Business || TK

I

A wave of pain coursed through Taehyung's body as another kick landed on his stomach. His whole body was stiff — stiff from the numerous punches and kicks he faced, all from his own father who sneered down at his pathetic body. He should be used to it. But, unfortunately, he didn't think that he would ever be numb to the feeling — it would remain familiar, yes, but even the thought would always bring pain to him.

Blood began to drip out from the corner of his mouth. Bruises formed mostly on his face an limbs, and less on his torso. His monster of a father figured that hitting the place where his vital organs were would most likely kill him, and he still needed his son to earn money. As it is in both of their favor if the young male was alive, subsequently, he kept the latter on the edge of death every time, not enough to tip over but enough to know the certain limits. Plus, makeup does wonders.

The brunet was practically a prostitute. After almost a decade in the ring, his skills and knowledge broadened in that particular field, however, he never developed a liking to his "profession" — in fact, this only made him hate it more. The sole reason why he got this far was to avoid the beating from his father, his superior. And by the looks of it, he has done something undesirable. Again.

Taehyung tried to stand up, but failed to do so when his right hand, the one that attempted to support his frail body, slipped on the crimson puddle below him. His skin was tender, yet his eyes closed in preparation for the impact as his body slammed against the rough ground, a loud thud following after. His whole right arm hurt, as though he snapped a bone in half. A hard kick made him lay on his back, silently gaping at the pain with his eyes now open and a sharp gasp escaping his dry mouth.

"You should've just let the client had his way with you!" a loud voice bellowed, but it all seemed muted to the young male.

He wanted to protest, to say something, to create a noise, but a sound never left his lips, nor did they twitch in the slightest. His throat was arid. It was hard for him to breathe, more when he tried to talk or produce any kind of sound. He only closed his eyes again and hoped that whatever that'll happen tomorrow would end his misery. He didn't care if he got kicked out of his own home, or if he ended up in the home of someone else, he wanted an escape from his father — from this nightmare, and he was desperate for it.

"Now, sleep. You have an early shift tomorrow," and with that, footsteps began to fade away into the distance, leaving a weak, bruised up brunet on the floor.

Taehyung found himself laying on his cool, hard bed the next day. A thin sheet of cloth, his very own blanket, struggled to keep him warm and it always did a terrible job. With a painful grunt, he sat up, wincing when his ass met the stiff, already torn mattress. One of his hands went up to ruffle his already messy brown hair as he yawned — albeit with another wince.

The male stood up, limping all the way to the bathroom. His feet touched the cold tiled floor of the shower, trying his best not to slip on the little puddles of water. The freezing water startled him when it met his fair skin, harshly poking it rather than gently caressing it with its coldness. He flinched, not once nor twice, but many times when the frigid liquid came in contact with his bluish-purple bruises.

After he dried himself and brushed his teeth, he immediately covered the marks with a foundation that miraculously matched his honey-like skin tone. When he finally looked like nothing happened, he applied light makeup on his face that highlighted his best features, adequate enough to lure in men with money. With a satisfied and tired sigh, he stood up and went to his tiny cabinet to look for the best set of lingerie he had, which was pretty much everything in his closet. He picked the black set, a black bralette and underwear with thin laces, and a black choker with the same hue but had tiny details and a crescent moon pendant hanging on the front.

After he wore the very little clothing, one could even say it was his "uniform", he covered it with a dark blue hoodie and ripped jeans, carefully pulling the thick fabric over his head as to not waste his effort, and paired it with simple dark gray shoes. He packed a bag full of extra clothes, in case of accidents, not forgetting his out-of-date phone and charger. The strap of his bag clung onto his shoulder in a graceful manner when he slung it over. He jogged out of his cramped room, to the stairs, and unto the kitchen. He quickly grabbed an apple, holding it with between his teeth while he looked for an empty water container to fill his milk in.

One bite, two bites, he opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk.

Third bite, he poured some until the liquid reached the middle section of the bottle.

Fourth bite, he closed the bottle and placed the milk back in the fridge. The house was silent as he looked around the shiny countertop and the various fruits on display.

Fifth bite, he ran out of his home with an apple in his right and the bottle on the other, not bothering to lock the gates, in hopes that his father would encounter violent robbers.

Sixth bite, he jogged farther away from the building to reach his workplace.

One bite, two bites, three bites. Taehyung passed by the park that he used to loiter in.

Finishing the remains of the apple, he stood before the backdoor. Soaking up as mush sunlight as he could, he threw the core of the apple in the correct bin and eventually went inside the establishment.

That was his routine each working day, which was almost everyday. Even on his birthday, he worked. As if he was the most important and special employee, that he had to work from day to the break of dawn, without proper rest, aside from the stroke of luck that he was allowed to sleep at home. And if he was lucky enough, if he served more customers than he usually did, he would get to visit his cousins and a special someone during the day or late at night.

He strode across the empty hallway, a few steps from his assigned room. He was an early bird, so he rarely shared the silence of the early morning.

"Have you all practiced for the big performance?" a feminine voice spoke after the backdoor opened.

And rarely do they have a timely arrival. But who would care? He sighed and rushed to his designated area. He gently closed the door without a sound, avoiding any chance to talk with his coworkers — not wanting to form some sort of attachment to the awful place, to what he called hell.

Placing his bag on the worn-out brown couch, he looked around at the room he became accustomed to after years of occupation in the room. Taehyung loosened the cap of the container and drank his milk. Chocolate brown eyes gazed at the lavender walls that gave off a pleasant vibe, even in a room that seemed minutes away from collapsing. A big shattered mirror on his right, surrounded with flickering Christmas lights, hung on the wall across from a medium-sized table and chair that looked like they were about to come apart. A small cabinet on the other side of the sofa stood as proudly as it could with chipped off corners and paint that was peeling off. And last, but not least, the plain, but sturdy wooden door on his left.

"Hey, Kim!" someone from outside yelled, "You're up next!" followed by a series of knocks that annoyed the young male.

He sighed as he pulled the empty bottle away from his face and wiped the milk moustache away with the back of his hand. The brunet stood up and walked the short distance between him and the cabinet, opening the creaking door to pull out a plain white robe. He stripped and folded the hoodie and jeans neatly, just to force it in the already full bag. With carefulness, he walked to the backstage barefooted and took his robe off, placing the soft material on the large amplifier, one that was half his height.

He brushed his hair back with his fingers in an attempt to make it look better. A breath of self-consciousness left his mouth, and he walked out into the open to do his work with no personal feelings holding him back. After all, business was business.