April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions (43 page)

“Compatible,” Sangwoo repeats the word as though he is trying it out. He faces me now. “You’re right. We’re not compatible. I’m a gang leader revered in my world for not only what I do, but also who I am. You are just a citizen in the mainstream world scraping by under a law and a government you don’t understand. I have access to all the riches the global sphere can offer while you barely make minimum wage. I am knowledgeable and skillful at things you cannot even fathom while you struggle with everyday mortal problems. So you are right. We are incompatible to the last fault. But the feelings I have for you, my persistent chase after you, is sincere and true. It has nothing to do with compatibility. It has to do with the emotions that govern us all. This is my weakness–my feelings for you.”

Don’t cry May. You are stronger than this!
I bite down on my bottom lip. I want to unleash the brutal truth that is on a tight leash around my heart. But I am quiet as I listen to Sangwoo’s rage. I have never been much of a fighter. I am weak and passive in adulthood due to my upbringing and circumstances.

“Did you know the end of the month is coming May?” There is deep pain
traveling through Sangwoo’s tone.

“Sangwoo, please.” I find my voice. I don’t want to talk about anything remotely relevant to that subject. This game of I-know-that-you-know is causing me great grief.
He knows
, my intuition hisses.

Sangwoo closes his eyes. The silence tears through us. He is coping with a headache and indifferent emotions. Little does Sangwoo know I am afraid for him. I’m petrified of the consequences of our actions. I must put a stop to it. “I’ll drive you back to your hotel.” I glance anxiously outside of the window.

Sangwoo turns to me. Surprise colors his pale facial expression. It is clear the alcohol is moments away from consuming him. All it takes is one phone call and his members will be here. But I know that is not what he wants.

“You will?”

“Yes. It’s the least I can do.”

“Yes, it’s the least you can do for breaking my heart.”

Without another word, Sangwoo opens the driver’s door. He stumbles and rounds the car. I step out of the passenger side and wait for him. Once he is in the passenger seat, I make my way to the driver’s side.

Do I have the mindset to drive right now? Yes. I’m determined to take him home and get us out of this situation.
Drop him off for good!
My intuition rolls her eyes. She is over him.

“You’re going to have to give me instructions.” The driver’s seat is too low for me. I play with the side buttons until the seat’s incline matches my length. Thank goodness for the automatic transmission on the 320i. I can drive without worrying about shifting gears.

“I have a GPS system.” Sangwoo points to the screen above the middle instrument panel. “Talk to it.” His cell phone rings, but Sangwoo ignores it.

I have never driven such a powerful and lustrous car before. Its advanced technology is beyond me. I fish for the keys in the ignition and turn the engine on. The car hums smoothly. I fiddle with buttons on the GPS panel until a female voice speaks. “Good evening Mr. Choi. Where would you like to go?” Even the car adheres to the needs of the gang leader. What is money not able to buy?
You.
My intuition has a smug smile on her face. I wave her aside to focus on the directions.

“The Aston House at the W Seoul Walkerhill Hotel.” I still remember the first time I was there with Sangwoo. At the time, he was alert and earnest to speak with me. Now, the alcohol has consumed his consciousness. Sangwoo’s eyes are closed and his heavy breathing takes over.

“One moment please. I am calculating the fastest route to the Aston House at the W Seoul Walkerhill Hotel.” The GPS acknowledges my command. The screen blackens as a red bar streams across it. Then, a majestic map pops up on the screen. “Please make a U-turn onto the main road.”

“Here we go,” I mumble. I release the brakes on the 320i and feel the smooth engine roar to life. Although I received my driver’s license at the age of nineteen, I haven’t driven a car in a year. But the car’s familiarity ignites my beginner’s skills. Although the 320i was built for speed and agility, I drive slow. I follow the instructions of the GPS system for the thirty-five minute car ride. The drive to the W Seoul Hotel is quiet and eerily tense. I do my best to shun my thoughts. I need to concentrate. The sooner I drop him off, the sooner this will all be over with.
Sangwoo remains sound asleep in the passenger seat.

