diet of lies

Chapter 2~ Jung Hoseok

THE CHIME TO THE DOOR RINGS AND I KNOW SHES TOO FAR FROM ME TO EVEN TRY RUNNING AFTER HER.
I purse a heavy grumble past my tongue. With sparse trembles, I roll onto my side barely gaining enough energy to get up and steadily carry myself to the faculty bath room. I'm squeezing my neck, stuck with the unpleasant, yet familiar, feeling of blood soaking between the valleys of my fingers and gathering in clumps beneath my nail beds.

    I flick on the lights. The mirror is cloudy, and doesn't show my face. I only see my once grey shirt, caked and stained brown. And my hair, sticky with sweat, and nested dust bunnies. Overall I look like I belong in a 90's horror film. I timidly move my hand an inch away from my skin.
    "F-fuck...." My voice cracks.  It's worse than I thought. I can even seen the whiteness of my skin. It's paleness is suffocated by sprinkles of dirt and endless red.  Slowly, I make my way to one of the many places we stash first aid kits, and start the grueling process of bandaging myself up.

    I hear hefty footsteps coming from above me. Mr. Wan is enclosing.
     "Hoseok?" His old voice hollers.
"Y-yeah," I crack. It hurts to much to talk.
    "Hob- What the hell happened?" Mr. Wan saunters towards me. I watch him with hazy sight. I look back down at the kit on the floor and grab the disinfectant spray. Mr. Wan plops down next to me and pulls the first aid kit onto his lap.
   "Face me boy," He takes the spray out of my hands.
"Put your hand down, let me see it,"
I know that's its best to do as he tells me.
   "Gaesaekki." He exhales exhaustion. "What's ever goes though that goddamn head of yours boy!"
Mr. Wan sprays my neck and wipes it harshly with a towel. "AI!" I gasp, wriggling away from him, frowning.
    "This," he motion to all the blood, "was cutting it too damn close. You could've died from this Hoseok, what the fuck were you doin'?"
I don't answer him. I don't know how well it will resonate with him if I told him that a girl did this. With the lack of him pressing me more, I see that he respects my decision not to say anything.

****

           I am directly faced with the rain, pouring rigidly like bullets. I sloppily throw my leather jacket to barely enclose my shoulders. The tip-off from the building offers some shelter from the weather.  I bite my lip. The aroma out here is just the same as inside; the musk sticks dryly in the wind even against the moist draft.
I sigh leaning against the damp brick wall of the thrift store and pull out a square metal lighter from my back pocket. My fingers search for the cigarette I have towed behind my ear. I hold it gently between my lips and sweep my thumb over the lighters head, flipping it open. My free hand covers the cigarette from the elements as I ignite it.
I inhale the addicting sweetness of the cancer stick and then exhale deeply. The smoke splinters from my mouth, and expels my temper as well as its' beautiful poison.
    "How do I begin to tell the guys?" I talk to no one in particular.
My head rolls back till it feels the hardness of the cold brick. But I quickly hiss in pain, as my neck reminds me that I shouldn't have done that.
I swipe a few more long puffs before I toss what's left onto the wet asphalt, and drown the bud into a puddle with my boot.

            Walking back inside, I sling the misty jacket onto a random chair and pace back to the main floor. I see a new empty cart in place of the one that black haired girl took.
He knows.
I rub the back of my shoulder, walking back over to the scene that occurred earlier.  There's glass everywhere, as well as bodily fluids. I sigh, "l guess I'll clean this up then."

    It took me a painstaking hour to scrub all the blood out of the old wooden floors.
I stand up after brushing the last pieces of glass into a dust pan and dispose of it into the trash, and well as all the blood soaked rags. I make a mental reminder to myself that I will need to burn the trash later and get rid of the evidence.

    After putting away the mop and cleaning equipment, I stumble upstairs into the loft. I walk straight into Mr. Wan's office and plop onto the shitty red sofa, applying ice to my neck to reduce any swelling that can occur.  Mr. Wan clicks the mouse to his laptop like I'm not here.
    "I know," He says sternly, breaking the silence. "I know exactly what happened."
He doesn't even make eye contact. Making the atmosphere feel more troubling. I choke. My heart drops.
He knows? He- knows.... Fuck. The security cameras.
   "You... You faked not knowing what happened to me?"
Then the realization hits me like a train.
"YOU WATCHED HER LEAVE WITH THE TAPES!" I scream against the pain in my neck. Mr. Wan gently rises up from behind his desk. His dead eyes sharpen on me.
"You put us in danger!" My posture stiffen and I sit upright.
"You, Hoseok..." Mr. Wan has snatches a fist-ful of my shirt, lifting me off the cushion. "...Are the only danger. You disgust me sometimes Hoseok." He looks away and scoffs. I fall back onto the sofa.
    "You are not to retrieve those tapes. Understand me."

"Whats going on?" A scrappy patch of navy hair appears behind Mr. Wan. Its Namjoon.
Bloods seeping from my wound, and down my chest.
"He let a girl have the tapes!" I stumble in front of Namjoon, grabbing his shoulders for support.
"You shouldn't have touched her." Mr.Wan snuffs. He sits back down into his chair behind his desk.
Namjoon eyes widen. "What did you do Hoseok?" He's mad.
"Nothing he should be proud of," Yoongi's voice becomes known. His long fingers wrap around the doorway to his office. Our youngest, Jungkook, follows suit.
    "What do you two do all day? Watch the fucking cameras like it's cable television?" I hiss at him.
Yoongi doesn't respond, he just runs his pale fingers through his blonde hair.
    "The tapes from the green crate?" Jungkook's voice pitches. I stare at him painfully and barely nod my head. Namjoon watches me.
"I'm not done with you Hobi," He digs his pointer finger into my chest.
"How did this even happen?" Namjoon directs himself at Mr.Wan.
"Why don't you ask him?" Mr.Wan raises his eyebrows at me.
I grunt, whisking myself back onto the sofa
    "What was I supposed to do? She was looking at the tapes! Aren't I supposed to protect them? Isn't that what we all decided on? To keep them safe?" I point my finger around the room accusingly. "This isn't my fault anyways," I claim ardently. "Those tapes never should of have been on the floor- and I didn't put them there. Therefore, this could of been avoided if one of you idiots left them where they were safely tucked away." I say.
Mr.Wan huffs out a small laugh. It makes his shoulders bounce.
    "I put them there." He says with no guilt.
Everyone stares at him in disbelief.
"I felt that it was necessary, " He shrugs, shifting his weight to be more comfortable.
Namjoon grips my shoulder roughly. I look at him. He exhales, rubbing his temples still trying to grasp the situation.
"I hope you did the right thing, Mr. Wan," I boom curtly. I jerk my body so Namjoon's not touching me any more. I stand up cautiously from the sofa.
"For the damned sake of us all."