The Joker Card

Eights months. That's how long we haven't touched each other, Yoongi and me. And this before he went to jail.

The reasons were varied, really. Sometimes it was the struggle and the stress, but mostly it was the alcohol and the drugs. Yoongi was a user; there was no secret in that. I knew it. God knew it. The dealers he bought dope from knew it. And I was there as a form of support, as a means to achieve normality in a situation where there was nothing normal, no matter how hard you looked for it. I always told myself that sex is not the foundation of a relationship. Yes, we were young, and yes, we both had needs, but if those needs weren't mutually desired, I thought it wasn't a deal-breaker. I rolled with it, just as I came to terms with the drugs, the tantrums, the anger and the withdrawal symptoms that lasted the duration of a snap. I thought that love didn't have to be expressed between the sheets to be authentic. I thought love had to be proven by actions that weren't as shallow as a few orgasms and heavy moans. I thought and thought and fucking thought, but apparently, I thought wrong.

Because Yoongi functioned extremely well with others. He wasn't high enough or stressed enough to touch other women. His choice to turn my advances down whenever I kissed, touched, or cuddled with him, was active and intentional. It was a choice. Yoongi had a big appetite for sex; it's just that I wasn't an appetizing meal for his taste. Estelle, on the other hand, was. I was given his back on cold nights, when the heater couldn't be turned up to avoid salty bills, but Estelle shared his warmth even when she didn't need it. I was denied care when life aggravated my wounds, but Estelle got the full TLC package. I stole kisses like a thief when Estelle was gifted them. I thought the drugs had taken my place in his life, when in reality I was replaced by another woman.

The air was bitter, but it didn't reach the level of bitterness my heart was swimming in. The Han was angry tonight. It had rained so much that the level of the water rose, creating a strong torrent. But I was in good hands. The bitter vodka — yes, we have a theme here — warmed my body and protected me from the frigid weather. Such a cold night for such fiery emotions. I didn't know how I'd gotten here, but I'd made it without getting pulled over by the cops for a DUI. The streets were hazy. The streetlights as mean as the revelation of Yoongi's betrayal. But under the lines of small victories and all that jazz, I managed to drive all the way here to be in the company of silence. This place was well known for being the end of many struggling souls. I figured as I drove here, that no one would understand a sufferer better than someone who has suffered so much that the only way out was to plunge into the depths of this river.

I didn't cry — not even a single, lonely tear— and I had reasons to believe that I'd gone so numb that the vodka in my hands was taking notes to upgrade its recipe. I didn't scream — the sound was trapped in my body to replace my fading soul. I just stood there, a shell of myself, blaming everything and everyone, only to conclude that the only one to blame was myself. Nobody forced me to stay with Yoongi. Well, no one other than my heart, and at this moment, I really wished I could rip it out of my chest and throw it into the cold water. I loved Yoongi, and it was my love for him that had clouded my vision so much that I became blind. And really, blind was the only way to describe it. Because how could one not see the flaring signs?

The Han churned below me, black and restless, its surface catching the glimmer of the dim streetlights. And somehow it seemed to mirror my state. I was restless. A storm was raging in my soul, for my organs had long since lost the ability to feel. I brought the bottle to my mouth and sipped it as if it were water; the sour taste went completely unnoticed. I swayed back and forth like the waves beneath me. My black, floor-length Elie Saab dress swirled in the wind. Such a beautiful dress for such an ugly occasion. So thin and so vulnerable against the cold wind, just like I was against this hard world. And I found it so ironic that I was in the company of these inanimate objects and not in the company of the man I had dedicated my youth to. Upon reflection, I realized that the irony was in my thought processes, because if I was here tonight drinking my weight in hard liquor, it was because of the man whose company I was still thinking about.

Seeing as a theme was established, and irony was part of it, I figured it'd only be right to include coincidence. See, I realized that they're relatives — closely related. Because it was only thanks to coincidence that I came to know about how I had been fed lies and compromised promises. I would've remained none the wiser about all of this if I hadn't been paired with Estelle at a photo shoot today. The ugly truth? I wish I remained oblivious. Estelle was a model who worked for an agency that competed with ours. She had a solid portfolio and had worked for prestigious brands all over the world. A beautiful woman, really. Legs for days and a tan that defied this gray weather. Long, luscious blonde hair that kissed the sun that adored her skin. On top of her charming features, she also had a nice personality, so we hit it off right away. We talked about everything and nothing while we had our make-up done by professional make-up artists who worked with top-tier designers. We talked until nothing turned into everything—to the ugly truth that I was too blind to see.

