C43 - Soul-ed MATE

I spend a few minutes freshening up with the touch up, but there’s not enough chapstick in the world to make me presentable.

My eyelids are heavy, my cheeks flushed.  My hair a wild mane around my forehead. It’s dark in the back of the limo, but I know I must look sultry, the aura of sex emanating from me.

Yoongi raps on the window, and the door opens. A blast of humid night air rushes in, a sharp contrast to the cool interior.

I take Yoongi’s hand, surprised to find my legs shaky.

I know that I affect him.

I can see the impact when we’re alone together. And I see how much he fights it. But he looks completely unaffected, his expression stern, his suit perfectly pressed despite what we just did.

No one would know that he just had sex to look at him. Meanwhile I’m rumpled and loose-limbed, every nerve of my body still tingling from aftershocks.

I blush when we pass the men standing at the door, but they don’t meet my eyes.

They don’t even twitch.

They might as well be statues made of concrete.

Yoongi’s hand guides me up the narrow steps onto a hand-scraped wood floor I remember from my visits. Except there aren’t any tables. There’s a muted clatter of pots, the bustle of the kitchen not far away.

All I can see is a shadowy interior.

As if he’s walked this path a hundred times, he guides me down the hallway. The restaurant spreads out in front of me, dark walnut tables surrounded by maroon leather booths.

The large rooms arranged in such a way that almost every person is visible from here—but no one directly faces us. His lips meet the side of my neck, warm and soft—a contrast to the cold space in my chest.

“This is where I stood,” he murmurs. “When you laughed. When you smiled at your Dad like he was the whole world.”

Pain squeezes my heart. “And that’s when you decided to ruin him?”

“No, bluebell. That’s when I decided to ruin you.”

I whirl to face him. “Stop trying to scare me. I’m not afraid of you.”

His expression flickers with something like pride. Something like pleasure.

“And now you look at me like I’m the whole world. Do you want me to apologize for that?”

“It might be nice.” I eye him.

“Do you want me to pretend I wouldn’t do it again? Do you have any idea how much you’re worth?”

“One million dollars,” I whisper because the amount is imprinted on my soul. Written on my body.

He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting my gaze to his. “I built that house like a fortress, a goddamn castle. All that’s missing is a drawbridge. But I had nothing to protect. No one.”

I turn away from him, staring at the glittering array of people, the black- and-white clad men and women alike. “You could have had anyone.”

“Not someone I would die for.”

“I don’t want you to die for me,” I say too loudly. The couple at the closest table turn their heads. Whatever they see in Yoongi’s expression makes them look away fast.

I struggle to find my composure. “I don’t want you to die at all.”

“Not even for revenge?”

My eyes prick with tears. It wasn’t only me in that fire that haunts my dreams. It was Yoongi, trapped and burning.

“Not ever.”

His hands are firm on my arms.

He steps forward, and I stumble back— I’m falling, hands tight in his shirt. He guides me to the wood-paneled wall of the hallway, only half blocked by heavy velvet drapery.

His forehead meets mine.

I’m trapped by the size of him, the strength. I’m held captive by his physicality, but it’s the gentle touch of his forehead that catches my breath.

“I don’t want to die for you, bluebell.”

My hands wrap tighter in the fabric, pulling myself higher, pulling him down.

I can’t seem to get close enough.

The clothes are in the way.

Air is in the way.

An entire universe colluding to keep us apart. “No?”

“Let me live for you.”

A helpless sound escapes me, because a bond like that doesn’t go one way. It’s a string between our hearts, our souls, something no amount of money could ever measure. I’m already living for him, already lost.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Then stay.”

This moment is as much a command as his orders in the limo, that moment as much a plea as his breath on the bridge of my nose now.

He orders me to stay; he begs me.

And all of it points to the same conclusion: he believes I’m going to leave.

!~~~~!

The owner of the restaurant greets Yoongi like an old friend, with a warm smile and a two-handed shake.

He seems sincerely pleased to meet me, even giving me condolences for my father, as if he’s dead instead of merely poor and ill.

In this society that’s worse than death. I accept them awkwardly, still torn between a deep-seated grief and my sense of betrayal.

My father was the only family I knew for so long. He was my whole world, like Yoongi said. And I would have done anything for him.

I did anything for him, auctioning myself once his medical bills drained my college fund.

But he wasn’t the man I thought he was.

He betrayed me, essentially selling me as part of a business contract before he was attacked. And maybe worse than that, he betrayed my mother. He hadn’t believed her when she needed him the most.

Would she still be alive if he had believed her?

Would she have gone to confront Kim Yongdae if my father had been her true ally?

I shiver, because Yoongi believes me.

Doesn’t he?

“Jimin!”

I’m startled from my own thoughts by Jihyo’s voice. She smiles, standing from the table tucked into a corner. This is the most secluded spot in the restaurant.

“I didn’t know you were coming!”

She gives me a tight hug, smelling like sugar and sex. “I’ve been begging Daniel to let me see you for weeks.” Her eye roll is somehow precocious and sensual at the same time.

“He insists on being by my side ever since the fire.”

“So it’s not just Yoongi,” I say.

A soft laugh. “They have some things in common, our soulmates. But I’m guessing they do some things very differently. For example Daniel loves to—”

“Darling.” Kang Daniel strokes his hand along her bright blonde hair, the touch gentle and yet possessive. He gives me a grave nod in greeting before returning his attention to Jihyo. “We don’t discuss such things at the dinner table.”