When I pull into the familiar Aston Walkerhill curb, the gorgeous view stuns me just as it did the first time. The familiar incandescent lights lead to the hotel’s broad entrance. I follow the winding curb until it stops in front of the entrance. A valet approaches my driver’s side. He peers in and immediately recognizes Sangwoo in the passenger seat.

“Good evening.” Confusion lives in the valet’s eyes.

“Good evening,” I answer him shortly. From my side, I see three men approaching the car. From their dark suits to the signature chains peeking from their necks, I know they are Crist members. One of them takes the valet by the arm and moves him away from the car. The other members flank the car on both sides. One Crist member reaches for Sangwoo while another ushers me out of the driver’s seat.

“Leave me alone.” Sangwoo wakes with great effort. He is sluggish and disorderly. Sangwoo bats one of his members away. In a direct manner, Sangwoo points to me. “She’s with me.”

In the meantime, I look for the familiar tattooed man. But Ren is nowhere to be seen. It becomes apparent that Ren must be on a special mission or absence of leave. I turn my attention back to Sangwoo and his men. They are bowing to me in such a way that I don’t know what else to do but bow back.

“Let’s go.” Sangwoo points to the revolving doors of the entrance. He stumbles forward and hands are ready to catch him. Sangwoo slaps them all away except for mine. He lets me hold his right side. Just like the night when I took him home, Sangwoo leans against me in his drunken state.

We make our way into the grand hotel with his members in tow. A Crist member is already holding an elevator for us. Hotel guests in the elaborate, golden lobby are staring at us with muddled facial expressions. I keep my eyes focused on the ground away from the speculations and judgment. 

Inside the baroque elevator, Sangwoo leans against the glass walls with his eyes closed. His men are darting fervent glances at us. The worried expression on their faces becomes paramount when the elevator doors ding open. Sangwoo stumbles back into my arms and orders for his men to fall back.

The grand foyer of his state-of-the-art penthouse suite is just as extravagant as I remember. The similar décor of white and royal blue furnishing sweep the entire grand area. The fireplace, adjacent to the grand windows is dark and portentous. Silence, dancing with loneliness, pervades the air. Although elite and rich in its texture and design, th
e suite is forlorn. Great power and anonymity requires an intense price of solitude.

As we pass by the living room expanse, I realize I don’t know which hallway leads to his bedroom.

“Where is your room Sangwoo?”

He mumbles an incoherent response. Staggering towards the left hole of darkness, Sangwoo moves down what turns out to be a hallway. I follow him, taking note of the paintings that line the walls. Most of the paintings are accounts of nature–sunsets, sunrises, mountains, and oceans. It strikes me that Sangwoo probably didn’t choose these paintings. 

At the very end of the hallway are large French doors. The doors lead to a master bedroom that’s larger than my apartment. Two magnificent windows display the extensive view of downtown Seoul. Bright, shimmering lights glitter through the window. Varying degrees of color dance richly in the room.

Sangwoo stumbles onto the oversized bed positioned in the middle of the room. His room is empty except for the bed and a large circular office desk. To the right side of the room is the bathroom. Directly across from it is another door to a walk-in closet. There is nothing in Sangwoo’s bedroom that reveals the dark underground world he rules. In all honesty, it is a simple bedroom of a very sad man.

“Sangwoo,” I call to him softly.

He is unconscious on the bed in a deep sleep. I approach the bottom of the bed. My heartstrings tug in various directions. I let out a deep breath, bracing myself. Slowly, I reach down and take off his shoes. Tough black boots clatter loudly to the floor. I reach for the comforter and cover it over Sangwoo.

I watch him for a few seconds. Sangwoo’s eyebrows are together in a frown. I swallow hard. I feel a sense of sorrow wash over me. Choi Sangwoo’s addiction to alcohol is escalating.

Taking a glance around the room, I note the amount of pills on the bed stand nearby. More specifically, a stack of photographs catches my eyes. Curiosity takes over and I pick up the pictures without consideration. They are old Polaroid pictures–glossy and square-shaped.

