Dead Heart Serendipity

Prologue

prologue: windows

Jongin found himself in a bright crash of morning light in his king-sized bed, with his smell powdered all over the sheets. The sunshine sounded like summer trees brushing, curtains ruffling and frosted windows tapping in an inexplicable cold sensation.

The way he opened his eyes, sweet kiss of breezy air made him slightly flinch in to a soft turn. He looked at the other side of the bed, trying to block away the resemblance of close Las Vegas lights, and bit his lips in a drowsy manner. He blinks a couple of times, discovering how somehow his lids gives a hint of darkness.

He raised himself upward with the same stare, pushing all his weight with his elbow. He scoured his face with his rough palms, bones brushing his hair up. He handled the strong brightness coming from the window as he glared against it, until a silhouette approaches that blocked all the blank whites.

Is this mom? He asks himself, still not getting enough of the image in front of him. "Please, shut that window." He said, pointing the panes and covering his eyes with his other hand, giving him bright pales of beige and pinks between the spaces of his skinny fingers.

"Good morning, Mr. Jongin. I have your requests." The maid slid on the curtains, turned around and greeted him immediately, with a tray on her hand containing a few clutters on it. The same laces of white and fabrics of black clothed all of her for four years; yet it was anew to the latter.

It wasn't her mother. His mother is actually dead, and so is his father; and it just got scribbled in his present mind. He looked around and sighed, finally gaining a good sight of his room. He doesn't remember much of what happened and happens every day, he didn't even remember opening the curtains. He was the only one left between his parents and him, and being the only child, he had his shoulders inheriting all of what they have left.

"Why are you so early?" He irritatingly averted his glare to the maid, scratching the back of his head producing sounds of his flaking scalp.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jongin." The maid apologetically bowed at him. "You were the one who ordered to give these to you once you wake up. I was just following orders." She did another bow, before extending the tray closer to her master.

Jongin was embarrassed, after finally remembering that he said something like that, but he wasn't sure if it was yesterday or the other day. He hands for the tray and placed it in his lap, nodding to the maid as he requested to cover the rest of the windows and to close his door.

He looks at the tray and he saw two papers lying flat on it. He first grabbed the newspaper, grey subdued all over the print, eyes habitually fixed on the November issue's front page. He took up a look at his picture at the center of the spread, wearing a typical white shirt and a pair of old worn-out jeans, which he always believed to be a great fashion keep. With him were the children from his charity, gaining the largest spot on South Korea Today. He reads the title 'Renowned painter auctioned 5 million won painting at the National Gallery for the benefits of his own diseased children charity foundation', which was followed by small texts below that says 'Seoul's modern age finest artist, Kim Jongin, took up the spot of the public's attention as he earns another fortune from his latest masterpiece: Pour cela, je rire, but for the benefits of his good heart charity. He stated himself that "all the proceeds goes to the children, no pennies left behind." during an interview on a late night talk show'. The next line was a direction to the main article, but he didn't bother to open further. He sighed and relaxed his back, upward bones bending down as his muscles placed the newspaper back at the tray.

He pulls the second, which was enveloped in off white base and peach details. He rubbed the surface and sent his finger to his nose—familiar scented paper is it. He hardly inhales air, his stomach and chest forming a curve in his body. As he releases, he flips the envelope and opened it in a robust screech of paper pulling away from glue and more glue. He pulled out and unfolds the paper inside it. His curiosity was flooding in; there was fear hanging at the edge of his eyes.

He imprecisely scanned the paper; looking above the formal alignment of printed texts for the only detail he was interested. 'Kim Jongin is arrangedly married to Do Kyungsoo, in approval of the parents of both parties after a meeting. The event,date and/of the actual marriage cannot be altered by the the two aforementioned individuals due to the agreement, and it is going to be held on the planned date of November 31, 2014.' There were more to read, but Jongin had enough information for him to stop.

He throws the paper away, with teeth clenching violently in a grating tune. His back fell in to his bed, screaming loudly as he firmly embraced the blankets. The situation still hasn't sunk in him, that he will be married to someone he never met, and the worst fact is that his dead parents agreed to it. There was nothing he could do about it, and yes, he remembers the times when he tried to interfere and to stop the arrangement. That was years ago, everything has aged like tea and orchids, yet until now there was no movements that had happened.

He grabs furiously the envelope and crumpled it, but he stopped himself as he felt something was still inside. He opens it wide with two fingers, sees a small piece of paper tucked inside, and when he opened it, the first phrase tells that it was from her deceased mother.

"Jongin, I'm your mother. Please be considerate of our decision, because it is not just for us, it is all for our future. Your father and I came up with it because the Do's are surely going to take good care of our business. I know that you don't want to get in our company, so it was a good opportunity for us to have someone to take our place if ever we can't stand on the ground anymore. The point is, if we have a connection with the Do's, it would be safer. So your father and I and their family had an agreement, and they whole-heartedly went with our plan. I'm sorry, son. I can't do anything else but to trust on you that you will be following this agreement too. I'm also sorry, but I have lawyers and agents that would be taking care of you if ever you won't be obedient of the rules our families have set in. I love you, son. I don't want to be selfish of you, that is why I am doing this."

He was a steel ball circling around fragile emotions; he wanted to scream, to curse loudly, or to kill himself at that instance. "Selfish!?" Jongin shouts, talking to no one but the textures on the ceiling covering the very skies. "You didn't want to be selfish, yet you put me in this shit and I didn't have any chance to say something about it!"

"I hate you for life, mother. And I hope father and you burns in hell! You shits!" He screams louder, long linear of tears started drawing in his face. He buries himself in his bed, the warm salty water and pain burning all of himself up. He was on fire, in anger and in dismay. He has been like that since the day his parents told him the agreement; at first he didn't believe them, but at this time it is all in front of him. He digs deep in further, purposely suffocating his breath and his thoughts away, not knowing what to do. He asks himself on how he is going to save him; will he leave? But the conditions are tight, and there were worldly objects that was still stepping in his feet; the initial things that was holding Jongin at the neck.

♞

The night came, and his crying just ended at this point. He stares out of the window, the one that he supposed to see closed, surfacing damn cold emotions that hollow with the slices of winds through his burning eye skin. He absorbs the strong breeze and darkness, the horror of the summer trees brushing, curtains ruffling and frosted windows raspy tapping.

"If I can't die..." He once again spoke to it in abhorrent undertones, looking up in the starless sky through his desolate eyes. "I'm sorry, mother. But I am going to kill Do Kyungsoo."