The Croupier

Some things happen in life to remind you of the past, and not in a nostalgic way. A click of a button to conjure up the devil of events long past. Click. Press. And the streaming is on, like a movie that leaves you with a hollow chest when the credits roll. Inaya's betrayal was the button. Her lies were the click. The way she hid my son and never mentioned him was the heartwrenching movie. But the problem here was that Inaya Chen didn't betray me. She didn't know me to betray me, but then again, the deepest betrayal is unintentional. I was torn, torn between the accusations and justification and the fucking pain that was eating away at my soul. The pain caused by not knowing that a part of me was out in this world without my support, my help, without my protection. The pain of being so far away from my own flesh and yet so close. Inaya Chen didn't betray me, but why does it feel like a betrayal? Yeah! Why indeed.

Maybe Inaya didn't betray me, but she sure lied. Lies and the omission of truths, no matter how small they are, they accumulate until their size becomes immeasurable. I knew that from experience. After all, a small, innocent lie told more than eleven years ago was still able to wreak havoc in my life. One small lie was one of the reasons why Inaya Chen fell into my net. One small lie was the reason I went on for ten years without knowing that I had a child.

August 2012.

"Open the door, Tae."

The banging on the door fucked my ears in the most unorgasmic way. It was three in the morning on a very hot, humid night that had made it very annoyingly hard for me to fall asleep. My studio was small. A room would be an appropriate term for this place, but what to do? People loved to glamorize things to alter their appeal. To make them the Pinterest brand of esthetics. It was a kitchen married to a bedroom, really. An unorthodox relationship. I avoided cooking in this tuna can because otherwise I'd smell like my dish of choice from Friday to the following Thursday. I questioned the usefulness of the tiny window overlooking the wall of the neighboring building as much as I questioned the hype surrounding Gangnam Style. Don't get me wrong. The song was good and all, but was it really that good? I'd leave it at that to avoid problems. The point is that the window failed to bring air to itself, let alone into the room. The fan I had on did manage to create white noise, but it failed to serve its intended purpose. Long story short: my night was hellish, literally and figuratively. So, it goes without saying that when I heard the first fists knocking on my door, I was ready to commit capital murder. After serious reckoning, I realized that a lawyer would cost an arm and a leg, so I pulled a pillow over my head and tried desperately to muffle the noise and keep my cool. However, as the door was literally two steps — I counted them — away from my bed, my efforts were in vain.

But when I heard the voice calling my name, I sent the pillow flying across the room and shot out of bed, my hair blowing in all directions and my shorts bizarrely bunched around my waist. I dispensed with the shirt and opened the door, the urgent need to make sure she was okay overwhelming my logic and my sleep in equal measure.

"Finally! I've been knocking for at least twenty minutes. I was on the verge of giving up. Thought you weren't home."

Lana's words came with a speed that would warrant a speeding ticket if talking that fast was a felony. She pushed me into the room and peered over her shoulders, inspecting the narrow alley to the left and right before making her way inside. The way she turned the key twice and then made sure the door was actually locked set my alarm bells ringing. And as if the heat of this hellish night hadn't made me sweat enough, the way her chest heaved with irregular breaths did the rest. Her presence in my studio at such a late hour was unheard of. She often visited me, but this late? Never. Her parents had imposed a very strict curfew on her. She was looking through the peephole like a criminal on the run from the police when I realized that my patience was wearing as thin as my sleep. I pulled her around by the wrist and her trembling body slumped with mine. That's when I felt it. The way her heart was going miles a second. "What's going on, L.? It's like three in the morning. What are you doing here?"

"I have a watch, Taehyung, but thank you." She broke away from me and ran her fingers through her brown curls. The strands stuck to her neck and front from the sweat glistening on her skin. I didn't press further. I figured time was what she needed to collect herself and finally talk. And talk she did, after sitting down on my bed and resting her elbows on her thighs, her fingers buried in her chocolaty mane. I knelt in front of her and patted her reassuringly on the shoulder, even though I was far from reassured myself. "They know, Tae. They gave me an ultimatum."

Of course it was about them. It was always about them anyway. Her family. The source of our unease. Our damnation. The villain in a very cliché movie you'd watch to fall asleep on a Sunday night. This molestation started when pictures of me and Lana ended up in her father's hands. The man was the type of controlling who would assign people to stalk his kids and keep tabs on them. He didn't throw a fit, or so Lana told me. He never came to me, didn't threaten me or throw envelopes of money around like the cliché movies would have you believe. He didn't acknowledge my mere existence, and I concluded that I was way beneath him to be spoken to. Lana said he told her she could do better and that he believed she would do better. Very soon. I remember telling her that it was a positive thing he didn't get angry or ground her. But I also remember her saying that his lack of anger was worse than an outburst. She said, and I quote, "His calm is a threat. A promise."