The blood freezes in my veins.

Younger versions of Choi Sangwoo are smiling, smirking, and grinning at me. But he is not alone behind the exotic backdrops. In all of the photographs, there is a girl with Sangwoo in various intimate poses. Her large, dark eyes accentuate the halo of hair around her youthful face. Her smile is stunning and vibrant. She is easy to fall in love with.

Dead Girl.

My heavy heart realizes that Dead Girl looks like me.

Misun.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I am shaking all over when I rush by the Crist members. They gape when I make the hasty exit out of Sangwoo’s suite. I look like I have seen a ghost. The last thing I care about is what they are thinking. I abandon all of my senses and better judgment as I run from the Ashton Walkerhill.

My heart is heavy and my mind slips into a chaotic daze. No matter how hard I try, the images of Choi Sangwoo and Dead Girl replay in my mind like the photographic memories I inadvertently thumbed through. How was I to know I was picking up Sangwoo’s past? I want to cry and let all of the emotional discrepancies out. I am weak with jealousy and betrayal. Those photographs confirm everything that I have been suspicious of. I am beyond hurt by the revelation. The potential of having feelings for Sangwoo, of having any type of relationship with him–friendship or romantic–is over and done. The true reason why Sangwoo pursues me is too bitter to take.

By the time I reach the end of the road, I am a puddle of tears. Breathing hard, I do my best to gather my composure. My cell phone rings in my tote bag. Dreading who the caller is, I retrieve my phone and answer the call. To my dismay, it’s an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“My shin stills hurts.”

I swallow hard at the sound of his voice. My throat becomes rigid. Slowly, I look across the street. A dark figure perches on his expensive and fine-tuned motorcycle. The distinctive sleek body of the bike contrasts with the setting sun’s cascade of colors. Mayhem has his helmet on and he’s dressed entirely in black leather. At a distance, he looks like an enigma and is the epitome of a shadowy figure from the underground world.
Oh em gee!
My intuition dances on her tiptoes.

“Are you stalking me?” My tears stall for the moment. I am in too much shock. How did he get my phone number? How does he know that I am here? Is there nothing that these gang lords don’t know about me?

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. Did it ever occur to you that the world is round?” Mayhem drawls. His black helmet glares at me. I cannot see his face, especially those dark eyes of his. Even though his face is covered, Mayhem is still strikingly attractive.

“You live in the same hotel as Sangwoo?” I ask shortly.

“He lives in the same area as me,” Mayhem corrects me. “Judging from your tears, the meeting with Sangwoo didn’t go so well did it?”

“Why do you care?” I cannot digest this coincidental meeting fast enough. My stubborn streak rears its ugly head. 

“I don’t.” Mayhem’s tone changes to arctic ice. “Call your mother back. My uncle wants to know what happened too. I don’t want them thinking you ran out because of me.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that.” I hold my cell phone close to my ears, keeping
my eyes steady on him. Even from across the street, Mayhem is still disarming behind his massive helmet.

“I warned you about Choi Sangwoo. Sometimes, the bad guy is actually the one you should listen to. We’re the pariahs for a reason.” Mayhem’s voice remains calm and undisturbed.

“Why don’t you just tell me what you want to say?” I am hot-tempered. I don’t have time to decipher his cryptic messages.

“I don’t want to suck all the fun out for you.” Mayhem tilts his helmet. “I suggest you head home before Sangwoo stumbles out here in his drunken state.”

I bite my lower lip, reeling in haste. Why does he care?

“I don’t care about the melodrama you have going on, but I would hate to see something unnecessary occur because Sangwoo is out of his mind right now.” As though he can read my thoughts, Mayhem tosses out a sound advice.

I am speechless as I clutch my phone to my ear.

“If you want a ride home you can ask me,” Mayhem adds as if he’s testing me.

“I can find my way home,” I reply.
Can’t you see I need your help?
My intuition pouts.

“Suit yourself.” Mayhem hangs up.

