April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions (47 page)

Mayhem–Yoon Jaewon–narrows his dark eyes at me. He’s dressed in a black, Executive two-button wool suit complete with a silk tie and black slacks. On his left wrist is a signature black diamond watch to complete the CEO look. The deliberate tousled hair frames Mayhem’s handsomely stunning features. Mayhem’s in his element here in the dark club with the loud, disturb-the-peace music.

As though he is just another face in the crowd, Mayhem casually takes a drink from the black mug he’s holding. “Does it occur to you that this is a public venue? I should be asking you the same question.”

“I’m here to dance,” I answer without thinking. Suddenly, I hate Mayhem for making me answer such an obvious question. I scowl at him. I don’t even thank the bartender when he hands me a glass of water.

“That’s what you were doing on the dance floor?” Mayhem makes me feel like a complete fool. He remains cool and undisturbed. It’s quite unnerving. Why did I choose to look so ‘girly’ today? I feel very self-conscious when Mayhem looks at me like that. I am not ready for the intense inspection of my features.

“You’re stalking me again.” I want to remind him of our recent meeting–at my apartment and then near Sangwoo’s hotel.

“Or you’re stalking me,” Mayhem remarks with a biting attitude. “I invest in this club. I have every right to be here.”

I gape at him. Mayhem invests in this club? Jeez. How much money does this man have? This is another bone chilling coincidence.

“So you were watching me.” My head is spinning. This conversation doesn’t even need to make sense. I peer up at him. I feel Mayhem’s eyes gazing at me. I am so close to him that I can see his perfect, sexy jaw line. He’s so good-looking it should be illegal. Actually, he isn’t legal. I want to laugh, but I arch my face higher to meet his eyes that are shadowed by the black hat he’s wearing.
Damn. He’s good-looking.
My intuition sashays into the conversation.

Mayhem throws his head back as though I breech ridiculous. “Who said I
was watching you?”

“Well, you–” I try to coolly recover from Mayhem’s denial. I jerk the mug out of his hand. “What are you drinking?”
Nice way to change the subject,
my conscience states sarcastically.

One whiff and I recognize the distinctive smell. Coffee. Black coffee. “There is something wrong with you.” I make a face at him.
Who drinks coffee at a club?
Damn, this dizziness won’t go away. I am partial to it, nonetheless. It gives me courage to speak to him.

“Everything’s right with me.” Humor sparks in Mayhem’s eyes.

He always has a comeback at the tip of his tongue. “So what are you doing here?” I give Mayhem back his mug. “I can’t imagine black coffee being your choice of drink at a club.” I am sarcastic and bold.

“Unlike people who come here to get drunk, I have a different purpose,” Mayhem responds. His dark eyes scan the bar area, meticulously scouring for something I am not privy to.

“You make no sense.” I shake my head at him.
He’s so freaking good-looking, he doesn’t have to!
My intuition knows no shame.

“I don’t have to, do I?” Mayhem echoes my thoughts. “I hope that fool on the dance floor isn’t your boyfriend because I’m sure Eunhye will never approve.”

I follow Mayhem’s unwavering gaze to the dance floor where Bryan is gyrating tastelessly with some girls. I didn’t dance like that with him, did I? Bryan’s crush on me is nothing but innocent. If anything, Bryan knows our relationship is more like brother-sister. The alcohol makes it easier to like Bryan.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I scoff at the ridiculous notion. I take another sip of my water. “He’s Spyder’s brother. You remember Spyder, don’t you?”

Mayhem turns back to me. The smoldering look in his eyes causes my breath to hitch. “I do.” I don’t understand it. If I didn’t know any better, it seems like I answered a question he’s been longing to know the answer to.

“Something tells me you’re not here to club.” I am interested in his motive for being here. Maybe Mayhem’s here for some dark, underground work. After all, a gang lord’s office is the world. Mayhem did admit he invests in it.

“No. I’m not here to club,” Mayhem answers shortly. The corners of lips curl into a secretive smirk. He doesn’t elaborate any further. Mayhem doesn’t readily invite me into his dark underworld.

