POISONED YOUTH: TWISTED

CHAPTER 35

Haechan had been waiting for the call for what felt like forever, though only a few minutes had actually passed. He sat alone on one of the swings in the backyard, one foot lightly pushing against the ground to keep the swing moving back and forth while his phone rested loosely in his hand. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, waiting for the familiar caller to appear, and every few seconds, his thumb would move across the display as if checking for a missed notification that wasn't there.

Five minutes passed.

Still nothing.

Another minute slipped by, and Haechan's brows slowly knitted together as an uncomfortable feeling settled in his chest. He was about to check the phone again when his heartbeat suddenly stuttered.

He froze.

The next beat came harder, sharper, carrying a strange pain that didn't feel entirely like his own. Haechan sat completely still, listening to the uneven rhythm inside his chest as the sensation spread through his body. Then his gaze dropped to his wrist.

The sun tattoo was glowing orange.

His stomach sank.

"Yeoreum..."

There was no way he could mistake it now. Whatever he was feeling, it was coming from her, and the sudden change in the tattoo was enough to tell him that something was wrong.

He immediately grabbed his phone and pressed her contact, lifting it to his ear as he stood from the swing. The call rang, but no one answered. He tried again, then again, each unanswered call making the uneasiness inside him grow heavier. He began biting at his nails without realizing it, pacing around the backyard as his mind filled with possibilities he didn't want to imagine.

"Yeoreum, baby, tell me you're fine."

Nothing.

"Reum, where are you?"

Still nothing.

"Na Yeoreum!"

His voice trembled inside his thoughts, though he tried to keep it steady.

"Yeoreum, please... at least reply."

Nothing came back.

"Fucking shit!"

He dragged a hand through his hair before tapping her number again for what had to be the seventh time. His jaw tightened when the phone continued ringing without an answer, and the longer it went on, the more his patience disappeared.

Then, finally, someone picked up.

"Hi, Haechan."

Haechan's breath caught.

He knew that voice.

"Miss me?"

"Fuck you."

A menacing laugh came through the speaker, casual and almost amused by Haechan's anger.

"How are you?"

"Where are you?"

"Chanie—"

"I swear, if I see a single cut on her skin..."