FOOLS

Chapter 4

His mother's white dress washed over his eyes. Her back standing tall, reaching up the open sky above her. He trembled. He held his hand out, yearning for her to come back and hold him again. But she never did, she never came back. Auburn hair swept over her shoulder, her thin arms elongating with dozens of golden bangles. Beside her was a man of a good stature and clothing. He had a hand possessively on her exposed back as he ushered her away.

"Eomma," he called out in a voice as loud as a child can muster up. His voice was lost in the commotion of the world. The two people before his eyes vanished. And he was alone in the darkness.

The young man bolted up from his bed. It was late at night, the moon remain unmoving from its pedestal. Sweat covered his face and body, but he felt chills from everything. He hid his face in both hands, not again, he thought. This nightmare would follow him for as long as he's alive. There hadn't been a night where he didn't see that woman's face. Either in a pleasant dream, or something as painful as that memory.

He looked around, the room was vacant except for his bed, a nightstand, and a closet. Strange because it had been his room for as long as he could remember. Decorations were useless because he was rarely home, and he only used this room to sleep. The curtains did a terrible job of covering the nightlight. From his bed, he could make out the outline of buildings and strings of lights from the streets. It was one of the only things he had ever likes, the view of the city at night. It was when he felt most alive, and powerful. In the shadows and cracks of places people would never expect.

His phone read that it was 2:34 in the morning. He felt too exhausted to go back to bed, his mind wouldn't be able to handle the solidarity of sleeping. The slippers were lost underneath the pile of his clothes. He stared at them through the pitch black of night. Stained scattered strategically to kill on his clothes. Not his own blood, of course, but it would still be a pain to clean them up.

He shuffled to the bathroom, face unchanged when he saw the scratched on his cheeks. "Son of a bitch," he said aloud. At the moment of the incident and even now, he didn't feel the pain. It was supposed to have been an easy deal, but someone from the other side decided to see who was stronger in combat. A few scratched won't compare to the damage he did to the man. He chuckled, poking his tongue inside his cheek.

The shower steam filled the bathroom. He didn't move, allowing the water to slide off his body, washing any blood he had missed from the clean up. He wanted to shower before sleeping, but his body slumped down on the bed and his eyes shut automatically. Sometimes he wished sleeping wasn't a necessity for humans to function. First off, it's a waste of time. Human spends half of their lives doing literally nothing. He likes to imagine the advancement society would make if no one slept, maybe that's why he likes working at night. The other reason are the dreams. He hated them, dreaded the moment his mind wandered to something that he had purposely suppressed. Dreams were supposedly to show something that your heart desires. But he couldn't understand why he would want to see images of that woman, it disgusts him.

The light in the kitchen was on. Instinctively, he grabbed the closest weapon to him, which was the kendo sword he had displayed outside the bathroom. He raised it up, high over his head and proceeded quietly. Once he got closer, the heard water running and vegetables being chopped. Still in a dazed, he rushed to the kitchen and yelled.

"You brat, you're being too loud." a voice nagged. He dropped the sword back down to his side. The woman didn't look back at him and continued to focus on the task at hand, chopping onions. He never feared anything, but watching her working so diligently with the knife was something to be fearful about.

"What are you doing here?" he asked slowly.

"I work for you, you ungrateful child." Her hair was tied back in a low bun, he could see strands of silver locks intertwine with her youth. He sighed a little, it tugged him knowing that everything grows and they'll grow old.

"I know, but why are you up now?" he asked.

"Jeon Jungkook, I've taken care of you for 5 years now. I know your sleeping habits and I know when you're hungry. Which is all the time." she answered.

Jungkook scoffed, walking to the kitchen island and grabbed an apple. The woman slapped it out of his hand. "I'm cooking you a meal, just wait a little bit."

"You didn't have to wake up, ajumma. I could have made something for myself." She finally looked at him. Her eyes lit up under the kitchen chandelier. He could make out rows of wrinkles by her eyes and her smile.

"It's okay, I like cooking for you." she answered. Jungkook remained seated by the island. He had always liked watching her cook. Though he could only see her back, he somehow felt comforted by it. And because every time she turns around, she would be holding a dish that he loves. "You got back earlier than expected last night."

"Yeah, it was easier than we thought." he answered, being completely honest.

"But you still got hurt, didn't you?"

"It's nothing. It'll heal soon."

"Whatever you say." Ajumma was someone he found when he bought the house. He needed someone to clean and cook for him. At first, he was determined to keep his life private but it began getting hard because he would come home late and sometimes stained with blood. Ajumma didn't care about what he does as his business, he just didn't like seeing him hurt. He still never explicitly told her about his occupation, but she could pick up the hints. They go about their day not discussing anything but having a mutual understanding of each other.

She placed the food in front of his and watch him drool. He immediately dug in, not waiting for any approval. As she watched him, she thought about how no matter what he does in his own life, he's still a kid and needs someone to take care of him. The world had been cruel to him enough.

But Jungkook knew, he would be alone no longer.