Smiling Killing |Inspired By KILLING STALKING|

|Thirty-One|

|Thirty-One|

It was almost time for the show. But Ah Rin hadn't been answering my calls. Rui and Ryu, fascinated by the somewhat infamous Eui that they hadn't yet seen, had been whining and complaining to me about it.

I had my hair trimmed slightly, rehearsals under way. The theatre was large, over five thousand available seats before me.

I adjusted my microphone and sighed. It wouldn't be the same without Ah Rin here...

I didn't have a crush on Ah Rin. My feelings for her weren't romantic. But instead, they were something...more blood like. Like a family. Like a big brother to his little sister...

That's what she was like. A little sister.

I knew that Do-Yoon called Ah Rin Eonni (Uh-ni)...which made me smile when I thought about it. He was supposed to call her Nuna, because in Korean, if you're a boy you call your older sister 'nuna' and if a girl, call her 'eonni'. He was young, so he didn't really know. But it made it that much more cuter.

There was a time that Ah Rin called me 'oppa', older brother. But that seemed so long ago now...

"You alright?" Tae asked me as he bumped my shoulder.

I faulted before I nodded, rolling my shoulders and grinning. "I'm on stage, how can I not be alright?"

Tae gave me a hard look behind his glasses, as if he was going to argue.

Suddenly, something pounced and latched itself onto my back, making me stumble but not fall.

"Come on Aeshi! Cheer up!"

I couldn't help but laugh softly and I shook Rui off of me. He was crazy sometimes, but always managed to make me smile.

"I'm ready" Akin said as he rolled his massive shoulders.

These guys weren't just my partners. They were my life. The parts of me that made me whole. But at the centre - the centre piece, wasn't here.

Ah Rin...

They were right. I shouldn't worry. We had a show to do. And she had Min-Hyo. She would be fine.

"Okay" I said with a sigh, adjusting my microphone. I raised my arm, smiling. "One two three four!"

Music blasted from the speakers, and the boys and I sung to my hearts content, letting go our worries and getting lost in the music in front of rows and rows of emptiness.

•\•\•

My hands were tied behind my back. But I had been like this for days. Or maybe weeks. Only god really knew.

The truck tumbled and bounced across the rocky and sandy roads on the Middle East. The sound was almost deafening. The back of the dusty truck was full of more girls like me, gagged, heads down and hands tied behind them. All with the same look of dread in their eyes. Some were in tears, some just still. Sand and dust stuck to them, got in all the cracks and crevasses. But the feeling was almost confronting.

I had been beaten. Broken. Abused. Part of me couldn't stop shaking. Every inch of me aches and burn from the force that had been beaten down on me. I still had bruises, large hard bumps that's screamed out as the truck swayed and jostled me. Dried blood over the cuts and gashes all over my wrists and ankles, even around my neck.

I had been taken across the Middle East, sold from a dodgy south Scandinavian homeless shelter since I was a little girl, forced to be the toy or plaything to so many guys. I didn't even know my own blood language - I only knew English, which is what I had picked up during my years of being passed around.