Mara

No matter who my rescuer was, I hope he'll rot in hell.

I cursed yet again as I checked my balance, finding that my bank account was drier than the Sahara.

I threw my six-inch heels at the ATM and slid my back against it when I realized my rage didn't change the numbers.

Everything I'd been saving for the last two months I gave to the hospital. I didn't have health insurance, so of course I had to empty my pockets before they signed my release papers.

Fuck nosy people. I'd never wanted to be saved. Otherwise, I wouldn't have chosen an empty alley to fucking overdose.

Speaking of which, I should be really glad I didn't end up under investigation. The doctors filed my case under severe malnutrition and hypothermia. They either were whacks at their jobs or they didn't care because of how unimportant I looked. Which, let's be honest, circles directly to the first option.

I ran my finger through my hair, feeling the clumps of hairspray sticking to my nails. I hadn't washed in almost a week, courtesy of unpaid bills. Maybe it would've been better if the doctors had alerted the authorities to my drug consumption. At least in prison, you have hot water.

I sighed, standing up and clutching my heels in my hand. I'd lost my last fruitful investment. The money I thought I'd leave behind for my little sister had just evaporated. So I'd better get ready for tonight's stage.

Walking down Gangnam, I evaluated my options: motels. Too expensive. Hair salons. Too expensive. Fuck. I smelled like rubbing alcohol and felt like a used Band-Aid. How was I supposed to hop on stage looking like this?

Just as I was about to start considering relieving a few women of their bags, my phone started buzzing in my skirt's back pocket.

I pulled it out and immediately wished I hadn't. Closing my eyes and prepping for a slew of lies, I answered the call.

"Hello!"

"You said she was an orphan, you liar. Do you even understand the gravity of the position you've put me in?"

Miss Baek, a mid-fifties woman I'd met at Sunday mass, shouted her accusations at me. But were they really just accusations?

No.

"I can explain," I started, clenching my grip around the phone. "She's technically an orphan, Miss Baek. Her parents died a decade ago. And, though I'm of age, I can't really be considered her legal guardian. I don't even have a job," I tried to reason.

"But you're her sister," she shouted back. "Find yourself a job and act as her older sister instead of trying to rig the system," she said with finality. I bit my lower lip, tasting metal. "Don't you ever call me again, Mara. Lest you want me to report you to the police."

Miss Baek hung up before I could beg her to do it and relieve me. Now would've been a good time to throw my phone against the asphalt, but I really couldn't afford to lose it too.

I had a solid plan going on, but everything went to shit when I was rescued last night. I'd registered Elara, my little sister, for adoption. I would've been declared dead. My money would help her navigate the system until she'd found a nice family to take care of her. She was about to get everything I never got. But no. Some fucker, so proud of his good deed, had to take that chance from her.

Unlocking my phone, I dialled the number of the only person who could partially help me at this moment.

"Sweet Mara, what can I do for you today? And before you ask for more, let me tell you that a raging addiction is not what a rising star should have."

"Rising star my ass," I bit back. "And no, Jungkook. You can keep your drugs. I need a shower. Can I come over?"

I could hear him shift in his seat, wherever he was. The line stayed silent for a second, save for the sound of footsteps. Maybe this wasn't a call he wanted to have with whoever he was with.

"Mara, I told you many times you don't have to suffer like this," he started again. "I have gigs for you that could turn your life around. Just name your price."

"I'm not selling my body, Jungkook. We already covered that," I clipped. "Now, are you gonna let me use your shower or what?"

He sighed, heavy and, dare I say it, frustrated. I couldn't blame him. I was overstaying my welcome. Only yesterday, he gave me four grams of his finest snow.

I thought I'd take that debt to my grave. I thought wrong.

"The keys are under the doormat," he finally said. "Do what you gotta do, and then eat something. The fridge is full."

"Alright then," I said, ready to hang up.

"Mara," he called, "I'll be there in an hour. Don't feel rushed."