Women talk when they're comfortable with each other. They brag about their bags and vacations and, eventually, their boyfriends. It so happened that she and I shared the same one. Only difference, she had him for what he really was. I had the altered version.

An innocent conversation about how infatuated and successful her boyfriend was led us on a trip down her photo gallery. I was so happy for her when she said he was about to put a rock on it. I cooed when she told me how she caught him talking to Harry Winston, giving them the details on the design he wanted for the colossal proposal. I cooed until his picture appeared on her phone and my voice died, along with my heart.

"He's always so attentive," she'd said, giggling as she scrolled through the pictures. "He always asks if I've eaten, even when he's busy. He's just thoughtful like that." Thoughtful. The word dug into my chest like a knife, because I'd convinced myself that Yoongi didn't have the bandwidth to think of others, not even me. But apparently, he had it in abundance — for her.

I drowned her voice with more vodka, and the more I drank, the sweeter the liquid tasted —sweeter than her voice and his actions towards her. I took off my Cesare Paciutti heels and stepped onto the cold barrier lit up with words of encouragement, desperately trying to dissuade anyone from pulling the plug on their miserable lives. As if a few words could save someone who was so beyond salvation. The words that appeared when I touched the bar were: there's always something better waiting for you to discover it. Don't miss out on life's surprises. I barked a humorless laugh full of disdain but so loud that it echoed in the emptiness alongside the loud torrent. The barrier was cold against my feet, just like the laughter I couldn't seem to recover from. The words weren't wrong after all. Life is full of surprises. The shitty type, that is. I brought the bottle to my lips again, emptying it this time and throwing it into the river. It hit the water with a loud thud, screaming in my stead. But I was the type of person who couldn't let something or someone go through shit alone, so I flung my arms wide and screamed as loud as my lungs would allow, the hems of my dress following the wind as it carried them west. Maybe there was a sign there. Maybe I had to go west, so far away from here and so far away from him.

"Inaya!"

The voice calling my name was so loud and hoarse, as if life depended on that scream. My hair was following the wind too, obscuring my vision as it whipped across my face. But I didn't need to have a clear view. I didn't need to turn around to see who was calling my name. The voice was so distinct. So gruff and masculine, and above all, it was familiar.

"Lookie who we have here." I slurred. "Mr. Kim Taehyung in the flesh. What wind brought you here, Mr. Kim?" My words were barely coherent. Every word was punctuated by a hiccup.

The long slit of my dress that started at the junction of my hip probably gave my audience a solid visual content, but I didn't find it in me to care. Why should I? In all cases, the person I loved already considered me a whore. It was redundant to work on my image now because now, his opinion mattered to me as little as our relationship mattered to him. I heard loud footsteps. I didn't turn around. I heard heavy panting. I didn't turn around. I heard my name being shouted angrily. I turned around, but maybe I shouldn't have. Because what I saw worried me, scared me and diverged my focus from my dilemma from how potent it was.

Taehyung's face was so pale that it looked almost grayish. And no, it wasn't because of the reflection of the lights or the swollen moon. He was breathing so fast it looked as if he was one inhale away from exploding. His eyes were wide, and glittering under the dark sky and yellow lights. I turned to face him fully, swiftly placing the balls of my feet in a steady position over the barrier. I never had a problem with balance. In fact, I always sought elevated places to stand on when my life was losing balance. It gave me a semblance of control over it. I'd challenge it to show it that I could outplay it. So it didn't scare me that I had my back to the abyss that raged beneath me. And maybe it was liquid courage, or maybe I've always been a fearless individual, but one thing is for sure: I didn't share Taehyung's fear.

Taehyung raised his palms slowly — so slowly it seemed cartoonish. And they were shaking - hard. He took a step forward at the same time I swatted my hair with my hand. His movement froze immediately. I narrowed my eyes, trying to decipher what was going on in his head. "You don't want to do this, Inaya." His voice was back to a conversational decible. But it wasn't back to normal. His tone shook like his hands. The savvy, confident tone was no longer there. "Whatever you want to do, believe me, it's not worth it." The way he spoke seemed to physically hurt him. It felt as if he was being tortured by invisible needles tearing at his skin. Every expression on his face screamed pain. "Maybe—uhm..." his throat worked on an audible gulp. "What I'm saying is, you can come down and we can talk."

"I like it up here." I opened my arms, gesturing at our surroundings. "You should try it too. It's liberating." Those damn hiccups again. "Knowing that you have control over the line between existence and demise is liberating."