So we have lied. I mean, she lied, technically speaking. She placated his heart by telling him that I was a phase she was now past. An experiment, so to speak. The lie worked wonders to loosen the noose in our necks. We minded discretion in our encounters. Mainly met in private places to avoid being photographed again. As it turned out, our efforts were futile.

"What kind of ultimatum?" I asked, but in my heart of hearts I knew the answer. So it was safe to say it was a fucking rhetorical question. When she looked at me, her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Were red. And I realized there was something I didn't like about her. It was when she cried. The look of vulnerability didn't suit her. Anything other than happiness didn't suit her. She was born for big things and happy moments and a stable life. I wasn't someone who added to her beautiful looks now. I was the reason she didn't exactly look flawless. I hated it.

"It won't happen," she informed. There was certainty in those red, teary eyes. Conviction. A promise she would keep, I was sure of that, but at what cost? I lowered my head and broke eye contact. I felt shame. Shame about who I am. Shame that I knew I was screwing up her relationship with her family, but I wasn't willing to give up. To give her up.

"He wants us to break up, or else what?" It was a jazz I didn't want to face but I had to regardless. I had to know the stakes. I had to know what was at play. She cradled my chin, sought my gaze, and captured my lips in a kiss so innocent I felt my sins being admonished. "There's nothing else, Tae, because there's no breaking us up. I'm yours forever, and I need to know that you're mine too."

See,I was the type of fucker who never cried. I'd been through it all since the moment I took my first gulp of air, but I'd never cried. But in this exact moment, every hardship I went through seemed so insignificant, so meaningless compared to the fact that I had been robbed of the chance to love and be loved, that a tear rolled down my cheek from the amount of injustice I had been dealt. So I fought the injustice with the only weapon I had. Defiance. I returned the kiss with a hungry one. A kiss full of words, confessions and feelings that I knew she fully understood as her tongue interloped with mine and her teeth nibbled on my lips. I rested my forehead on hers when I broke the kiss, and with shaky breaths that were still fighting the comedown from that kiss, came my answer. "Yours, Lana. Yours forever."

And the innocence of her touch vanished in that moment. The moment I uttered those words. It was as if she needed reassurance. Silly girl. She should've known I was made for her. Hers alive. Hers dead. Hers in every state in between. There was an urgency that was so tangible it felt almost painful in the way she stood up and pulled me towards her by the arm. There was urgency in the way she pressed me against the wall of my tuna can. There was urgency in the way she set an encounter to our lips— a vengeful greeting that tasted like goodbye. I dismissed that thought because Lana wasn't going anywhere. She was as much mine as I was hers, and maybe it was my upbringing and the fact that I owned next to nothing of value, but I never let go of what was mine.

Lana was the one who broke off the kiss that was driving me towards borders I promised not to cross. I was grateful that she did. My self-control was dwindling by the second. My bloodstream took a course of gravity that decided my cock was my new heart— I kid you not. It had a beat and all. This anatomical malfunction always occurred when she existed in my close proximity, and I would always fix it with a few strokes of my right hand. Now it seemed like I needed to reconnect with nature to get a handle on this dire situation.

Pull your head out of the gutter, bastard. It's not the right time.

But when she took a few steps away from me, still panting, and bumped into my desk while looking straight into my soul, I thought nature might not be so helpful after all. When she took off her shirt and threw it on my paint-stained floor, I figured I needed to connect with God. I couldn't take my eyes off her heaving chest. It was bare. Two perfectly round tits, free of restraints. Too soft. Too jiggly. And I was weak. Weak to the fucking bone. I was weak because I couldn't leave this girl who was out of my league, even though I knew full well I'd bring nothing to her table. Even though I knew I'd take from said table instead. I was weak because I couldn't open her eyes to how important a family is, even though I knew how hard it is to live without one. I was weak because I wanted to cross all boundaries now, and like a fucking bastard, I wanted to tell her that she didn't need that family. That I could be a family for her. That we only needed each other. I wanted to spit all this shit out just to quench my thirst — to mark her as my own. And even though my upbringing was highly questionable, and even though I wasn't fully developed in the social education department, I knew that I was thinking like a rabid bastard with no morals.

"Lana," I warned. My voice came out so grave and low that it reflected how weak I was. But I wanted to give it a try. Wanted to take it out of my conscience. I was doing the right thing. I wiped away the fog that clouded her eyes, or so I wanted to believe because fuck! I was only nineteen and my emotions were scattered all over the place. They were battered by the injustice of this shitty life and now they were being tested by a temptation I'd never encountered before.

