to do: - bio. or whatever you want to call that thing in my drafts - general info - THEME I hate this theme - fix tags - reply to Mel after what? a year? - S l e e p
She was dissentient to the norm. Itâs enticing to silence the paranoia in him she dredges up from her conflicting attitude with a bullet, edge of his finger nearly digging into the trigger when her tone dares him to. She was fearless, and he takes a momentâ toolong âto wonder why. Pain explodes under the grip she digs into his hand, joints popping from the pressure as he bites into his tongue to silence the vocal reaction crawling up his throat. He tastes blood in his mouth before she speaks.
Then fingers are in his hair, and his teeth flash despite the disgustingly gentle movement. Her nails feel like knives across his skin. Itâs an aha moment when she mentions a journal, realization mirrored in Sunggyuâs expression for seconds that might stretch on too long.
"Maybe I burned it," he grounds out under grit teeth in a near growl, twinges in his hand the pulsing reminders to what she might be able to do to him. He had gotten used to lying, but it became rather simple to unveil falsity if you were already familiar with it. The journal had been too helpful for him to destroy; he had simply hidden it. He cocks his head, attention wavering over any disturbance in features and her facadeâ whatever it was. She bounced between serene and volatile so quick, it made his head spin. "It outlived its use to me, like anything else. Obviously itâs not here, so thereâs really no point." He nearly laughs at her threat, casting a glance at the disarray around him. It makes his skin crawl, drawers torn out, papers scattered and clothes strewn across his floor. "Already saw everything you didnât want me to. Iâm almost curious about those symbols." The fact remained that he doubted she could reach any more of his life to fuck it up. This little altercation was merely a fluke, a simple mark in his day he could erase. He ignores the ache in his bones so he can underestimate her.
His free hand traces up her cheek in a mocking caress before his grip fastens in her hair, and he rips her head sharply back. âGone,â he finally whispers into the curve of her ear to prod at any possible anger. Anger was fun, and she could be entertaining. âOut of your reach, and me as your only connection. How does that make you feel?â His gaze dances across her face, taking in soft features he might have called pretty if he werenât so repulsed by her entire existence. âBe my little âsweetheartâ,â he nearly laughs out on a breathy exhale. âDonât flatter yourself, bitch. As for making my life a replica of this room, youâre welcome to try.â
It'd make sense to call out on his bullshit with how easy it would be, the cracks and breaches in his resolve visible by the panic flickering in his eyes as they glimpse around the room. But she wavers more and more with each word that falls from his mouth in rivulets of poison, his disdain garnering her interest instead of reaping out an mutual abhorrence she wouldn't be able to manage because of her inexperience. The more he talks, the more she smiles; he was challenging her, she realizes--he was giving her an opportunity.Â
She can barely hold back on her enthusiasm to give him the reaction she knows he's looking for. The dissembled anger in her laughter vaguely masks the adrenaline causing the excited tremor in her voice as she speaks, but the rush takes over too quickly. "I like you," she states, releasing her hold on his hair to tap his nose. "You see a yellow light and all you can think about is how fast you can go before it turns red. You're so cut off from what you feel, you've convinced yourself you don't know how to stop--that you don't have any limits." She leans in closer and pitches her voice in a quiet and gentle manner--almost as if she were trying to soothe his trepidation. "Luckily for you, neither do I."
An explosion shatters the calm in the half-second her finger finds the trigger once more, brain matter splattering against the nearest wall and blood staining the sheets. Her vision blurs red as a result from keeping her eyes open and the shrill ringing in her ears is almost as dizzying as the scent of gunpowder assaulting her nose. Bits of skull fall into her lap and an iron taste fills what remains of her mouth as it begins to move on its own accord. She doesn't realize she's even talking again until the white noise obstructing her senses starts to lift.
"...but you're wrong about one thing and that's there is a point here." She reaches for his throat to hold him still, her head already beginning to fill in the demolished and missing parts as a mischievous smile curls the edges of her lips. "It's called insight. Seeing as we both seem to be so hungry for it, I'll take you up on your little offer and try as hard as I fucking can to make your life a mess." No trace of negotiation is in her words; this was happening in spite of any differences he may have. Even the slightest chance was a wide open door Nari needed to step through in order to find the next one, regardless of who was already standing there--and this was no different. "You give me back what belongs to me, and I'll satisfy your own curiosity--down to the last fucking symbol."
Insecurity wasnât foreign. He melded into his paranoia, in taking the sensation within the same breath he woke up with each morning. Hysteria crawling up the spine of his thoughts was so often an occurrence, he became antsy when the atmosphere around him remained undisturbed by the actions of others. Today had been too normal, even if he had been on a materials run. The journal in his possession had proved useful for intriguing blackmail, new found information simple to take advantage of. Even as his fingers enclosed around the knob of his apartment, he found himself nearly itching at the realization of that. Was easy so bad.