"NO!" He screamed, startling me, which almost caused me to lose my balance. Mind you, almost. This time he walked faster towards me, but stopped a few feet away. "Stop with the fucking nonsense, Inaya. You don't know what you're talking about. Get down right now."

"And you do?" I roared. I was past letting people think they could tell me what to do or how to act. "Why don't you go back to minding your own business, Taehyung? I'm not in the mood to play friends today."

"I FUCKING DO!" His voice echoed in the void. His jaw locked so hard, I thought it'd snap. He clenched his fist so tightly and closed his eyes. His head tilted back and he breathed in deeply through his nose. It didn't escape my notice that neither of us were dressed for the weather — or the occasion, for that matter. Taehyung was wearing a white, half-sleeved T-shirt and jeans in the middle of winter. "I know enough. Surely, I know more than you, because if you had the slightest idea of what you're doing, you wouldn't be standing there." He unclenched his fists and waved his hands as if surrendering to defeat. "Look, we can skip the talking. We can do whatever you want, just..." He closed his eyes again, and this time it looked like he was praying to a God I didn't think he believed would answer his prayers. "Just step down, please."

It hit me like a bucket of ice-cold water. Taehyung was persuading me because he thought I was suicidal. Now, I could say that today I experienced the full variety of humiliations that life has in its catalog. As if being the other woman wasn't enough, now I was the crazy one, too. I barked out a laugh to complement the image he had of me. The crazy one. "You think I'm trying to kill myself?" There was less humor in my voice than my laughter suggested and more disbelief. His eyes followed my every move as I shook my head, crouched down and threw the first leg off so my foot could touch the ground. I didn't have time to register when he moved from how fast he ran toward me. But I felt his strong arm as he lifted me off the barrier and placed me on the ground. I also felt his pounding heart as he pulled me so tightly against him that our chests bumped together. But I didn't have time to look at his eyes or plead my case because the next thing I felt was the warmth of his lips on mine.

For a second there, I didn't move. Didn't breathe. I stayed frozen, my eyes wide open. But it was only a second, because his lips had taken me somewhere far away. To the west, where the wind was blowing. Or maybe to the east. I didn't know; was too drunk to determine the direction. My lips moved against his. Languid and demanding and pliant. It wasn't a slow kiss. Wasn't gentle either. It was devouring. His palm gripped my neck firmly. His thumb pressed hard on my jaw and I grew disoriented, dizzy and drunk on a different kind of liquor. The kiss tasted of despair, his lips of cherry cola and tar. Mine of vodka and heartbreak. I returned his open-mouthed kisses, and when he slipped his tongue into my mouth, a war for dominance broke out. Our breaths were loud, like the torrent fighting the bank beneath us. Our heartbeats were as frantic as the wind. I fisted his shirt in my hand pulling him closer to me until it felt like we were melting into each other. He ran his fingers through my hair and tugged so hard that I could feel it, but not so hard that it was painful. The pain murphed with pleasure, and a moan left my mouth and was swallowed by his. And the seconds seemed to last an eternity. And eternity seemed to erase my memory of the pain, the betrayal and the weight of our deeds. But I knew it was only a temporary fix, and Taehyung apparently knew it too, judging by how he broke off the kiss first. But he didn't pull away. Neither did I. His forehead rested on mine, our noses still touching, and I still had my mouth open, wanting more — wanting to stop— wanting to forget. Fuck! What did I do? Our eyes didn't seek each other's gaze. No, they stayed on our swollen lips. Fascinated. Shocked. Regretful.

"I'm not going to apologize, and we're not going to talk about it now." Declared Taehyung. His voice was commanding. Confident. "But let it be known; I'm done holding back, Inaya."

There were words I wanted to say. Questions I wanted to ask. But I was left to culminate in my conflicting thoughts as Taehyung took a step back, creating a distance between us that felt like a wall. A line he had already drawn, and I was supposed to cross it on his terms and conditions. My arms fell limply beside my trembling body. My gaze was fixed on the ground, visibly fond of the bitumen. But then my eyes twitched as he handed me something, and when I dared to glance at him, to my own horror, he was bare-chested. "Here." It was his shirt he handed me, and I looked at it and then at him as if I was facing aliens. "What, put the shirt on, Inaya. It's fucking December and look at what you're wearing."

"Right back at you. Are you crazy?" I shouted. "You're going to catch pneumonia."

