Life Is Ecstacy - Yoongi FF

Communicational Errors

I wake up the next day in a bed I don't recognise. Alive. Not dead.
All of a sudden I hear a familiar voice inside my head.

You idiot. Why didn't you die? You don't deserve life. Your a fucking bastard. Now what? Do you think anything going to change?? All your good for is dying. Just fucking die!

I try my best to block it out. It doesn't get easier though. Not even after fifteen years...

I look around the room. It's small enough to be a little, cheap, motel room but it's customised in such a way that I know it's not.
There are clothes on the bed and no artsy / cheap paintings on the walls.

I get up, remembering the man who saved me, last night. The one who caught me and let me see life flash before my eyes without dying...
He must have bough me here. He must have...

I look down and I'm glade to see that I'm not naked - I am still fully clothed in the jeans and white shirt from last night- and I don't feel more horrible than I normally do in the morning.

I give out a sigh of relief before getting up and opening up the closest door to me.
I look inside to see a small bathroom, it was decorated with blue and white tiles, a mirror taking up a whole wall with fluffy towels hanging next to the narrow glass shower next to a plain porcline toilet.
It was small, simple and cute.

I sigh again - something I do quite often - before looking back at the clothes on my bed.
I'll admit that I needed a shower just in case I bumped into the man who "saved" me on my way out.

So I grab the clothes and walk into the bathroom, stepping into the shower and trying to figure out how to turn it on.
After the water finally hit my skin at a temperature that was comfortable, I start rubbing myself with soap.

I don't even realise that I've drifted off in my own mind until I hear a knock on the door.
I hate when that happens. I'll be sitting down and then I'll be lost in nothing. It's worse when I'm drunk, which luckily isn't often.

I call out for him to give me a minute but when I think back to the language I couldn't understand while he was speaking last night, he probably doesn't even understand.
I hope he's good at reading tones of voice.

I get out of the shower, not bothering to dry my hair and just quickly drying off and throwing on last nights underwear, the hoodie and shorts he had given my before opening the door.

He is taller than me by about two inches and his black hair frames his face. He's wearing a blue jacket with a black shirt underneath and a pair of jeans.

I don't know why but I can't look him in the eye. Out of the corner of my eye I see him go to say something and then stop, instead gesturing to outside the bathroom: to follow him.

I follow him out into a large hallway decorated with what looked like sheet music until we reached a luxurious lounge next to a marble countertop bar that led into the kitchen.
There's a large grand piano in the corner of the room that catches my eye and I wonder if he plays often.

He gestures towards the large, white lether couch and I take I seat, holding my hands in my lap carefully.
He sat down a few cushions over, resting his arms on his knees and fiddling with his thumbs, looking over occasionally.

All I can hear is the very faint sounds, from down below the apartment building, cars beeping and driving, as I look around at anything but him. I try to think about anything other than the voices in my head and instead focus in how rich and expensive this house is.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him pull out his phone and, out of curiosity, watch him.
He pulls up Siri, asking it something before placing it down on the glass coffee table in front of us, pushing it slightly towards me.