"Then show me that you're mine, Taehyung." Although tears were still streaming down her face, her voice was steady. Firm. And her eyes were dead on mine, expressing the sort of conviction I wasn't sure I had as she pulled down her pleated shorts along with her pink cotton undies. "Prove it."

The room wasn't big enough to contain the sigh I let out. It sizzled under the weight of my feelings — our feelings. It echoed through the four walls like a reminder. A warning. I ran my fingers through my black hair and tried my very best to make sense of my rampant thoughts. this—whatever was this—wasn't supposed to happen this way. She was offering her first time. And while I'd promised myself her every first would be mine, I wasn't going to take it this way. I wanted her to get it the right way. To celebrate it. To make of it a sweet memory she would cherish. Fuck! I wanted all this for me too. She was my first. My first hand-holding. My first hug. My first kiss. She claimed all of that for herself, and I gladly gave it to her. But this? This was something I wanted to gift her. After all, I couldn't possibly gift her anything more than myself.

"Keeping my hands to myself right now, Lana, should be your proof," I argued. "Now it's your turn. What ultimatum did they give you?"

"What does it matter, Tae." Lana threw her hand in the air, removing the few steps between us and placing her clammy, cold hands on my bare chest. "They can't tear us apart. No one can. I don't care about their empty threats. I only care about you, Tae, and right now I need you." She pressed her nose against mine, and it didn't help my condition. Not in the slightest. Her scent invaded my soul. Knocked out my restriction. Fatal blow. I closed my eyes. Breathed in. Flesh to flesh, we stood very close to each other, yet life was standing between us in all its galore. "And I know you need me, too, Tae. We need each other to survive all the nonsense thrown our way. I need you, Tae. Didn't you promise to do anything for me, huh? Now it's time you make good on that promise."

I stroked her jaw, kissed her soft lips with languor, and kept our faces joined and my eyes closed while I elaborated a thought I decided would share with her. It was a suspicion. A doubt I needed to dispel. "Did they threaten to send you away if you didn't break up with me, Lana?"

Lana chuckled and opened her eyes. Her hands wandered over my upper body. They circled my neck like ivy. Brushed my skin like a painter. They trembled, but they felt like velvety silk against my skin. "If I said they did, would you run away with me?"

I kissed her eyes and wiped the tears away with my lips. Her sadness tasted bitter on my lips. I wanted to kiss her happiness instead. I pressed her closer to me, so close that it almost seemed like I was trying to seal us together. Her chest trembled with a trapped sob, and I stroked her hair in a desperate need to soothe her. Lana knew her family wouldn't leave us alone, that's why she came to me so late at night. She needed to make sure she still had some semblance of control over us, even if we weren't really in control of our lives. We were teens. Barely of legal age that many considered us kids. But we weren't. Not really. We fought in wars kids had no business fighting. We had feelings that some adults didn't know what they felt like. Lana came to me to seek reassurance. White lies. Empty promises. And though I thought I was giving them to her as we lay on my one-poster mattress, limbs intertwined and breaths adding to the condensation in the room, she was the one giving them to me.

"I love you, Tae. And I will forever do." She confessed between my arms. It was an innocent embrace that we both struggled to keep as such. "You'll forever be my choice."

And maybe it was the notion of being loved that dissolved my resolve, or maybe it was the way she slid my shorts down my legs, whatever it was, I found myself striking off another one of our firsts. I hovered over her, kissing a path from her jaw down to her neck, stopping only when I reached her frantic heart. "I love you more, Lana. You're my everything. My beginning and my end."

Neither of us was experienced. It was all so awkward. So bizarre. So beautiful. Maybe painful, too. But so was our life. I kissed her temple and repeated a hushed 'I'm sorry' countless times as I eased myself inside her. I kissed her pain and breathed in her sighs as I rocked back and forth with slow movements. She kissed my tears too, and that's when I realized I was crying. Suddenly I was overcome with this fear of loss. I feared our connection. Feared the day it would be severed. Somehow, I had a feeling it would happen soon. But Lana was always my anchor. She knew how to pull me back when I delved into my insecurities — my fears. She pulled me closer to her. Returned my thrusts with hers and brought her lips close enough to whisper in my ear, "We belong to each other, Tae. Two tortured souls. We're meant for each other."

My thrusts became jerkier. Fast. And so did her moans. My name was a song on her tongue. I didn't know what she was feeling, but I certainly felt euphoric. Lust flowed through my veins like a drug, and I shared my high with her— in her. "We're meant for each other, L."

Present.

It took me almost four months to figure out what the real ultimatum was. This, I suppose, is enough to tell that we never ran away. Because the ultimatum Min Sung-wo gave Lana was not a threat to send her abroad. The ultimatum was about sending me away, and not to study abroad. The ultimatum was very clear in its simplicity. Either we break up or I would go to prison. I knew the reality of the words Lana never managed to say that night straight from her brother's mouth when I waited for trial.