Delight paints her every feature as he reigns her in, an elated curve to her lips that borders on mocking deflecting the other's fury as it fans across her face in a breathless tone. She's silent long enough to let his mirth dig just a little deeper underneath his skin as she stares up at him with a childish curiosity, wondering if his agitation was a sign he was catching onto his mistake or if she needed to push further. As the barrel presses into her temple, it's then she realizes that even if he had, pushing is the only option she's inclined to.
Her chuckle is taunting as she slowly raises her hand to grab hold of his, her clutch nearly bone-crunching as she forces the gun to push into her head as if trying to hollow out her pulse point. Pulling the trigger for him sounds tempting--too tempting--but she resists when the words suddenly tumble out of her mouth, her voice taking on a lower pitch than normal. "See how far a fucking bullet's gonna get you and maybe then you'll figure out there's no room for bullshit here in the first place." She lets him go, only to card her fingers through the short strands of brown hair to hold him in another vice grip and keep him still as her forehead gently leans against his. "You sent me--when you took my fucking journal."
Irritation laces her words, but the source of it remains uncertain. The feeling falls empty as it always does and comes off as another one of her assumed acts--until she remembers what it took to get here. She exhales slowly, brushing off the idea that for once, she might actually be thinking about the general consequences of the situation. Her memories were supposed to be nothing more than information, not a junction to the possibility of what humans called remorse.
"Where is it?" she demands, voice leveling to negate the awareness that she could actually be getting angry. "Tell me now and I'll be your little 'sweetheart' all you want--or--" She motions to the mess scattered on his bedroom floor with a quick tilt to the head-- "I could make your life look like this room." But she says this as if she wasn't planning on doing it anyway. "You've got a lot of cleaning up to do, asshole--and I don't just mean your apartment. Where is it?"
It was almost too easy finding her way in here, having encountered little to no trouble save for the lone watchman whoâd only wake up with a mild concussion thanks to the fury of her boot. Nari keeps her suspicions guarded though, especially when no one seems to hear the shatter of glass when her elbow busts open the second story window for her to slip through the new opening (and truthfully, she's a little disappointed no one does). Her clothes are tattered and covered in dirt from prowling through the thorny bushes after crawling through the outside premises, and as she steps foot onto the light-colored carpet to search through the room that didn't seem to hold much purpose, a trail of muddy footprints are left in the wake of her torn stockings.
But after two days of wasting her time visiting places she really shouldn't be and meeting people that no one should have business even looking at, she doesn't bother trying to conceal herself anymore. If someone were to find her at this point, let them--she wants her presence to be known. There was too much unnecessary blood on her hands now; something or someone had to compensate for the handful of losses in clientele that came as a result to one idiot putting his nose where it didn't belong (even if it was inevitable this would happen anyway). So as she hastily rips and tears through each closet, cabinet, and fixture in every immaculate room of the apartment, she supposes it's reasonable to act bitter and just a little savage.Â
Yet even after she's searched through the refrigerator and underneath every single piece of furniture, she still comes up with nothing.
"Hm." She thinks she doesn't like the concept of experiencing deja vu.
There's one room left she hasn't inspected--the one she assumes is the master bedroom by how lived-in it appears in spite of the neatly tucked in sheets lining the bed and the drawn curtains blocking her view of the outside. Without hesitation she yanks out another drawer, the items meticulously placed on top of the dresser scattering with the hard pull, before she tosses it aside to throw out anything that may have been in it. Drawer by drawer, she proceeds to break the wardrobe down until what's left is only the wooden frame, though she comes up with merely bullet boxes and socks that clutter the space around her feet--far from what she was looking for.
But just as she's about to claw the mattress to absolute shreds, a light sound--a solid click of a front door unlocking--causes her ears to perk up. Calm sets into her limbs then, tension quietly easing out of her agitated body as she settles into the bedding on her side, expression placid and eyes following her finger as it idly traces patterns on the blanket. Perhaps she can afford to wait on finding her journal a little longer--at least now she can get to the part she's been anticipating the most.
As soon as he steps into the doorway, she greets him with a mock salute, lips formed into a taunting, wicked grin. "Welcome home, darling."
"Fuck." A low hiss breaks the silence of the room when Nari finds her pockets completely void of any cigarettes aside from the empty carton, leaving her to search for any butt-ends amongst the accumulation of broken glass and ceiling plaster that had fallen to the floor. Shattered soju bottles and used needles lacerate and prick her hands as she searches through the rubble, but she discovers nothing and releases a quiet sigh.
