August, 1993 Gimpo.

That moment had changed everything. My way of seeing life and my thoughts. That moment was the turning point, the moment I shed innocence and embraced the kind of feelings that I couldn't categorize as evil, but wouldn't go so far as to say they were appropriate either. I owe my mother everything I could not be and everything I became because the moment I took her life as a consequence of blind rage and lack of choice, I waved goodbye to normalcy, and the somber side of this cruel life engulfed me.

I think about it frequently, especially as of late. I wonder what my life would have been like, what kind of relationships I would have had, and who my friends would have been. And when I think about it more deeply, I wonder if my feuds would have been the same and if my love would have been for the same person, regardless of the kind of life I led.

I would have liked to lie - at least to myself - and say that the action of grabbing the ashtray and hitting my mom on the head several times was unintentional, a reaction I regretted soon after the adrenaline wore off, but I didn't. I did not feel remorse for a single second, and I would admit that even though I had wished that my life would never take such a turn if time went back and the situation presented itself in the same way as it did then, I would do the same and make the same decision without hesitation. Because I wanted to be liberated, dreamed about it countless times in different ways and scenarios, wanted to experience what freedom felt like, how the absence of slavery would affect me, how it would affect my little brother, and how beautiful life would look and feel when we were both free from the shackles of a demon that never wanted us but exploited us in the worst possible way.

I never felt sad, either. If anything, I could have been the happiest person in the world if my brother hadn't been so ill. If he had been spared, I would have taken him to eat samgyopsal right after the funeral.

I admit, though, that in the many daydreams I had when she was alive, I imagined a freedom that included her, but in a different form. A good mom, a normal mom, a caring mom who took care of us regardless of our financial situation, loved us as we were, took us to school, and packed everything she could buy at the store in our backpacks. We would have been happy for anything, really; it could have been dirt, and we would have been happy and grateful for it. Grateful for her presence. I dreamed of making this version of her proud of me, imagined an older me who would find a decent job and fund for her, and who would one day buy her a silk hanbook and let her watch me make vows to a woman who would help take care of us, and give her little replicas of me that she would love just a little bit more.

And that was the difference between how I felt when I thought about ending her and after I actually did and how I felt about a similar scenario that would include Jimin. There was a place in my heart that was soft for her, a place where I could possibly forgive her if circumstances changed, but for him, I didn't have that place in me. There wasn't a single moment where I felt like I could live a life in a world where he existed, and though I felt the same way about my mother when the daydreams ended, and reality hit me with the lash, there was still a slight difference that could become very apparent when you looked at the picture under a different light.

If that blow hadn't affected my brother, we could have lived a life that my dreams wouldn't have stood a chance against; we could have had everything, even the things we never thought we could own one day. Given his intelligence, he could have become a doctor, as he always wanted, and I could have made sure that his environment was calm and serene so that he could concentrate on his studies. We could have been free, as we always wished, and I can't help but imagine the same scenario of freedom and vast happiness if Jimin had not been there.Nancy and I would never have broken up. We would be married now if she had said yes, of course, maybe even with a baby or two. Two is ideal for me: a little boy and a beautiful girl who looks just like her. And now, as I look at her, tear-stained face and chapped, bleeding lips, I wish I had the ashtray I hit my mother with to crack Jimin's skull open with and rid him of that smirk, just like I wiped my mother's smirk off her face.

"At last, mechanic. At last an opportunity to talk and settle our debts. Let me tell you, my dear mechanic, how pleased I am to have you here tonight."

My gaze was intense, and I knew that if I had superpowers and the world was a small fictional playground, I would have punched him full of holes by now. But life is not fiction - it never has been - and from the chair to which I was tied down, I couldn't break, albeit the repetitive tentatives.

"I'm glad you're happy to see me, and in light of this fact, I really hope I'm the last person your eyes see."

My words seemed ticklish, a feather caressing his most sensitive spots, for he began to laugh with an ugly sound and an even uglier image. I did not take my eyes off him, though my wrists struggled to free themselves, benefiting from his distraction so I could even our playing strength. Taehyung and Yoongi looked at me as if waiting for a signal they knew I couldn't give because our situation was mutual, the three of us tied up and out of action.

"You know, mechanic, I have always loved your humor, ever since the old days when you were humble. It was a refreshing sight to watch your banter with both the Saw - may his soul rest in peace - and Casanova. I'd always told your superiors that you had potential; wish I'd seen then what depraved potential you had."

The bastard had closed the distance and thwarted my attempt to undo the restraints around my wrists. His eyes spoke the language of evil, and mine spoke and understood that silent language he decided to maintain. We were both aware that if we were alone in this room, only one of us would leave it alive, and the fact that he chose to avoid privacy only confirmed what a coward he was.

