"Oh, and believe me, she was well aware of the circumstance in which she had placed herself in. For she knew that her hands were intertwined with the broken boy himself as they pranced, but that was her fault. A fault in which she decided to see the...
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10: Wrong Side of the Tracks Act 1, scene 10
As told by Reuben
NEITHER OF US say a thing— and surprisingly, I'm thankful for that.
We find ourselves situated back in our apartment, specifically the living room and kitchen area. Jimin, who has vocalized nothing to me, indirectly does so by gesturing for me to sit down on one of the couches with his head.
I perch myself at the end of the couch, but I feel my weight cause the piece of crap couch to sink down a bit. Usually, by the couch doing so I get annoyed by it, but this time, however, I mentally pray in my head that it will sink down further down and swallow me up as an excuse to vacate from this upcoming confrontation.
Because an angry Jimin is a scary Jimin.
At the corner of my vision, I notice Jimin leaving the living room area. I'm curious of where he's heading off for a second, but then I realize that I shouldn't dare to turn my head to see. Though when I hear the fridge open and slam shut seconds after the interval, it already answers my question without me having to look.
Jimin appears in front of me once again, this time with a bottle of soju accompanying him. Still, he says nothing to me, and all of his concentration is poured into his guilty pleasure. He twists the gap off and brings the bottle to his lips in order to drink. He tilts his head back subtly and he chugs for a couple of seconds while his eyes shift to me. They don't leave until he places the bottle and cap on the coffee table between us.
Still, he says nothing, and I don't have the confidence either to start to whatever this is. He places his two fingers to pinch the area between his eyebrows and sighs with his eyes screwed shut. After what feels like an eternity, he opens his eyes once again and his eyes bore into mine.
"What the hell were you th-"
"I'm sorry," I interrupt. However, the words in which I had just proclaimed and the words inside of my head were different. I should've stood up for myself and explained, questioned him instead because I've been getting suspicious of him lately.
Though even if I explained myself, though even if profess my crimes, I know what Jimin is like. I know that he will twist my words around, round them up, and pour them back on my tongue like a wasp stung it.
I find it easier to apologize to him than to start an argument with him, because arguing with him will make no difference in the interval when it comes to the destination of assimilation. It will result in him raising his voice, getting up more than once for me to only hear the fridge slam shut and him chugging down another bottle of soju. On the other hand, it will result in tears blooming around my eyes, a smeraldo flower being planted in the garden that resides in the shadows of my soul.
