only thing that could save you now was a boat drifting among the surf, arms reaching out from the belly that belonged to blonde hair and iron flecked eyes. Suddenly, you were overwhelmed with a sense of the chilling fear that you should have been experiencing since the moment Yoongi declared your unavoidable demise.

You were going to die, yet you found yourself now wanting, needing to live.

The panic flared from a flame of candlelight into a wildfire that coursed through your nerves in erratic fear. Without conscious thought, your clenched fists started to slam against the slab of steel that blocked your only pathway to freedom, beating your hands bloody and raw as the shiny surface attained splatters of crimson, drying to appear like rust. It was not until a hand was clamping around your mouth that you realised the sharp sound of metal against metal was in fact your own screams, lungs abraded by the single name that you called for, and then you were dragged back with a strong arm around your waist, holding you against warmth that was nothing alike to the one you craved. Kiyoung held you until you stopped thrashing, letting you carve the sound of murder into the lines of his palm until you were breathless of any voice, of all hope. Once you had leaned back into his chest, limp with exhaustion, he slipped his hand away from your lips.

"What do we do?" You whispered hoarsely into the stale air, eyelashes wet and sticking together. Kiyoung turned you so that your nose was pressed against his collarbone, his arms wrapping firmly around your shoulders.

"I don't know, Y/N," Kiyoung muttered into your dishevelled hair, fingertips running through the tangled ends in an attempt to settle your frigid bones. "We just hope that he comes."

Confused, you leaned back to look up at his soft expression. "Who?"

"The boy you were calling for," Kiyoung said. "Min Yoongi."

Your brother frowned at the way you solemnly shook your head, a small smile stretching at your lips in none other than an agony so deep that he almost crushed you back into his ribs, just so he did not have to witness the painful way in which you looked at him again. The sound of your voice was quiet, harmless and empty.

"The thing about Min Yoongi is that he wanted me dead just as badly as I wished to be."

Kiyoung widened his eyes at that. "And do you still want to die?"

But before you could answer, a hurried rattling distracted you from your response, and then there was piercing silence. The boy embracing you was staring worriedly over your shoulder, and as you turned to look at the now motionless handle that was undoubtedly being shaken just seconds ago, the steel door suddenly swung open like an arm swooping out in greeting, but there was certainly nothing welcoming about the sight that suddenly charged into the room.