I listen to the dead phone line as he kicks the motorcycle stand. Mayhem settles onto the motorcycle and starts the engine. Its fierce roar pierces through the silent street. Without another moment to waste, Mayhem leans on the steel body and races down the dangerous slope. At the same moment, a taxi crawls around the bend.

Mayhem’s called a taxi for me.

B
Y THE TIME I REACH
the apartment, I run for the comforts of my bedroom. I want to be alone with my thoughts. I am in too much of a hurry to notice that Eunhye is pacing back and forth in her room.

“I will try, but I’m not making promises. Remember, you promised me that you’d let me handle the situation. She’s not ready. If only you could see her now. She’s active. She’s working and making friends. I don’t want to disrupt what she has going now. Now is not a good time.” Eunhye’s hands are in her hair. Although my mother’s back is facing me, I can hear the anxiety and exasperation in her voice.

Eunhye lets out a deep sigh as she listens to the response on the other side of the phone line. “Sure, I can make the arrangements for you. I will do my best this year to make sure she comes. Yes.” Eunhye pauses yet again to continue packing her overnight hospital bag.

I stand in the gap of the door listening to her conversation. A chill comes over me when I recognize the tone–the only kind of tone Eunhye has when she is speaking to
him.

“Eunhye, who are you talking to?” I never call Eunhye by her first name–at least not to her face. I am still reeling from what just happened and this puts the icing on the cake.
I don’t care anymore. Throw everything you have at me karma!
My intuition is wearing her safety helmet. My conscience is swinging her bat.

“Oh, you’re home!” Forgetting that she is on the phone, Eunhye quickly hangs up. Eunhye places a hand over her chest in surprise, but she forces a smile. “Where have you been? You took off right after lunch. Actually, you ran off.”

“I forgot I had to do something with Lina,” I lie. My eyes scan her face as though I can catch the deception.

“You could’ve said goodbye. Jaewon was quite hurt.” Eunhye is doing her best to deflect from the actual topic. She frowns at my facial expression.

“I’m sure he’ll live.” I am cold and unreasonable right now.

Eunhye places a hand on her hips. “What is going on with you? You were very rude at lunch. Then you took off and ignored my phone calls. Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you. Who were you talking to?” I casually ask. I ignore Eunhye’s sensitive question.

“Someone from work,” Eunhye lies. Through her teeth, she is lying to me.

“Oh.” If Eunhye wants to lie to me, I will let her. From now on, if anyone wants to lie to me, they can. I don’t care anymore. I don’t want the truth to disappoint me anymore.

“May.” Eunhye closes her eyes and sighs in frustration. “The end of the month is coming–you know that right? You know what that date means for our family.”

Stunned by Eunhye’s reminder, I feel hurt and on the verge of bawling from the stress. First Sangwoo, Mayhem, and now her. “Eunhye, I don’t want to talk about that.” I do my best to keep my voice from shaking.

Eunhye remains motionless at my disapproval. Slowly, her shock displays itself. “May, it’s something that we need to talk about.”

“Can we talk about it later?” I do my best to keep the anguish in my voice controlled. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to avoid it as long as I can. I cannot handle another blow right now.

The crestfallen look on Eunhye’s face evokes guilt in me. “May,” Eunhye starts to say.

“I’m not feeling very well.” I have to pull out the sick card. Perhaps my gaunt facial expression is the decision maker.

Eunhye looks as though she wants to say something else, but her cell phone rings again.

He’s calling her back
, my intuition says sadly. I don’t need to hear his voice; I remember it clearly. I give Eunhye one last look before I head to my bedroom. A wave of emotion comes over me. The heavy feeling in my heart is difficult to overcome. Eunhye and I have a relationship that is not easy to explain. Our relationship is usually not this tense, but whenever it comes to this time of year the space between us is very clear. How can I not remember?

I allow for the darkness of my room to consume me. No dinner. No human needs. Nothing and no one. For the second night in a row, I cry myself to sleep. I let my emotions ride on my tear ducts. I cry for all the memories and the pain. It is metaphysical at this point.