"Right the fuck back at you, Inaya." He roared, throwing my words back at me. "And let the record show that you've been warned." His voice was steely. His index finger pointed accusingly at me. "Don't you ever pull shit like that again, understood? Now move your ass." He held my hand tightly and pulled me behind him, but then he stopped abruptly. Just as I didn't register how he'd run up to me earlier and kissed the hell out of me, I didn't register how he picked me up bridal style and resumed walking, ignoring my loud gasp and frantic reaction.

"My shoes, Taehyung," I shouted. We left them right next to the barrier I was standing on earlier.

"Inaya, don't push it. I'm not your maid. I believe you're smart enough to realize how pissed the fuck off I am right now." I flinched and a pout involuntarily formed on my lips. "Fine", he sighed. "We'll get you a new pair tomorrow. Now we need to get you warm first. Capisce?"

A wave of overstimulation hit me. Everything was too much. My drunken state was finally making itself felt. The pain of betrayal hit me square in the chest. The scent of the man who carried me between his arms as if I weighed nothing suffocated me. It was sandalwood and man. Something real, and reality scared me, because reality was fatal. His skin felt too warm under my palm, almost burning. Almost too much, just like his caring for me. It wasn't something I was used to. Not since my father died, no. And it felt like an addiction waiting to happen, because it felt like a drug. Like something I could get used to, but I knew I shouldn't. The way I led Taehyung on was cruel. It was a mistake I should be working on amending, not feeding it more. I gave him hope without realizing he had feelings for me, just to get back at Yoongi or whatever the fuck my dysfunctional mind had thought. And that backfired very quickly because unlike Yoongi, Taehyung was honest. He confessed—sure, in his own way, but he did share his sentiment nonetheless.

And now? Now I've kissed him. The worst part? I liked it. Scratch that. I love it and I didn't know what to make of this realization.

"Put me down, Taehyung." I resisted his grip and wiggled my feet. I refused to do to Taehyung what Yoongi had done to me. This man deserved a person who would be fully his. He deserved real, unadulterated love. And I wasn't that person — not now and maybe not ever. I'll be damned if I hurt him after all he'd done for me. He said he wanted my heart, but how could I give him something so damaged it didn't even function properly anymore? He looked down at me but didn't stop or show any sign of responding to my resilience. "I said put me down. Are you deaf?"

God, I had to put a leash on my mouth. The man was risking a nasty case of pneumonia for me, and I was acting like a stupid brat. But he had to understand that between me and him, nothing could happen. We hadn't talked about that day — about my giving him my heart. I avoided him, and I can safely say that he did the same. He left the house and went back to his house. He took with him our usual phone calls and random messages, which consisted of banters and memes. I lost him that day—lost a friend— and today I put the nail in the coffin by kissing him, and I had my selfish actions to blame.

"I'm not deaf." He tightened his grip on my body as he rounded the street corner. Where were we even going? I was growing woozy, and I really didn't want to puke all over his sculpted chest. It would be a shame, really. He must have worked hard to build up those muscles. Sis, what the fuck? Keep your eyes up. "But you're drunk. I don't indulge drunk people whenever possible." His tone was back to normal. Unbothered. Stoic. A deep baritone that radiated a special kind of warmth I'd never heard before. "So save it. You're heavy; don't strain my back any further with words."

Wh-what? I know he didn't body-shame me. My eyes widened with anger. My hand hit his chest involuntarily and judging by the sound, it seemed like I had gone hard. "Then put me down if I'm heavy. No one asked you to carry me and strain your precious back."

His retort didn't come, but he put me down. Dizziness hit me hard when my feet made contact with the ground. I steadied myself and realized that Taehyung was walking away from me. Something akin to panic ran through my body. I gave him grief and now he had decided to leave. I wouldn't blame him. I would've left me too. "Where are you going?" I shouted.

"Someone has to drive, and I don't think it can be you, for obvious reasons." Stupidity, meet humiliation. He opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat. I stood there, basking in my humiliation. At this point, you could call us besties. He rolled down the passenger seat window and tilted his head so that he was looking at me. "If you're done taking fresh air, get in the car, Inaya. I'm done flashing the town my abs."

I did as I was told with a huff. Taehyung turned the heater all the way up, warming our freezing bodies. There was silence in the car as we drove through the empty streets. A silence that I didn't find pleasant, so I broke it. "Aren't you going to ask what happened?"

He didn't take his eyes off the road. Didn't show any reaction either. His focus was on driving. "Do I want to know?"

