Into Your World (ON HOLD)

Chapter Two

“You!” my hoarse tone breathed out. Getting back on my feet to properly face him.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” he said, giving me a complete body check from head to toe.

“Yes! You ripped me off!” I explained, becoming angrier and angrier as my memory increases.

Three years back, when I thought I was at the zenith of my career, this jackass bought one of my artworks. And for a good price if you ask me. Silly me, believed that he would wire the money over into my bank account but a week after I mailed him my exquisite creation, I never heard from him again. Meaning he didn’t pay the three thousand he owed me. This artwork was the star of my collection. It took months of labour that I sacrificed knowing that, at the end of the extensive time period, I would be paid off for all of my hard work.

Son of a bitch. I swore to myself if I ever saw him again, I would make him pay me back. That canvas took a long time to paint and it was beautiful. He continued his expressionless stare until I broke from our pissing contest to give him a jump start.

“I don’t know you. I’d remember you..” He replied with a wink, puckering his lips together into a strong smirk.

“Are you being serious right now?”

There was no response from him.

“You bought my painting a couple years back? The one worth thousands of dollars and months of my time? No?” I spoke clearly, trying to contain myself, my fists clenched at my sides.

Is he mentally deficient?

I held my arm out on the mantle of the door, “You didn’t pay me back!”

His hands clapped together and he yelps in surprise, almost as if he was being entertained. It was painful, watching him go through a combination of emotions. First: remembrance, second: amusement then finally: solemnity.

“That’s right. Byun Baekhyun, Chicago, 2011. I remember you.” He told me, giving my body a once-over before meeting my eyes again. His stare was appreciative yet calculated, like he was observing my worth as opposed to the wealth of an artwork.

“You’re painting was lovely.” He nods, completely oblivious of my rage.

What is his deal?

“How many people have you ripped off?” I ask, almost too scared to know the answer but my curiosity getting the better of me.

He giggles covering his mouth as if I had caught him with his hands in the cookie jar. “Too many to think back on.”

I scoff, subconsciously forgetting as to why I’m at his doorstep. I think back on what he has said. My painting was lovely?

“Was? What do you mean ‘was’?” I ask, mentally preparing myself for a deceptive retort.

“A friend of mine didn’t like it. So he set fire to it. It’s gone now. Poof.” he explains while floating his hands up with a crazy look in his eyes before giggling.

Oh my god. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Nothing’s wrong with me. I just couldn’t control my friend.” He pouts like a scolded child.

I can vividly recall the time spent on the painting. Each brush stroke made, every colour used, now all gone to waste.

“I’m going to overlook this, for now.” I spit, knowing that if he tells me anymore I might do something I regret. “What’s your name? You real name?”