It was surreal to think that the morning's events hadn't taken up the entirety of that day.
Looking up to the ceiling, Chanyeol recalled his frightening awakening, Sehun's judging eye, and his trip down memory lane with Jongin.
In retrospect, it felt much longer in comparison to the day before, in which the minutes had flown by, shockingly quickly.
But in reality, what felt like days was merely a few hours, the clock ticking on, consistently.
Zoning out, Chanyeol couldn't help but to reel in the dim light that was filling his empty home, bouncing off of every surface.
The feeling of his heart dropping kept repeating, over and over again.
The man spiralled into what could only be described as a lucid dream.
Air filled his empty stomach and toxic colours swirled in-front of his face. A migraine grew as he looked around, nervously, hyper aware of every disturbance in the shadows. The door loomed over him as if it were a godlike figure, pulsating and distorting in-front of his eyes like tie dye.
He shook his head harshly.
Steadying himself, everything had seemed to go back to normal. The ebony door had stopped writhing in it's place and his mind was lulled back into the serene silence of his apartment.
Rubbing his eyes in annoyance, he walked over to his room. If he just stood there all day he would be left to deal with his growing fears. Having a death date was rather exhausting.
He had been putting off some paperwork concerning a variation of tiring matters. It had been stacking up on his desk like all the plates in Jongin's and Kyungsoo's kitchen; standing tall with all it's glory.
Reaching for the doorknob his blood ran cold.
A female scream.
He pulled his arm back as his eyes flew wide.
The ear piercing screech seemed to have emanated from the apartment beside him.
His head stung. Nausea crept up his throat as he threw away all self regard and concluded what he was about to do.
Pushing himself off of the textured wall, he felt his body sprint towards the exit.
He threw open the door, overtaken with adrenaline, and ran to the right, towards his dear neighbour's home, number 247.
The crushed stones on the balcony grumbled; Chanyeol's brisk footfall slipped around on the lubricating rock, his legs flailing as he ran the short distance from his apartment, number 248.
The incriminating scrawl deatailed the same haunting message as the day before.
The words; 'whore with neglected children' bled through the cracks in the bricks.
He threw himself into the door, knocking harshly, calling out to her through the wood.
"Miss Manoban! Lisa? Are you okay?" He spoke. It was noon, so he didn't have to worry about walking anyone up, speaking as loud as he could, trying not to break out into yells.
Slowly, the door creaked open. The golden chain lock held it shut, allowing only a few inches of insight into the shaded apartment.
A timid, teary, hazel eye could be seen, framed by a thick, sandy, blonde fringe, looking up at Chanyeol with a relived expression. The door shut closed once more and loud jangling could be heard through the wood. The door creaked open again, revealing her in her entirety.
This time, her muted blonde head could be seen in the full. Reaching her collarbones, her hair was messy and unkept. Her eyelashes were curled beautifully, contrasting with the bruised, blue bags underneath her eyes. She smiled welcomingly, yet her body shook.
"I-I apologise, C-Chanyeol... I slipped a-and-" she stuttered, smiling up at him, her arms wrapping around herself in self-comfort.
"Mommy~" drawled a young boy from the other room. His voice was high, but exempted ownership over the distraught damsel.
Lisa Manoban flinched, turning and speed-walking out of the hallway.
Chanyeol hung back slightly, analysing the situation. The damp, previously-cream wallpaper curled at the bases and the red runner under his feet was worn and dusty.
The house stank of mould and decay, yet Lisa's fruity perfume still hung in the air.
Poor Lisa, it seemed as if the accusations to her name had caused her some public backlash; looking down to a side table, he saw many anonymous hate letters, all claiming her demise, spanning from threats to congratulations for being exposed and targeted.
Chanyeol scoffed in disgust. Lisa was only twenty years old; having had her first child, a son, when she was fifteen, she was severely looked down upon. A daughter followed him when she was seventeen and a little boy came next, to whom she had given birth to on her twentieth birthday.
Out of her three children, none of them had been consensual. The young woman was raped at such a young age, yet no one had belived her. The father of the baby had been a man who was very high up in society, and Lisa was blamed for trying to cover up her 'whoreism'.
The other two children were conceived whilst Lisa was 'selling herself'. Being so young, it was very difficult to get a job, having pulled out of school to care for her first born.
Naturally, she had turned to prostitution.
Frowning, Chanyeol walked into the living room.
Lisa's son was sitting up close to the television as the news played. He had worn, black overalls on and his pale, brown hair hung on his shoulders. His face sported an irritating pout as he crossed his arms in displeasure.
Lisa was fretting about in the conjoined kitchen, her hair had been tied up into a messy ponytail; only adding to her beauty. She apologised underneath her breath like it was a prayer, hunting the cupboards for what her children were demanding.
Next to the counter, in the high chair, sat her daughter. She had curly black hair, tied up into a bun, rosy cheeks, and a full nappy was tapered around her waist. She gargled, suckling on a sippy-cup.
Chanyeol cooed at her before averting his gaze back to the television. He presumed that the newborn was sleeping, peacefully, upstairs.
During his few months in the centre he had grown rather fond of Lisa and her children, and tried to give her the support she needed whenever he could. He smiled, letting his shoulder lean against the doorframe.
But that smile didn't last for very long...