S
HE COMES TOWARDS ME SLOWLY.
I reach out to her and let out an animalistic cry. “Shh, don’t cry.” She wraps me tightly in her arms. Her hands run through my hair in an endearing manner. I continue to sob, weeping uncontrollably for the sister that I never got a chance to know. Misun.

M
Y EYES ARE HEAVY. I
open them for a fraction of a second
to see Eunhye kissing my forehead softly. “I love you baby. I wish I can make things right for you.” The darkness and the heavy lull of sleep consume me. The pain rolls in another set of waves.

M
ONDAY MORNING IS BLEAK AND
gloomy.
I wake up under a cloud of darkness and morbid thoughts. I toss and turn in bed buying time and trading senseless thoughts.

The first thing I think about is–because of circumstances, I am no longer waitressing at The Trax. Because of coercion, I am no longer working at Sansachun either. I am jobless and am an emotional wreck. I conduct a mental countdown only to realize I have two months left before school starts again. Thoughts about my responsibilities and school distract the reality of Choi Sangwoo, Dead Girl, and Mayhem. I think about my savings, my goals, and my possible future. I want to graduate and help others. But this can only happen if I abandon the dangerous and treacherous path these gang leaders are luring me down.

Choi Sangwoo’s pursuit seems innocent on the outside, but his true intentions are malevolent. It is no longer sweet and innocent. Slowly, it is becoming dark and tainted. Sangwoo wants to shape me into someone I can never be. Especially after last night, I don’t know if I can trust him. I am the flesh and bone of the person in his memories. To him, I am Dead Girl. Nothing is more painful than that realization. Now that I know why he’s chasing me, I don’t know whether to feel relieved or restrained.

I listen to Eunhye bustling outside of my bedroom as she gets ready for work. Before she leaves, Eunhye checks up on me. I close my eyes and pretend to be sleeping. She lingers in the doorway for a few seconds before leaving.

I lay in bed for another hour before I have the strength to force myself out of bed. I take a long, drowning shower. I am heavy and intoxicated with emotions, but life must go on. I cannot be a victim of someone’s ill intentions. I resolve to be strong and resilient.

After I am dressed and done with my morning coffee, I check my phone to see the missed calls and messages. I have been avoiding the machine in hopes of a speedy recovery.

“Come out with me.”
I stare at Lina’s simple text message. Next to Lina’s text message bubble is Choi Sangwoo’s number. I have six missed calls from him, including a handful of text messages.
I want to see you
, he says.
It’s important
, he writes.

M
ULA IS A POPULAR PLACE
not only because it serves just about a million different types of milk tea, but also because it houses a large flat screen in the center of its main room. Large windows line every wall, creating a bright atmosphere. Every other weekend, Mula has a movie day where they show the latest blockbuster movie. This attracts a lot of business, a genius-marketing move. This weekend’s movie theme is horror. Large crowds of people are already here for the presentation. Tables and chairs are scarce, so people made sofas with cushioned pillows on the floor.

When I first arrive, it takes me a while to find my cousin in the crowd. Lina is sitting with a number of friends on the packed floor. She’s in a blue beanbag near the center of the room.

“Lina,” I call to my cousin.

“Yah. Shut up. He’s about to chop that guy’s head off,” nags a person in the audience.

“I’m sorry.” I do my best to duck under the screen.

“Come on.” Lina jumps out of her seat and takes my hand.

Momentarily, I look back at the movie. The music is starting to escalate, noting the suspenseful part is coming up.

“Grrr . . . I’m going to find you,” the murderer taunts. He is walking down the dark, narrow hallway looking for his victim. He stops in front of a bland door. The camera pans into the next room to reveal the frightened little girl. She hears him breathing outside, but she still doesn’t move.

“Run!”

“You’re going to die!”

“Don’t be stupid!”

“Run!”

Various shouts and encouragements bombard the screen. A few people laugh. Horror movies are so predictable. There’s always someone foolish enough to investigate the unknown noises.