"It's your house, Jungkook. Come whenever you want." And with that, I hung up.

~~~

I walked all the way to Jungkook's house from Gangnam.

You'd think a person who'd just been released from the hospital after an overdose accident wouldn't be able to do all that walking. Surprisingly, I wasn't even tired. More surprisingly, even when I woke up in the hospital's bed, my body didn't feel uncomfortable in the slightest.

On the note of surprises, what actually wasn't surprising was the state of Jungkook's house. Clothes were thrown around at will. I had to kick his boxer briefs out of my way to the shower.

I met Jungkook five years ago when I was applying for a singer position in a bar in Gangnam. I ended up being rejected, but I gained a form of manager, if that's the right term to call him. He started finding me gigs. I sang, and we split the wage.

A year ago, he'd found me a permanent spot at the Raging Tiger, which was the place I sang at every night for spare dimes.

Couldn't really complain now. I actually was looking forward to those dimes now.

I threw the fridge door open and grabbed a protein bar and a Gatorade. After swallowing the whole thing in record time and chasing it with the Gatorade, I threw on one of his shirts after making sure it was clean. I left my hair to air-dry before I started walking back home in this frigid December weather.

As I was rummaging through the cupboards for some bread, I heard the front door click open.

"Make yourself at home, darling," he offered, tauntingly.

"Wouldn't call a pigsty home," I started, spreading jam on the bread. "But whatever floats your boat."

He walked towards me with a smug grin on his face. "You're welcome," he added, kissing my cheek.

I didn't flinch. I recognized the gesture for what it was. I had a debt to pay. The way it looked, I had started footing my bill.

"How many songs are we allowed tonight?" I asked, diverting away from a silent conversation I knew would soon turn into a loud demand.

"Three," Jungkook said, walking to the fridge.

He removed a beer cap with his key and chugged half of it. "Do you need more?"

"I actually do," I said. "I'm short on cash."

For a second, his eyes lingered on me. Soon, I realized he was looking at the shirt I was wearing. "I didn't have anything to wear," I explained, clearing my throat.

He put the beer on the kitchen counter, lit a cigarette, and walked to the couch, over which he slumped.

"Five it is then," he said on a sigh. "I can manage a way to convince the owner, but—" He turned his head toward me, a smirk tugging at his lips. "More songs mean a higher commission. You cool with that?"

I ground my molars, cursing my state and my need for a middleman. But the field required a middleman. I couldn't work solo. I needed someone who had connections with owners and pub managers.

"I'm cool with it," I spit. I put the bread where I'd found it and the jam back in the fridge, cleaning up after myself. "Thank you, by the way," I added, grabbing my fur coat and red purse.

"See you around, M," he said, voice thick with smoke.

The door slammed behind me with a finality that echoed in the empty hallway. I stood there for a second, just breathing in the stale, neutral air, letting the silent transaction settle on my skin. Then I turned and started the second one-hour walk to my house.

~~~

"I think you need more blush," Elara, my baby sister, suggested.

I looked at her in the mirror reflection, my heart bleeding out for her. But I smiled. Maybe, amidst my mathematical thinking, I forgot how devastated she'd feel if I, too, left her to join Mom and Dad.

"I was thinking of going bold with lipstick," I shrugged. "Wouldn't it be too much?"

"Since when did you start adopting minimal makeup, sis?" She grimaced, arching her brow. For a twelve-year-old girl, she had quite the comebacks. "You're a singer. Go bold, babes. Own the stage."

"Alright, Miss Fashion Coordinator," I taunted. "Go ahead and choose a nice outfit for me while I finish up here, will ya?"

Dramatically sighing, she stood up from my bed and walked the small distance to our shared wardrobe. "What can you do without me?"

Nothing.

I couldn't live without her. But I didn't want to weigh down the air by voicing my answer. Instead, I chuckled.

"Here," she all but shouted. "This dress is a killer. Red complements blonde hair. I read it in a Vogue magazine I found in Yuri's house. Her mom always wears nice stuff, so I'd say you can't go wrong."

I laughed, shaking my head. My sister was really an IT girl, taking fashion tips from a magazine we couldn't even afford. But she was right. Red would bring life to my green eyes and complement my black smoky eyes. Maybe I'd make enough tips to cover Jungkook's commission. And maybe, just maybe, enough left over for a copy of Vogue.

"I'll drop you off at Yuri's," I announced as I slipped the tight dress down my body. It barely covered my thighs, but I had knee-high boots to pair it with. "I'll pick you up tomorrow after my shift."

"Yay!" She somersaulted, fisting the air. "I'll grab my PJs and a few lipsticks from your drawer."

I crouched in front of my sister, holding her tiny shoulders. For her age, she was underweight. I closed my eyes for a second, wondering if I had any right at all to refuse Jungkook's offer.

"What happened to your arm?" Elara's voice brought me back from my shattered thoughts. My eyes flickered to where her hand was holding my arm. It was bruised, but it didn't hurt at all, even when she pressed on it.

Actually, for a bruise, it looked weird. Almost silverish and slightly green instead of the typical purplish color a bruise would have.

Not in the mood to scare her by telling her that I spent last night in the hospital and that my bruise was most likely caused by an IV needle, I smiled.

