The Demon Next Door

36

A week later, Jongin's parents came by with a suit and his medicine. Shockingly, he noticed his mother was more disappointed-looking than his father. Mr. Kim just looked tired. Jongin had expected the opposite.

Mrs. Kim didn't raise her eyes to connect with his once. Jongin felt like curling up in his chair behind the window of glass his mother and father were talking to him through. He'd lost Mrs. Kim's respect, and it hurt.

Mr. Kim hesitated to speak when they first sat down. He breathed into the phone as he stared at Jongin from the other side. Jongin's confidence broke up in shards with each passing moment of silence.

"So."

"So," Jongin repeated after his father.

His voice made Mr. Kim shake. A shiver ran down his spine. He hadn't heard his son speak in so long, and he sounded so different, so weak. As upset as he was, Mr. Kim couldn't accept the fact that the son he'd taught basketball to when he was tiny was now behind bars.

"How have you been?"

"Not well. Thanks for waiting until now to ask," Jongin huffed.

"Jongin."

"Sorry."

Mr. Kim ran a hand through his graying hair. "How are they treating you?"

"Badly."

"Badly? What do you mean?"

Jongin didn't answer with words. He instead let his father observe his current state, allowing his appearance to do the talking. His hollowed cheeks and dilating eyes were enough to give a detailed explanation. Mr. Kim seemed to age a few more years after the inspection.

"We have your, um, suit. For the trial."

"Thank you for reminding me about that," Jongin mumbled.

Mr. Kim glanced down at his wife. She hadn't bothered to do her hair or makeup, and as soon as Jongin had began talking, she'd lowered her head so her sheer black locks fell over her face. Mr. Kim sighed.

"We've also brought your medicine. They'll make sure to give it to you every day from now."

"It's too late," Jongin hissed. "I'm sick. Can't you hear it in my voice? How raspy it is? I'm burning up right now. My forehead feels like it's on fire, and I swear to God, my lungs feel numb. So thanks. Thanks a lot for bringing it now."

"Be grateful that we brought it at all, Jongin."

"You waited until now so I'd die."

"Don't say that!"

"It's true!"

Mr. Kim growled and leaned back in his chair. Jongin licked his lips.

He looked into his father's face and saw his own. He hated that. Maybe once, he'd wanted to be like Mr. Kim. All of those thoughts that his father was a superhero, however, went out the window ever since Jongin began getting high. He thought for a moment that it had been his parents' fault.

He'd been a good boy once. Expectations had come with being a good boy, and they'd weighed him down. His parents had been too controlling. He'd inhaled the first time as an act of rebellion.

Jongin bit his lip. His parents weren't his friends. They hadn't been for a long time. They just cared after him so they looked good in society and on the papers. At least, that's what Jongin now thought.

He turned his head away from the glass. "Go. Thank you for the suit and the meds. You can go away now."

"D-Don't talk to us like that," Mrs. Kim whispered into her phone.