He had a point I couldn't argue with. Taehyung knew I was going through a shitty time with Yoongi, so he must've put two and two together and come up with the result. No one wants to hear about how the person they care about is still pining over someone else . It's humiliating at best and painful at worst. So, I shifted in my seat and steered the conversation to a safer side. "How did you find me?" I asked as I chanced a glance at him. I was still mortified by what had happened between us less than half an hour ago.

My eyes fell on the pack of cigarettes lying on the center console. I picked it up and inspected it. Marlboro Red. I scoffed. Of course it was Marlboro. A classic choice, but not for a rich man. And that was what summarized Taehyung. He was rich, powerful. A big dog, but he didn't flaunt it. I wiggled the pack between us and asked. "Can I bum one?" I had to do something with my hands. His silence dragged on and I couldn't stand the voices in my head any longer.

"Didn't know you smoked." He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "Feel free." He scoffed.

The taste of tar was so bitter it made me want to spit my guts out. Taehyung looked at me again and I suppressed a cough that would've  revealed I wasn't smoker. "You didn't answer my question. How did you know where to find me?"

Taehyung's jaw tightened as much as his knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. But when he turned on the blinkers, his posture relaxed again. He took the cigarette from my hand and inhaled a generous drag while maneuvering the vehicle with his other hand. "We have security details following our models when they're shifted to prevent troubles. Didn't Miss Rossi tell you about it?" Another stolen glance. Another drag on my cigarette, which he monopolized. "We've had a few drug problems with models. That's why we decided we needed someone to keep an eye on the girls." Another drag, then he handed the cigarette back to me. Our fingers touched, his warm, mine cold. Our eyes locked in a gaze. His were confident, mine swarmed with confusion. "When you didn't answer my calls, I got worried. So..."

"Ah." That was all I managed to say. It seemed like I had ruined my professional reputation. Way to go. I took a drag, and this time, I couldn't fight the cough. He took the cigarette from my hand, stubbed it out, smiled and shook his head.

"Looks like you've got a ways to go before you're Marlboro material." His smile widened as he pulled the brakes in front of the house. "And I suggest you don't take them." He killed the engine and turned in his seat so that he was facing me.

"You don't know me." I protested.

He laughed. Loudly. The sound was peaceful and warm, like his bare chest and hands. Taehyung rarely laughed, but when he did, it suited him so well. I wondered if someone had told him that. "Or maybe I know you better than you realize." He offered, looking straight into my eyes — into my soul.

I avoided his comment the way I avoided his eyes. He didn't know me. No one knew me. Not even me. "Do you think Ethan's asleep yet? I don't want him to see me like this." I changed the subject.

Taehyung's lips twisted into a knowing smile as he pressed a button on the dashboard which reclined our seats. "Let's stay here for a bit then." He put his arm under his head and relaxed in his seat. I hesitated before doing the same.

"If something pushes you to explore the line between existence and demise, it means it takes more from you than it gives. Do you think it deserves the right to do that?"

The words were spoken in a soft voice, but they cut through my heart sharply. I took a deep breath and fought back the tears that welled up in my eyes. I sat up straight, took off his shirt and handed it back to him. He looked at me with a confused look, which I ignored, afraid of the words that would come out of my mouth. "Put it on. We need to check on Ethan. He's been alone for a long time.

I got out of the car first and as I walked to the front door, I heard Taehyung's footsteps behind me. He opened the door and called for Ethan when we found the living room empty. We avoided looking at each other, or maybe I avoided looking at him. In my quest to stay as far away from him as possible in my confused state, I walked up the stairs to check on Ethan in his room. Taehyung didn't follow me, and for that I was grateful.

But tonight had so many events in store for me. Ethan's room was empty. His bag, his shoes, everything— gone. My pulse spiked as the realization hit me. I took the stairs two at a time, rushing my way downstairs to the living room. Taehyung was sitting on the couch, nursing a glass of whiskey. "Ethan's gone," I shouted every single word in panic.

Taehyung shot to his feet, the glass trembling in his white-knuckled grip. "Fuck," he whispered, the word sharp and low. Then, with a violent jerk of his arm, he hurled the glass against the wall. It shattered, liquid splattering across the carpet. "FUCK!" he roared, the sound raw and deafening, his chest heaving while mine ceased movement.

And for the first time, I felt scared around Taehyung.

Almost 5k words. I deserve some credit, admit it. Keep them votes and comments coming. I would appreciate it if you could share this book, too. give a girl a chance to experience some fame TT.
Also, The Weeknd's new album? Fireeeee!!!