"You should've taken the chance you were given, Kim. She ran away from home in the middle of the night to warn you. You should've made her efforts worth their while."

I remember to this day the smugness on his face as he enunciated every word. And even though I blame every asshole in that family for what happened to us, I never blamed Lana. Not when I was first arrested and told my Miranda rights. Not when the judge handed down my sentence. Not when I became a person with a criminal record. In fact, there were even moments when I blamed myself, but not her. Deep down, I knew she was hiding a bigger truth from me that night. But I was emotional and so wrapped up in the moment to give heed to my doubts.

Now, however, my eyes can see things for what they are, albeit indistinctly. Inaya Chen hid my child from me. A fact. But Inaya Chen also took care of my child. Another fact. See, that's the only skill you gain when you become an adult. You start to rationalize. To see things from many perspectives. Now, this didn't apply to my view of Yoongi, because I saw Yoongi with a clear perspective even as a nineteen-year-old. Min Yoongi was an entitled bastard whose interests came before those of others, even those closest to him. He was the catalyst in my story. The obstacle, and what must you do with obstacles? Destroy them. That's what you should do.

That's what I'd do.

That's what I was about to do when I drove to the house he shared with Inaya after seeing the picture of my son playing around them. If hate was a liquid, it would have filled my veins instead of the blood that flowed through them at the sight. He took my place in my son's life after he kicked me out of the picture. By what right? The fucker was the reason that innocent child grew up an orphan. The child who was so tall for his tender age, with big onyx eyes and an even darker mane. Two characteristics that came from me. Two characteristics that testified to our blood link. The rest was his mother. Her pouty lips. Her dainty nose. Her dimpled smile. God, how much time I lost far away from him, unaware of his existence. There were many things we could have done together. We could've studied together. I would have helped him with math. It was my forte. I would have taken cooking classes to make sure he was well nourished. We would have gone on fishing trips together. We could have gone camping together. We could have done so many things together if he hadn't been stolen from me by the same person who had taken his mother from us.

Voices drifted towards my car. One young voice in particular caught my attention. And then came the image. Then came my child — my son. God, he was perfect, just like his mother. My hand instinctively flew to the door handle. I wanted to dash out of the car and take him away from there. Bring him to me, where he belonged. My heart hammered in my chest. Sweat gathered on my body, cold and steaky. God, I was about to be sick. How could they tear a child away from his father? How vile can you be to do something like that? How vicious?

Inaya wrapped a scarf around my son, whose name I still didn't know. Just another thing to add to my misery. To my raging anger. She grabbed his school backpack and pulled it over her shoulder. Yoongi ran after them like the desperate nuisance that he was. He kept calling her name, but she gave him the cold shoulder, and that's when I saw it. The trolley she was carrying. Lord, some justice at last. I opened my window so I could hear what they were saying. I'd parked not far from their house. In fact, I was close enough to be spotted.

"I don't want to hear any of it, Yoongi." She warned. "This," she pointed between the two of them, "us. There's no such thing anymore. You're on your own."

"Inaya, for fuck's sake!" He shouted behind her.

She didn't buy any of it. Together with my child, who seemed torn between the two of them, she hailed a cab and just as I revved the engine, ready to follow her and my son, my phone buzzed with an incoming call.

Life has a way of turning the tables. Today it's still standing, tomorrow it would fall. It's really curious when you look at it closely. It is infuriating, too. But right now, when I reached for my cell phone and her name flashed up, it just seemed ironic.

"Can we still have that Seolleongtang?" She suggested. Voice unsteady, tearful even. I really, and I mean genuinely, promised she wouldn't know what tears were if she gave me the chance to meet my son. If she picked up the right side, the world would be brought to her feet, and I would be the one to conquer it for her. She was one right choice away from turning her life upside down in the best of ways. If she returns my prince, I promise I will make her the queen.

My hands shook as I gripped the phone so tightly it felt like it might snap. I swallowed my fear, anger, and the ever-present sense of injustice, doing everything I could to keep my secrets buried—safely hidden in the part of my heart that had died with the woman who, once upon a time, breathed life into it. Such a wrecked state of affairs. Even from the grave, Lana still found a way to revive my heart with a piece of her—a piece of us. Our child.

That's when I felt it for the first time while being completely sober. That mirage. I turned my head to the passenger seat, and there she was. Lana. Smiling. Content. Relaxed. Alive. I mirrored her smile, though I refrained from touching her hand, afraid that if I did, the image would lose its fragile battle against reality. So, instead, we did what we had been doing so often lately—we looked into each other's eyes and carried on as if death had never come between us.

"Funny you should ask, Inaya. I was starving."

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