"Let her go, Park. Did you want me? Well, now you have got me. Let them go; your feud is against me, not them. Not her."

The squeak of the chair he sought was bile-threatening. I watched as he sat down in front of me, blocking my view of her. With the tape over her mouth, all I was left with was the sound of her muffled sobs. Taehyung and Yoongi remained silent, both willingly and out of obligation, as the wanker taped their mouths too. There weren't many men in the room, and I thanked and criticized his confidence and overestimated courage; if I could just manage to break those bonds, I'd take him out in a second, nothing more.

"That's where you're wrong. I don't want you. Not anymore." A cigarette found his lips, and the puff reached my face mockingly, reminding me that I, with everything I'd become and everything I'd done, ended up being his prisoner due to a miscalculation I'd been better off not making. "All I want is to give you a taste of the loss you have caused me. Nothing major, just something to remind you of your place, dear mechanic."

Nancy's cries grew louder, and I wished I could ignore her pain and yell at her so she could cry in silence. Everything became a distraction: her breaths, mine, and my partners'. Everything became the enemy and allied with the thoughts that were haunting my mind, looking for a way out.

The place stank and that's putting it mildly. The smell of rancid piss gave me a headache, and the stench of his men's sweat, along with his cologne and the withdrawal I faced, invited my last consumed meal to land on his face. Not that I would have minded showering him with it, but it would have looked like a weakness I'd rather not show. The place was a warehouse owned by Song the bastard, which explained how I'd ended up here and the failure my plan had faced.

"You think that by tying us here in this godawful place that resembles you, by the way, you would make up for the name you've lost, Park? This," I instructed without hands, relying on my looks and intent, "us here will never restore your reputation, not because I caused you to lose it, but because you never had one in the first place, Jimin. It's time you made peace with it. You lost Seoul; as a matter of fact, no one wants you to rule it again. They have finally found peace in your absence, so spare us and spare yourself the humiliation."

"Look how quickly time flies," he looked at his men as if seeking their confirmation, emphasizing each word with dramatic hand gestures, "Yesterday he was a child, now he's talking about some big, big words that I'm not sure he fully understands. Look here, mechanic," his hand reached for my chin, searching my eyes to bury each word in their depths, "if you think you rule this city, you are mistaken. I gave you a small victory, thought you would eventually come to your senses, but what can I say? Children without parents rarely learn ethics, and we can not really blame them for what life hasn't given them. I brought you here so you could see for yourself that you never had a chance. To see how easy it is for me to sweep you off the surface of this planet like an insect in a way that teaches you what the father you never knew and your whore of a mother never taught you. And believe me, kid, you will be able to tell the story. I will see to that."

My eyes remained fixed on his until the movement of one of his men caught my attention. It was planned, rehearsed beforehand, and I only realized this detail when the man pointed his gun at Nancy's skull, causing more tears to run down her cheeks. My hands worked faster behind my back on the tie that had interrupted my attack, and as two men moved into position behind Taehyung and Yoongi, the speed increased even more. Yoongi glanced at Taehyung and nodded at me, and I understood that they were both on my same page. It would seem selfish, even cruel, but I wasn't worried about them. I knew what they were capable of, and I knew Nancy didn't have half their strength or thought process.

"You have just dug your own grave, Park," I hissed at the same time as the tie came undone, my eyes seething with a rage that would set this filthy place on an unquenchable fire, "You're a dead man walking," and the end of the sentence - which he took very light-heartedly with a laugh and all- fueled my attack. It was all in fast-forward, a speed that a human eye can barely translate into an image and that brains not as desperate as mine can barely decipher.

My hands quickly clutched his collar before I hit him in the nose with my head, sending him stumbling back and, running, I led my way toward Nancy. There were many sounds to be heard, several voices, and several words that I did not want to focus on, but I was sure I heard Taehyung's voice yelling profanities, and I definitely heard Yoongi backing him up, but I focused on the woman who looked at me with hesitant, tear-filled eyes until her screams were the last thing that reached my ears.

I was close, so very close. It reminded me of how close I was to saving my brother if only I had run a little faster. It reminded me of how things could have turned out if I had been less reckless and paid more attention to my mother's signs; how different things could have been if I had been careful and gotten my brother out of that hell before everything fell apart. It was all so similar, and I found out when the sharp metal pierced my abdomen before I could reach her, just as my mother's blow took my brother before I could reach him.

"Jungkook, my brother. Save me."

The man standing between me and her, putting an obstacle between us, twitched the knife in my stomach with such ferocity that one would say I stole his inheritance. My gaze remained fixed on her, a final farewell, while my hand remained on my attacker's shoulder, a source of support as my feet began to give way. Her sobs were loud, and I wished I could kiss her pain better.

I was close, so very close, but still too late nevertheless.