She gives him a fake-puzzled look. “I was just going to tell them your favourite drink after a hard day at work. What did you think I was talking about?”

“Of course, you were,” he says drily.

Yoongi leans forward to shake his hand. “Kang.”

A nod.

“Min. Have you found anything?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.”

I exchange a glance with Jihyo. They’re talking about Kim Yongdae. I didn’t realize that Kang Daniel was looking for him, too, but I suppose he considers the fire an attack on Jihyo. At the very least he’s a danger. And from the hard glint in Daniel’s silver eyes, he doesn’t let anything pose a danger to her.

“Excuse us,” Jihyo says breezily. “Jimin and I need to go freshen up.”

Yoongi frowns, his hands hard around my waist. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s like six feet away,” Jihyo says, laughing.

My eyes narrow. “Does my leash not extend that far?”

“No,” he says, his voice flat.

There’s no room for argument in the set of his jaw, but I’m not backing down.

“We’ll be inside the restaurant! I know you have people standing watch outside.”

That was only a guess, but the look on his face confirms it.

“That’s not the point.”

“You can’t follow me then.”

His golden eyes glint with challenge. “Can’t I?”

It won’t work to confront him, to fight him. He’s a warrior. This isn’t only about where I go. It’s about the very nature of our relationship, the way that I wield my power. And I don’t need the strength that comes from muscle, from steel. I have other weapons.

I squeeze Yoongi’s hand. “I’d love a few minutes.”

The change in him happens in degrees. He doesn’t soften. That word doesn’t suit him. But he believes in me, and that’s even better.

“Five minutes.”

“Ten,” I say, pushing to my toes so I can kiss his cheek. The scruff of his jaw abrades my lips, a small reminder of the punishment he wields when he wants to.

Jihyo links arms with me, pulling me away before I can change my mind.

My heart lurches when we round the corner, leaving the guards staring after us. It’s silly to be afraid, especially because Jihyo hadn’t been exaggerating about the distance.

There’s a private washroom tucked into this corner, separate from the one I had used before on the main floor. A lavish parlour with a sofa and lighted dressing table fill the carpeted room. Two stalls are set deep in the room.

Jihyo collapses on the sofa, looking like a glamorous star from black- and-white movies in her glittering gown. “Sit by me. Tell me how you are. We only have a few minutes before they come looking for us.”

That makes me laugh as I sink into the plush cushions with her. “You’re probably right.”

“Yeah. And they’ve both been worried, even though they try to hide it. I’ve never seen Daniel like this.”

The reminder sobers me. “This is the first time I’ve left Yoongi’s house since that night.”

Jihyo’s eyes widen. “Are you serious? I would go stir-crazy. At least I get to go to the Grand. Daniel comes with me, which is stifling enough.”

It’s like a lungful of air to have someone understand me. “I know he just wants to keep me safe, but it’s a different kind of dangerous, being all locked away like this.”

“Loneliness?”

I look away. “I don’t know.”

She takes my hand. “You can trust me.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy in those rooms, all alone.”

Like my mother went crazy. At least she felt that way. It turned out that there were speakers in the walls, but that can’t be the case in Yoongi’s house. There’s security. There are guards. It’s perfectly safe.

So why do I still hear voices?

Worry darkens her liquid eyes. “Have you told Yoongi about this?”

“No way,” I say immediately. “He would just freak out. More than he already does.”

She bites her lip, which is pink and plump. “He could help you.”

Yoongi already thinks I’m going to go running to Kim Yongdae, like my mother did. If he knows I hear voices too, he will never trust me. And I want that more than anything—maybe even more than sanity.

“Let’s go back,” I say. “Once he starts coming with me everywhere, he might not stop.”

We find them standing beside the table, waiting for us. I don’t miss the flash of relief when Yoongi sees me turn the corner. My own heart slows half a beat, my body calmed by his presence.

It’s like we both feel the invisible forces pulling us apart, both hear the voices in the walls. Only when we’re together does it seem possible to beat them.

He gives me a slight smile. “I ordered for you.”

Suddenly I feel shy. The domesticity of it. The intimacy, deeper than sharing our bodies. “Shrimp cocktail?”

“In the largest glass they have.” He bends to kiss my forehead. It feels like a shot of warmth in the middle of winter.

He pulls out a chair, and I move to sit. Only when my butt touches the wooden surface do I hear the crack in the air. Only when I look up do I see the split of wood in the wall, at the same height as my head.

The world reduces to seconds.

One second.

Two.

And then Yoongi’s hands are on me, harsher than they have ever been before, pushing me down to the floor.

Three.

He lands on top of me, his weight pushing the air from my lungs.

Four. Another crack. Someone is shooting at us.

Someone tried to shoot me.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears.

I can’t hear anything, and then all at once I hear everything. Screaming the night of the fire. My mother’s voice. Only this time she isn’t telling me to stay inside.

From somewhere deep in my memory, when I was too young to understand, too little to know what it meant, I heard her on the phone.

“I’ll meet you there,” she whispers, her hand cupping the receiver.

I’m huddled beneath the vanity, clutching my stuffed plushie with long ears. I know she’ll be mad if she finds me here. I should have gone to sleep an hour ago.

She leaves the room, and I feel the walls shift as she leaves.

Dad is at work, like he always is. I know Rosé is downstairs sleeping if I really need something. Sometimes I wake her up because I don’t want to be alone.

At least that’s what I tell her.

The truth is I’m not ever really alone.

!!~~~~!!!!!~~~~~!!