The Cardshark

When life fucks you so hard, it doesn't do it in a dictatorial way. No. It gives you the chance to take your turn and fuck yourself too, what about democracy and how well it sells, but not only. It's also about showing you that you can do more damage than she can. To show you how sick and deserving of her wrath you are. To prove a point, and in my case, the ball hit home. I got it. I agreed with her too, if only she had been gracious enough to let me tell her. In a way, I knew that what was coming my way was deserved. A well-measured price. Karma, if you will. But denying it was human nature, because we never want to admit that we've erred —did wrongful shit that can't be fixed. And fuck knows, I did my fair share.

"I'm begging you, Yoongi. Don't do this. I will... i'll break up with him. I swear, ah-Yoongi, I swear I'll cut him out of my life, but you can't throw him in jail. He doesn't deserve that. Yoongi —ugh! Yoongi, I'm on my knees. Can't you have mercy on your sister? Don't my feelings mean anything to you?"

"I gave you a chance, Lana. We, your family, gave you a chance, and what did you do? What the fuck did you do? Look me in the eye and say it, Lana. I'll say it if you can't. You went ahead and disgraced our family. You got pregnant at eighteen, for fuck's sake! I won't give you another chance. Kim Taehyung will go to prison and you will have an abortion. There's nothing you can do about it."

I've done my part in the past and I haven't stopped there. With every lie I told Inaya and myself, I dug the hole deeper and deeper until it swallowed us up. Buried us. And now that I was surrounded by dirt and soil, gritting my fingernails, and trying to climb out of the trap I'd set for myself, I realized that my actions had resulted in no helping hands being extended to me. I was on my own, calling and calling and fucking calling Inaya's number, only to be greeted by a robotic voicemail telling me that the number I was calling was unavailable. I knew it was. Fuck the robot, and fuck whatever explanation it had repeated a hundred times. But I couldn't stop myself. Couldn't hold back. Couldn't just sit there and watch her turn her back on the years we spent together as if they meant jackshit to her. Maybe they did. I mean, how much of it was real, she would reckon. When the lies outweigh the truths, the feelings become questionable, too.

"Why don't we ever go to meet your family, Yoongi? I mean, I'm not saying we should start printing wedding invitations, but I think it's time I met them."

"They're not in the country, baby. I promise you'll meet them when they get back."

"Yoongi, who is this cute kid?"

"My son, Inaya. My child."

"What? What do you mean, your son?"

"Past mistakes. He's not going to come between us, is he? He stays with my parents most of the time."

"I mean, surely not. I'm just a little surprised. You never said anything about having a kid. I thought we knew everything there was to know about each other is all I'm saying."

"Well, now you know. Is it going to be a problem or are we going to work around it?"

"I have no claims to your past, Yoongi. A little heads up certainly wouldn't have been a bad thing. But I understand. We just met—just started our thing. Besides, I love children. He can stay with us when he visits."

I paced and paced and fucking paced in our apartment, holding my head with both hands after throwing the phone against the wall, crashing its screen, and watching how the fissures resembled my life. But the cracks of my life were wider. They let out the secrets and brought in the truths. An open wound through which infectious diseases could enter the bloodstream. I crouched down, pressed my back against the wall, put my hand on my forehead and ran my fingers through my hair. The sound of my scream, I heard; the wet, warm liquid that seeped from my eyes I didn't feel. Perhaps because my mind was racing back and forth between the past and the present, bringing to the surface everything I had buried with alcohol and drugs. Drugs, I needed a fucking fix right now. I needed to block out this fucking race that was going on in my head. I needed to not feel. My chest heaved. Breaths warm, but the heart so fucking cold it would almost be dead if it wasn't beating so fast. The liquid coming from my eyes slid into my mouth and tasted as bitter as my life. I figured it was my own flavor. For a motherfucker like me wouldn't taste of goddamned strawberries for sure.

"You mentioned that you lost your job over something you don't want to talk about, but you never mentioned what it was—your job, I mean."

"Just a small company I owned."

"Damn! My man owned a company, you peasants! What did it specialize in?"

"Deliveries and things like that. Don't hold your breath. It's nothing big."

Lies, lies, motherfucking lies.

But now there were no more lies. Only the truth. A truth I should've told instead of giving Park Jimin the chance to rat me out.