I am well aware that in the feigned darkness of the club, Mayhem blends in seamlessly. Yet, groups of girls and women eye him from the bar. The gang lord remains oblivious. Mayhem is so obscure that it’s hard to determine if he’s oblivious or really good at ignoring it. Whatever the case may be, Mayhem is retrieving a sleek wallet from inside his Executive suit. I catch a glimpse of a picture inside it.

“Who’s that?” I ask without censorship. Although the club is dark and the music continues to throb mercilessly, I can still see the picture vividly. The photograph is old and ripped around the edges. Mayhem, young and boyish, is standing next to a little boy who is the mirror image of him. They are wearing identical shirts with dirt on their faces, leaning against two motorcycles.

“My little brother,” Mayhem mumbles. He’s uncomfortable that I have seen him. Mayhem quickly snaps his wallet shut. 

He shot my brother
. . . . Sangwoo’s forlorn voice invades my memory. A chill wracks my body. “Where’s your brother now?” I lean into Mayhem, reducing the space between us. I want to hear his answer.

“He’s dead.” Mayhem’s response is cold and unrelenting.

My eyebrows crinkle together. “And Sangwoo’s brother?” My insides feel muddled. I brace for the impending answer. A gloomy, foreboding mood grips me.

Mayhem narrows his eyes at me. The easygoing attitude dissipates; the intimidating, enthralling, and precarious gang lord emerges. “He doesn’t have a brother. He shot mine to death.” Although his tone of voice is torrid, Mayhem’s tortured expression makes me cave in.

I gape at him. The club floor shatters beneath me. I am speechless and reeling from Mayhem’s candor. “He said you shot his brother,” I mumble. I don’t know how Mayhem hears me, but he does.
I told you. I told you Sangwoo’s shady. Now we have confirmation he’s also a liar,
my intuition states quietly.

The realization dawns in Mayhem’s eyes. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes when he tells me softly, “Sangwoo fed you some bullshit story about how I shot his brother right?” Mayhem pauses, but continues at the distressed expression on my face. “He never had a brother, sweetheart. I warned you to stay away from him. And now that I know he had to lie to you–to get close to you–I would suggest you stay away from me too. Our world will tear you apart. You’re not built for this. Spare yourself the heartbreak.”

I feel as though I am spinning on a revolving axis. I am dizzy and emotional. For a moment, I forget I am in a dark and loud club. Instead, I feel as if I am standing on a platform with a bright spotlight on my face. I am powerless to the emotions I feel.

“Until we meet again.” Without another word, Mayhem turns from the bar and disappears into the dark crowd. True to his mystifying style, Mayhem does little to clarify the misconceptions about him. This man allows rumors to fuel his reputation. Only those who are directly involved have access to his truth. Perhaps this is Mayhem’s secret to his throne in the underground world. Unlike Sangwoo who displays it all under the guise of anonymity, Mayhem’s path to his throne relies on what others say about him. Who is the true Mayhem then? The true Yoon Jaewon?

“Wait! You can’t just walk away!” I shout after Mayhem. Panic grips me. I want to know more, but Mayhem is long gone. 

The club music, though alive and pulsating, sounds distant in my ears now. Although the lights continue to wan above the dance bar, I am blind to it all. How can Mayhem brush me off like that? How can he walk away without explaining more? The torn expression on Mayhem’s face–when I mentioned his brother’s death–is more ingenuous than anything Sangwoo has ever told me. Without a doubt, I believe Mayhem. Choi Sangwoo lied to me. I was under his hold for so long that the truth remains beyond distortion. But why? Why would he make up such a horrible lie? Did Sangwoo want me to sympathize with him? Did he think that would draw me to him even more?
Well, it did, didn’t it? He got you to kiss him out of pity.
My intuition purses her lips.

I gulp down the rest of the water and wave for the bartender. Through the
loud music, I order a drink known for its potent alcohol content. Then, I lean against the bar and guzzle down the acidic taste. He lied to me. Why did he lie to me?