"I bumped into a table," I said. "Anyways, listen to me carefully. Do not disturb Miss Lee and do as she says, okay?"

"Will do, sis."

I dropped a kiss on her forehead, feeling a bit better and slightly motivated for still being able to hold her between my arms. I thought I'd never have this chance again.

~~~

I was on my last song, and the crowd was going wild.

Oh, Death. Oh Death. Oh Death.

The whole pub chanted, placing their request. That song actually, I never meant to sing again. I wrote it simply because I wanted to say goodbye to this stage.

Maybe I also wrote it because I wanted to show death how much I desired it.

In all cases, the song wasn't in the playlist for tonight. But given how the patrons raised their cups and beers, some of them flashing their phones with the song name on them, I knew I had to break my rule.

"Alright, alright," I said, my voice taking over the shouting on the mic. "Here's for our secret lover," I began, snapping my fingers at the drummer, signaling for the melody to begin. "Here's to our darkest desire."

The drums were loud and precise, like a marching army. The choir began. People went silent.

"At three, folks," I shouted, rearing my head back, feeling my body come alive with each note. Goosebumps fought against the sweat dampening my skin. It felt like a high.

No. I had drugs, and they didn't make me feel that way. It was a myth.

It felt sacred.

Make it that you touch me
In the cold of the night,
Under the sunlight,
Make it that you touch me,
Oh, death,

The crowd went along with me word by word, and as I kept my eyes closed, I prayed. For life. For death.

For relief. In any shape. In any form.

When the last note zinged through the thick, humid air, I was on my knees.

The mic dropped from my hand involuntarily, just like the tears nobody saw in the dimmed lights. But the crowd took it the way rock fans do.

So I let them enjoy the mic drop, and without further dramatic speeches, I left it on the ground and headed to the bar.

A drink. Maybe ten. I needed them. I was thirsty.

No. I was parched. A feeling I had never felt before. A thirst so intense, it almost felt like hunger.

I wove through the heavy crowd, pushing and bumping against people until I reached the bar.

"Hey, Drake," I called to the bartender. "One big glass of water here and anything of the strongest you have."

I could feel my body shaking, as if it were wired. It wasn't pain or discomfort or even tiredness. It was something I couldn't describe. It was strong.

I should ask Jungkook how long the effect of cocaine will last in my body. I didn't like the way it made me feel.

"Here's the best cocktail for the best singer in the world," I barely heard Drake as he slid my drink toward me. "Secret recipe. On the house. And here's your water, darling."

I chugged my water in one big gulp. My vision blurred and then focused again. "Thanks, love," I said, smiling. Even though my heart was beating so fast, I was barely breathing.

When I tried to reach for my drink, I almost spilled the whole damn thing. I cracked my fingers, breathing through my nose, trying to calm whatever comedown I was going through.

I looked around me, finding that people at the counter were each on their own journey of drunkenness, nobody paying attention to the weird symptoms I was experiencing.

Thank God. The last thing I needed was to be reported to the pub owner for drug consumption. He'd fire my ass on the spot.

I reached for my drink again, this time grabbing it and downing it in one shot. It tasted bitter and sweet. It gave me a fuzzy feeling I really needed right about now.

I jumped off the barstool, deciding it was time to get away from here. I'd sleep it off so that I could be in shape to pick up Elara in the morning.

My feet betrayed me before I could make it past the barstool. My head turned so fast, it gave me whiplash. I could feel gravity pulling me down and the impending face-first fall calling my name. And just as I prepared for it, finding nothing to grab onto to steady myself, I felt my arm being grabbed in a firm hold.

I felt myself being yanked up not so gently, but I inwardly thanked whoever my savior was.

I closed and opened my eyes again to get rid of the blurriness that had latched onto them. Putting my hand over the one holding me, I tried to gently take it off.

"Thank you," I said, adjusting my dress. It had jumped over my thighs. "It was a close call," I added, chuckling, before I could look at my rescuer.

"Sure thing."

I plastered a smile and looked up at the man who helped me.

My fake smile fell instantly.

"You?" I stuttered. His face looked oddly familiar, even though black shades were covering his eyes. "We've met before," I added, even though I couldn't remember where exactly.

My brain worked overtime, filing through my memory. Something inside me was convinced I knew this man. But my brain didn't cooperate.

For a second too long, he just stood in front of me, in a black long coat, a turtleneck that was also black, and navy suit pants. He was so formal for a pub like this.

"No, we haven't," he finally said with an even voice. Nodding, he turned around and started walking toward the door.

His back. The width of his shoulders. The long coat...

"Yes, we have," I shouted. "Last night."