I couldn't move from my position. My feet seemed to belong to a corpse, and perhaps they were on into something, and I should take a page out of their fucking book. I was dead. Breathing surely wasn't an indicator of being alive. But if I could move an inch, I'd be able to fight for whatever was remaining in my being. I would get a defibrillator— my own brand: cocaine. It was in the pocket of my vest, which I had thrown away earlier in my rage fit, sending it flying across the living room until it landed in front of the door. On reflection, I figured if I can't walk, I might as well crawl. So I did exactly that. I pathetically crawled with snot coming out of my nose and tears streaming from my eyes like the fucking beggar that I was until I reached my vest. My actions were frantic as I searched its pockets. When I brought the back of my hand to wipe the snot, I realized how unstable my hands were. It didn't matter. I myself was no longer stable. The caterpillar of my life was simply gone, causing my foundations to crumble. When I found the small plastic bag, I placed the powder on the floor and snorted directly from it before licking the ground to get the remaining powder. I collapsed as the blow reached my head right next to the plastic bag, which was now empty, and realized that if I could crawl, I could also kneel and beg—beg for her. Beg her.

"It's just a get-together with my friends, Yoongi. I don't understand why you're so against being seen with me."

"I don't wanna meet up with people, Inaya. Is that so hard to understand? Are you blind or maybe retarded? Can't you see that I'm a fucking addict?"

"I don't fucking care, Yoongi. I've accepted you for who you are, and yes, I want you to stop snorting your brains out and get your shit together, but I'm not trying to change you and I never will. I understand that you're going through something big. I know you don't want to talk about it. And I respect that, I really do. But you can't hide from people for the rest of your life, baby, you can't."

But it wasn't about the addiction. It never was. It was because I was a coward who was so afraid of being recognized if I stepped into a circle I didn't know. I didn't want Inaya to know who I really was. Was — emphasis on the past tense. What's the importance of hanging to past glories anyway, right? How could I fucking deal with the shame was the reason I didn't want her to meet my parents in case she recognized them and then gave me the shitty pity everyone seemed so eager to offer. She's my woman, for fuck's sake. I didn't need to be pitied by her. That was a low I didn't want to reach.

"You never allowed me to meet your parents because you thought I was a gold digger, Yoongi. Is that why you never wanted to be seen with me? Because I'm obviously way below your level?"

"Inaya, can't you see?" I wasn't beneath yelling at her. I was already at my lowest anyway. We were head to head, me hovering over her while her eyes pierced my soul. "There's no gold to be mined." I shook her by the shoulders, but she was fast to swat my touch away. Fuck! She was appalled by me. I took a step back, grabbed the back of my head, and sighed as I looked down at the ground. I wondered if it would open up and swallow me, as a last act of favor. "I'm broken, that's why I didn't want you to see who I am."

"Oh, cut the bullshit, Yoongi. Now that everything is clear don't belittle my intelligence the way you've belittled me all these years. I can't fucking believe it." Inaya paced back and forth. One hand propped on her hip while the other covered her mouth. There were tears in her eyes that she refused to let out. There was a scream caught in her throat that she tried to stifle. I have never seen Inaya in such a state. She was such a calm, sensitive person before I tore her world apart. Now, she seemed so apathetic. I had made her this way, and I knew I only had myself to blame, but her words hurt nevertheless. Selfish, I know, but I had expected her to understand my reasons, as she always did. Inaya had a routine and dreams she wanted to realize. I destroyed her dreams. And as it seemed by the way her arms slumped in defeat and her voice shook, I destroyed her reality, too. I tried to unglue myself from where I stood, feeling my hand twitch like it might reach for her— hug her, reassure her that I would've given her my whole life, not just the money — if I believed there was anything worthy in it, but the look she pinned me with told me I was too late. "You were ashamed of me. Me, Yoongi, the only person who never judged you for your depraved habits and endless addictions. I loved you, Yoongi. I fucking did. And while I spent my energy healing you, you spent yours hiding me. Bravo. Really."

