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Chapter 6 - Adaline Seitz

Sagging against the wall just shy of the entrance of my flat, I let myself slide to the floor with a deep exhale and lean my head on the stiff surface behind me. The hallway is barren, lights above not sensing any motion and turning off one after the other like redundant tabs of a web browser.

Resting my forearms on my knees, I allow the darkness to engulf me as if it's the mouth of that giant serpent from Norse mythology and focus on the sounds surrounding me.

The distant shriek of an ambulance siren rushing through the desolate streets, the desperate barks of my neighbour's dog, the soft hum of air steadily travelling through my nose while I breathe. It's a serene atmosphere on the blurred line between late night and early morning.

Clamping my hand over my puffy lips that still imprison his distinctive taste when I dare lick them, I release a muffled laugh that tears through my whole figure. Realisation strikes me, my expression morphing to horror as I glide my fingers through the withered tendrils of my dewy hair.

I kissed a man that isn't my fucking boyfriend.

My job description didn't dictate me to please him, there was no fat bankroll I'd gracefully take after the finished session with a lacklustre smile painted on my face. There was only him and me, acting like teenagers and freezing our asses off in one of the worst downpours of the month.

For fuck's sake, I'm being a drama queen because of a stranger that showed up to satiate my mind and give my body what it desperately craved for. I shouldn't grant him any significance other than that he truly has impeccable timing.

Yeontan was cute though, I'll miss his little snout.

Time to move on and face Yoongs without a single won hiding in the envelope I bring whenever I come from work. Planting my palms on the wall, I engage the muscles that threaten to give up under me since they have no proper support but manage to stand up, steadily regaining control of myself.

The shifting light of the TV doesn't greet me as I expect it to, letting me admire the silence as I start peeling off the clothes sticking to me like painless wax strips. After a few minutes of muffled cursing accompanied by a couple of soft thuds, I'm only in my knickers and pleading to become warm.

My breath gets caught in my throat and I skid to an abrupt halt when I make my way into the living room, clutching my chest to keep my heart from bursting through my ribs. "Scheiße, Yoongi!" The hiss sounds more menacing than I anticipated, but his form stays unmoving.

I can barely discern his outline in the shadows as his slender shoulders slump over the coffee table in front of our sofa. My eyes adapt to the minimal light they receive and notice new details I wish they fucking didn't, awakening a sense of dread that suffocates me like an avalanche.

Resting on the table is a bottle of wine with around a third of the beverage remaining along with an empty glass, scattered polaroids of Tati and me from Germany and the embellished shoebox in which I keep everything. I can handle that without any problems, that's not scary at all.

The fact that he's gripping the battered envelope containing savings for my studies is what's raising the fine hairs on the back of my neck. It's making me feel like a shark that swallowed a hook and is being hauled from the ocean's depths to face its inevitable demise.

"How much did you earn today?" His baritone is guttural, tone barely above a whisper as he remains fixated on the envelope in his hands. His muscles are relaxed, elbows idly holding the weight of his upper body as they dig into his knees.

I clear my throat when a sudden urge to cover my figure with literally anything blossoms inside me. "Nothing," I murmur, grabbing one of his tees haphazardly tossed across a chair and pulling the fabric over my head in one swift motion.