Shouldn't have given him the last one.
She flips her right hand up just as the last of the cuts on her fingertips and palm heal, any sign of injury disappearing in a matter of seconds save for the droplets of blood left behind. She wouldn't have thought anything of it as usual if it weren't for that damned sensation--that ever persistent, concentrated fire still scorching underneath her skin. Her fingers curl as if she were trying to suffocate the flame blazing on her palm, but it strives just as it had been for the last three hours. Chances are it'd stay with her for another two.
Puffing her cheeks out as a sign of resignation, she stands to her feet and dusts herself off, debris crunching underneath her boots as she makes her way to the other side of the room towards an old picture hanging crookedly on a tattered wall. A cloud of dust flitters off the canvas as she pulls it off the rusty nail, revealing the muted colors of an old family portrait left behind for it to lay to waste with the rest of the house. Nari gives the feigned smiles a once over before tossing them to the side and reaching down into the square hole for the book she had lodged between two metal pipes just months ago. A family of rats had made a nest on top of it, but at least the pages were still intact.
She leafs through it without much thought of the content, having already remembered every word written on the blank space on each polaroid, but after a minute or two she notes a pattern. With a quirked brow, she pauses just a second longer as the text begins to morph into more than silly entries about her friends, her already indiscernible handwriting twisting into something uglier. The writing becomes rushed and angry and little ink splatters and smudges become more frequent, along with the amount of tears in every page she turns. Some of them even start to fall out, and as one flutters to the floor she dully notes she should probably pick it up.
Something tells her it's important; that it shouldn't be forgotten and that it shouldn't be left here to rot like everything else.
Her only issue is she doesn't remember writing any of it.
Blinking owlishly and about to dismiss the journal all together, Nari's reading comes to a stop when her eyes land on a particular word. Her brows twitch together in an unusual perplexed look as the gnarled character becomes distinguishable, causing the rest to fade out of her vision as it swells in her mind's eye. Without warning, the blistering heat on her fingers ignites up her forearm and with a loud curse she drops the book, stepping back from where it lands as her expression turns void. She stares at it as if waiting for it to attack her.
Burn.Â
Her lips tighten into a thin line as she tucks her right hand into her sweater carefully.
It read burn.
Why--how can she not remember?
She doesn't hesitate to move, her footprints leaving behind a trail of dirt as she exits the abandoned house for the lively downtown area around it. Glittering casinos and host clubs replace shabby apartment buildings and run down Quick-E marts the further she weaves through the crowds, her smile returning once she arrives at her destination. The bouncer nods towards the door once he sees her and she slips through without a word. She never came here to make any friendly exchanges anyway.Â
Her tunnel vision makes her blind to the accumulation of grinding bodies and strobe lights, allowing her to carry herself quickly to the men's bathroom on the lower level of the nightclub. She shoves the door open and practically lunges towards the middle of the room without regard to the two, stunned men lined up along the urinals, promptly ignoring them as they scurry out with their flies still undone and surprise blanching their faces. Standing on her toes despite the low ceiling, Nari viciously yanks the metal vent of the AC off and drops it in a loud clamor at her feet to reach through the opening, waiting for that faint thud as her right hand flails about.
She stills after a moment.
Nothing. Again.
Her eyes flicker with a peculiar gleam as she stares up towards the empty space, knowing that it shouldn't be an empty space because something was there. Though she hadn't roamed this part of the city for a while, not much of it or this particular shitty club had changed; there was no reason for her journal to be missing.
Unless...
It takes only half a second for a forceful surge to numb her fingertips once they press against the metal vent, residual energy appearing in a flash of white then vivid colors to paint a moving picture that blankets her own reality. Still, it's too vague for her to perceive who it actually was. Without permitting the memory to even finish, she takes her hand out and purses her lips to one side as her eyes scan over her settings, observing the new sink that differs awkwardly from the rest of the filthy ones. The mirror above it is new as well; before a hopeless, drunken declaration of love had been etched into the glass surface--this one is spotless. She presumes she hadn't noticed it earlier because she had been so focused, so fixated on receiving clarification that for once, she hadn't been distracted by what was around her.
But as she lays her palm flat against the mirror directly across the vent, the one that isn't brand new and still holds the past reflections of whomever it sees, her motive changes. The corners of her mouth curl up into an impish grin as she watches an apparition in the mirror skim through the pages of her journal over her shoulder, their face contorting into something unreadable once they pause.
Real answers would have to wait.
Someone needed to know their place.
amandla
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
pixelskylines
gamechangershow
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
gummygunk
origamiaround
