Chapter 21 #2
“What? But I left!” I wail, letting myself get dragged into the nearest van. Yosef climbs in with me and the doors slide shut, the driver tosses the vehicle into gear.
And just like that, I’ve been abducted.
“Obviously!” Yosef snorts a laugh. “That’s why we had to come get you!”
“I didn’t mean to do anything to him! I’m sorry!
I left so he wouldn’t have to deal with me!
” I jump across the car and try to grab the door handle but Yosef yanks me back down to the floor of the empty van and plants his immovable ass between me and the exit.
My jaw drops as I try to process my dramatic change in circumstances.
“He’s so mad at me that he wants to drag me back just to fuck me up?”
Yosef stares at me, his eyes wide and his eyebrows furrowed, like I’m the craziest motherfucker he’s ever laid eyes on. “Tommy, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“I left!” I shout, kicking at him, punching at him. He and another guy grapple with me, until Yosef fucking sits on me until I run out of steam and end up slumped and tired with his weight on my back.
“I get it,” I pant. “I fucked up, but I left, didn’t I? Got myself out of the picture. Took care of myself, stopped fucking up his life–I was already gone! So, what, he’s bringing me back just to beat me or some shit? Me leaving wasn’t enough?!”
“Tommy…” Yosef shakes his head, gets off me, then snaps something at the other guys in Russian, fast and tense.
They all back off as I push onto my hands and knees, giving us as much distance as they can in the confines of the van.
I want to get to my feet, to fight, but the swaying movement in the vehicle is making me nauseous and I feel weak.
All I manage to do is sit up on my knees, and even that has my head spinning.
Yosef leans over, puts a hand on my shoulder and hunches down beside me on the floor, making a point to look me in the eyes. “Whatever you think you did, that’s not the problem. He’s mad because you left.”
What? “You’re wrong.”
“I’m not.” No hesitation.
“He couldn’t want me to stay, not after that,” I deny. “I fucking, I’m such a fucking, I can’t even–” I put my hands over my face and groan, all twisted up inside.
“What’s this?” Yosef asks, tapping the phone number written on the back of my hand.
“None of your fucking business,” I snarl.
“There you are,” Yosef says, getting a little less somber. “If you can still be a brat, you’ll be alright. Eh, Tommy?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say, turning away from him, leaning against the cold metal of the van’s interior.
“That’s the spirit,” he grunts, keeping a wary eye on me like I’m about to try for the door again. But I just sit there, silent and sullen. Eventually, some light Russian conversation starts between the guys in the car, and I scowl. They’re probably talking about me being a piece of shit.
I’m confused and anxious. If Yosef is right, if Young-gi is mad because I left… Does that mean he wants me back? He wants me to stay? Maybe…maybe last night wasn’t so bad after all.
But no, no, I was disgusting. He’s not even gay, he didn’t ever explicitly say he was, he never admitted to wanting anything with me.
I just fucking–ugh. I’m too scared and confused to fully believe Yosef, but his assertion is rooted in my mind anyway.
A pathetic little hope starts to grow inside me.
And I’m so stupid, so foolish, for letting it bloom. Such a moron. Haven’t I learned anything?
A tear slides down my cheek and I wipe it away, feeling way too much, thinking way too much.
We come to a stop a while later, and when the door slides open, I recognize Young-gi’s apartment building.
I’m right back where I started this morning, and if it’s possible, I feel even worse.
All this back and forth in my head is making me nauseous, all this up and down in my heart is giving me vertigo. I might be sick; I feel green.
Yosef eventually has to pull me out of the van, because I just sit there. He walks me through the building while I stumble on weak legs, everything feeling unreal. My heart gets louder and louder in the elevator. I’m trembling. I don’t even know why.
Fuck this, fuck everything. Fuck me for being such a stupid piece of shit.
The elevator chimes. The doors slide open. Yosef walks me to the only door in the little hallway, Young-gi’s door, and knocks.
A few seconds later, the door is thrown violently open.
I blink, so emotionally overwhelmed that I don’t even flinch.
Young-gi looms in the doorway, still wearing the clothes I left him in this morning, every inch of him rigid and angry.
I can see it, even though it’s subtle. Bizarrely, his muted expression calms me, whereas Bruce’s made me unsettled.
Without hesitation, he reaches out, grabs my shirt, and yanks me into his penthouse.
The door slams shut behind me, leaving Yosef in the hallway.