I start to fall apart here. Everything that has plagued me since Choi Sangwoo’s appearance in my life starts to unravel. Like an origami, the dark corners of my mind fold in. All the intangible things I’ve tried to hide under false pretenses come crashing down around me.

I feel like crap as the alcohol rips through my veins. I can no longer hide my impulses. 

“I can do it. Calling him . . . .” I whip my cell phone out and dial the last known number.

My head starts to spin. I feel lightheaded and more importantly, I am not thinking.

“Hey! Excuse you!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Excuse you!”

Here and there, I bump into people. The club is getting darker and darker, making it hard for me to see where I am going. I don’t care. I have to get out of here. I want to stop the spinning.

“Oof!” I happen to walk right into someone’s chest.

“May?”

“Oh shit!”

Just as I fall, Choi Sangwoo catches me.

S
EOUL MUSICAL THEATRE SITS ON
fifty flights of cold, hard concrete. I don’t know why Choi Sangwoo has brought me here, but we are standing on the very top flight near the largest pillar. The entrance to the building is only twenty steps away. For a Friday night, the venue is strangely vacant. Below us, people are strolling against the nightlife backdrop. Cars race through the busy intersection, adding white noise and life to the otherwise quiet city. The view is spectacular, but reality paints a darker picture.

“Why did you drink so much?” Sangwoo scolds me. His voice brings me to the present moment.

“Says the alcoholic.” My inhibitions are long gone.

Sangwoo narrows his eyes. He is less than pleased with me. However, Sangwoo refrains from nagging further. He’s already given me an earful in the car. I can’t recall a single word he’s said because my intuition keeps chanting, “Liar, liar!” every single time Sangwoo speaks.

Tell him May . . . tell him what you want to tell him
, my intuition urges. I cannot get the words out fast enough. I am dizzy and nauseous. I am under the influence of alcohol and frankly, I don’t care if I am being a friend to him or not.

“You’re different from what I assumed you would be.” Sangwoo’s words are cold, accusing, and isolating.

“So are you,” I rebut quickly. The alcohol spins in my head. The thudding in my heart makes the situation more precarious.

Sangwoo stares ahead as though he is deciding what to do with m
e. There is evidence of stress in him. I don’t know how else to tell Sangwoo that I am in pain too. I want to ask him why he is here, why he is still pursuing me, but I cannot find the right words. I am worried that Sangwoo’s answer will deter me from making the final decision to walk away from him. Mayhem’s dark warning comes into my mind. I cannot believe
that
gang lord told me the truth about his brother and ditched me to make the connection on my own.

“Have you ever loved anyone?” Sangwoo asks, slicing through the tension with the sharp, introspective question. There is an ulterior motive to his question, but Sangwoo masks it well.

I am used to his mood swings and randomization. I slyly answer, “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I was thinking about my first love today,” Sangwoo says with nonchalance. “The end of the month is approaching and I cannot stop thinking of her.” Sangwoo is directly talking about Dead Girl now.

My heart constricts at his slow revelations. The conversation suddenly takes a twisted turn. Sangwoo wants to go to war with me. Ok, we’ll go to war.

“So you drink to forget her,” I mumble in disbelief.

Sangwoo attempts to redeem himself. “Only when I have a lot on my mind. Everything that I do takes a toll on me.” There is sadness in his tone. Sangwoo stares up at the night sky again. “Will you dance with me?”

“Now?” I stare at him in disbelief.

“Yes.” Sangwoo leans forward. From inside his black blazer, Sangwoo pulls out a small, black iPod. I am amazed to see that ear buds are connected to it. Music pours into my ears when Sangwoo places an ear bud in. Brian McKnight is singing about not remembering why it all fell apart.

“What are they doing?”

“Aww, that’s so cute.”

I pull out of my daze. People have stopped walking on the street to stare at us. “Sangwoo, stop. Please.” I step back from Sangwoo. I extract the ear bud. I know what he’s doing.

“I like you May. I know I haven’t been exactly honest with you. But my feelings are true,” Sangwoo mutters as he buries his face in my hair.