Wingman

Cinderella

Chapter Three

[2 hours before Kim Taehyung gets slapped]

I'm sad. I'm not depressed. My heart feels like it's no more. But I'm not depressed. I'm not the type to self-prescribe or diagnose. So, I feel this terrible, earth-ripping crap at my chest to equalize as a bad break-up. Why does it feel more? Why does it make my knees cave in, my stomach turn, and my eyes water on and on and on and on? I can't even focus on the lights, the music, the fucking beautiful ball-room banquet Pela took forever to decorate for me. For me. The birthday girl. I'm the birthday girl, and yet I'm far from being close to joyful. I'm struck with pain and waterworks. The birthday girl. Me. I can't even stare at my own fucking cake for too long without thinking about Oki, his lies, and his eyes that tried for apologies—apologies I only broke further for. He doesn't care, he says he does but he doesn't. He never loved me. If he had, he wouldn't have fucked another. He wouldn't have. I cry, I weep. But on the surface of my cheeks I don't. They're dry, my eyes are dark from slight makeup that runs. But no one sees that I'm sad. Everyone stares at the large cake. The lights are dark. Everyone's having fun, screaming, and when I cut the cake, flashes of cameras take me in. I imagine when they see those photos later, they'll catch that I'm crying. Oh, what a sweet surprise for them later. I'm broken. I don't care. I'm collecting an ocean at my eyes. I'm the birthday girl.

"Please look at me?" There's agony in his low whisper.

My upper lip twitches. You're angry, you're hurting. But at most, you're numb and can't move when Oki's arms drapes around your hips. The same arms you used to feel protected and warm in, now, his touch making you feel the need to vomit on his boots.

"Fuck off," you say under your breath, hating that he came with you here. Ripping away from his hands and straying away into the darkness of the ballroom, your blurred vision catches Pela's confused eyes, while the others clap and smile waiting for cake to be distributed.

As Oki says your name, Pela stands before him with hard eyes. "What did you do," she snaps, low under her breath, the music for the DJ low, crowds chatter.

"None of your business," Oki grumbles, ripping away from the dark-skinned woman about to claw his dress shirt open with tugs.

"Oki, don't you dar—"

"Let me handle this," he says over his shoulder, "You entertain and hope no one grows curious."

There is hate and dislike in Pela's eyes. She knows what's to come, she knows she should be going after you. But she doesn't. Because, at the end of the day no matter how much she loves you, Oki is right. This is none of my business, no matter how strongly I try to make it be.

You don't run off too far. Hands on yours as you trip towards the large white doors. Cinderella with a jerk of a prince following her at midnight, that's what Oki and you mimic in this moment. And when he turns you around and sees you crying, you don't have a glass slipper to hit him over the head with. Instead, you flinch and struggle and there's water at his eyes when holding you. "P-Please, don't embarrass yourself in front of all your friends. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

"How about never?"

"Listen—"

"No," you snap, succeeding in your fall backwards, "I'm done listening. We're done you cheating asshole. Never touch me again." With that, you're a shaking mess as you wipe your cheeks that are back to being watery messes.

Running, your heels are loud, but none fall off. You're glad. You're no princess.

There are bodies of men in black. Different styles. Some wear jeans, some wear pants. Jungkook is within them. He's one of your closest friends but you don't see him because of the liquid at your eyes, and he doesn't see you because of the shades he still obnoxiously wears. The other 3, the other 5 are complete strangers so you don't care to stare for their faces—although handsome.

In the hall, the main hall where many enter still. You run and remember where the restroom was earlier. The same restroom where you had touched your eye-makeup at prior. It was a routine. It was something you needed to get used to. The act of crying was an ongoing practice at this point.

As you move, your hair falls from the bun you fail to keep intact. Your mascara is running again and the sniffles you have don't hide the sound of snot building. Tripping forward and keeping balance, a fault of another boy. Another boy is to blame for the crash the enacts next. He's tall, an average tall. He's skinny. He's in oversized jeans a salmon top, and a fuzzy cardigan that is grey.

Your mascara brushes onto his clothing, smearing over with your tears that darken the grey. His breath shakes, your eyes widen. You gasp, and he holds your forearms with a chuckle, about to look down at the one girl who bumps into him. Before he can, before you can look to him, you flinch away and run where you were going.

Running, your heels are loud, but none fall off. You're glad. You're no princess.

Kim Taehyung watches the back of the girl who leaves him. Brows furrowing and smile faltering in light strokes, he sees the colour at his clothing. But before he can question it, he sees one object that lingers behind. An earring. Stuck and dangling long from his cardigan that clutches it tight. His eyes soften. Taking it into his hands, he looks back over to the side only to see her no longer seen. Hands in his pockets, the silver earing follows—now in his possession.

"Yo, hurry in." Jin calls for him.

With a smile, Taehyung finds his expression to widen when he excitedly see who his friends have found. Laughing, Taehyung doesn't notice the tears Oki swallows in as he pats his back and greets him. "Well, would you look at that! Why are you here?"

"W-What're you doing here?" Oki stares at Taehyung long, before he looks to the others he's never met.

Taehyung smirks. "I should be asking you! You know the birthday girl or something?"