Young-gi grips my shirt with both hands and holds me there in front of him, staring at me. His signature cold anger blisters me.
I put my numb, shaking fingers over his clenched ones, but turn my face away, unable to meet his stare head on.
“Tommy.” My name is a rumble; an incoming storm.
I gulp. “What?”
“What?” he repeats, too quiet and calm, the threat understated but very real. “I told you to stay here, but I woke up and you were gone, and you’re asking me, ‘what?’ You left, that’s what.”
“I thought–I thought you’d want me gone.” I scowl at the floor, but then my frown wobbles and I close my eyes. “I just thought…you’d want me to be gone.”
A long pause. A tense silence. “I see.”
And then he lets go of my shirt, and I open my eyes in a panic, wondering what I did wrong now, but he’s not pushing me away. Instead, he slides his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. I stiffen, my arms held out at my sides, not even breathing.
“Shh,” he pets the back of my head, running a soothing hand down my spine. “Tommy, shhh, it’s alright.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” I choke. “Why are you telling me to shhh?”
“Shhh,” he says again, the sound weirdly comforting. I grip his arms and shove a little like I’m trying to get him to let go, but I don’t shove that hard.
“You have a safe word,” he murmurs, holding me tighter. “You know how to use it.”
“A fucking–a safe word for a hug?!” I snap, pushing harder. “I don’t need to fucking safe word for a hug, if I want you to let go, I’ll fucking make you let me go.”
“That’s not your safe word, though, is it?”
And I hate that he knows right away what I’m doing, that he knows I’m intentionally not saying it, because then my whole charade just becomes so obvious. But I still can’t stop it.
I grunt, angry and defensive. I shove at him again, and he squeezes me harder. I squirm, push against him, and struggle until he’s holding me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“I don’t need you!” I shout and strain against his hold.
“Shhh,” he says again. “Shhh, Tommy.”
“Shut up!” I croak, and I lightly pound my fist against his back–not wanting to truly hurt him, but not willing to stop whatever it is that I’m doing with this fake fight. “Get the fuck off me!”
“I’ve got you now,” he murmurs despite my thrashing, letting me drum on his back, ignoring the paltry blows. “Shhh, shh.”
I struggle some more, fighting against his hold, I even bite him, until I know his fingers digging into my back will leave marks and replace the bruises that have almost completely faded from my spine.
Then I slump against him, barely able to breathe because he’s got me so tight. My fists against his back loosen until I’m gripping his shirt, gripping him. I lay my head against his shoulder, resting it there, dizzy but calmer than before.
Young-gi loosens his hold in increments. Slowly, like he’s testing to see if my sudden submissiveness is a ploy. But I just stay there, quiet and mentally all fuzzy, until his hug is soft and warm and I can breathe easy again.
“You woke up in a bad down-swing,” Young-gi finally murmurs, and I’m startled to realize my eyes were shut.
I blink them open and stare at the pulse in his throat as he continues.
“You had a rough morning, and you didn’t know what to do.
You made a poor decision. We can blame it on the drug, and get a do over, hm?
Say that you didn’t mean it, that you would’ve stayed if you’d been feeling more like yourself. And we can just go from there.”
An olive branch. A peace offering. A chance to get a clean slate this morning, and say that me disobeying him and running off was an accident; that it wasn’t my fault.
But I know myself. And I know that even without the withdrawals, I’d have made the same mistake. I usually do.
“What are the other options?” I ask, my whisper rough and cracked. “What if I’m just a piece of shit, and I would’ve run off anyway?”
His soothing pets on my back still, and tension sparks between us. He doesn’t say anything, leaving me more room to explain myself.
“What if I–” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “What if I’m just a coward, and a liar? And I deserve to be alone? What then?”
“Tommy,” he says my name so low and dark, so good. “Are you asking me for something? Something you need?”
“What if I, what if I’m disgusting and stupid–”
“Tommy.”
“I don’t want you to let it slide,” I blurt, hiding my face against his shirt.
“I don’t want you to tell me it’s okay and we can just forget about it.
I want you to fucking beat the shit out of me so I can stop feeling like this, so I can feel anything else but this.
I want you to hurt me, I want you to hollow me out–I can’t keep on, I’m not, I don’t–hit, I just can’t think like this.
All the noise, it’s all so loud and so ugly.
I’m so ugly inside, Young-gi. This is who I am, okay? I’m just ugly.”
“You’re asking me for correction.” It’s a statement, but I get the feeling that he wants me to confirm it.