I didn't breathe. Didn't move. Didn't utter a single word, because what was left to say? But I saw. I saw the tears rolling down Inaya's face. And it was a stab in the heart. I was in pain — I was bleeding, but I couldn't do anything about it. The moment of silence seemed to drag on for hours. The honking of cars was muffled by the acute ringing of finality that deafened my ears. I tried to move again to salvage what little was left of us. My steps were slow, but they felt very abrupt, just like an ending. A lump clogged my throat and made my voice hoarse as I reached Inaya and held her hand in my shaky one. They were cold — both our hands. "Don't do this to me, Inaya. You still love me. Don't reduce our feelings to the past. I don't care about the world, Inaya, I only care about us. About you. Look, I know I've messed up. I should've told you the truth from the beginning. But believe me, I had reasons to keep you out of my past that had nothing to do with the horrible things you said." I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against hers, seeking her touch to feel that I was still alive — still had hope. Her tears were no longer silent. Her warm, raspy breath lapped at my face, urging me to fight for us. "I'll make it right, Inaya. I promise you, baby."

When she placed her hands on my chest, I let out a sigh of relief. Such a sad state of affairs to be so disillusioned. We were so close, I could have seen her freckles if I dared to open my eyes and look at her. But I couldn't. Just like I couldn't hug her or kiss away her sorrows. I couldn't. I didn't dare. "I don't think we can, Yoongi. I'm exhausted; I don't think I have the energy to keep up with all this." She kissed me on the cheek and it seemed all so final and so abrupt that it set rage on my being. No, no, no! "I'm sorry."

"I'm all set, Aunt Inaya." Her hands slid from my chest as Ethan, my nephew, who Inaya still believed was my son from a previous mistake — to file under my endless lies— shouted. And I really should've taken a deep breath and counted to ten before spitting out my words, but as I watched her walk away from me, logic was wiped from my mind.

"Is it because you're a big shot now with big bucks, huh? The fame has gone to your head, hasn't it? Now that your pictures are all over the country," I pulled her towards me by the wrist as I bared my teeth and hissed every word. She gasped, shocked by the sudden shift in my demeanor, but not even her startled look could stop me. I was on a suicidal mission. "Now that you've used your body to become famous, this addict won't do. No! Now you're hanging out with the big dogs. What good will you find with this poor fucking addict?"

"You've gone crazy, Yoongi. Look at yourself. Do you even hear what you're saying?" She jerked free of my grip and took several steps back for good measure. I ran my palm over my face, horrified at my own existence, but still unable to fully regret my words. I wanted to inflict pain the way it was inflicted on me. She happened to be in my rage. As always. "I'm taking Ethan." She whispered as she looked at the boy, who was looking curiously back and forth between us. "Call me when you've organized his flight back to his grandparents." And with that, she turned her back to me. Again.

"Park Jimin doesn't do serious, Inaya. Don't delude yourself." I barked.

"Stop it! I don't want to hear any of it!" She shouted in a hoarse voice that was so unfamiliar. So foreign. "You've stooped so low already. It's enough. This?" She pointed between us with a shaky finger. "Us? There's no such thing anymore. You're on your own."

But I guess I reached far lower with my hypocritical lies. Life has this kind of irony that I should've had taken into consideration, having encountered it so many times before. Irony wanted to be honored, and that's exactly what it did when it chose Park Jimin of all people to be Inaya's boss. Give me a fucking break. I'm sure that motherfucker planned this to a T. I mean, what are the odds? High, clearly. Or low. I don't know anymore. But I do know that Jimin despises me with a cruelty that should only be reserved for enemies, not people who used to call each other friends. If you ask me, his hatred is justified. His means of revenge, not so.

I never thought we would reach such a place, me and Jimin. He knew full well it wasn't me who had wronged him, but apparently you have to pay for what your parents did. And my father did a whole lot. He took a big shite over a partnership that was older than me. He betrayed a friend when he was no longer useful to him. Sometimes I truly believe, even if I don't say it out loud, that the illness my father struggles with is nothing more than a karmic payment he deserves, just like I do mine. But there's a fine line between believing and actually admitting, which is now blurry and almost invisible. My father may have done irreparable damage to Park, but I would see to it that he is destroyed for good, now that he has brought Inaya to the center of our battlefield.

I wiped my face with the palm of my hand, taking extra care to remove the traces of powder from my face. I grabbed the keys and slammed the door behind me as I left the apartment, before remembering that I had left my broken phone inside. I went back to get it and dialed Jeon Senior's number while I tried to usher a cab. He answered at the same time as a cab pulled up in front of me. "Long time no talk, Yoongi my son. Are you calling to break the good news?"

"Gangnam Tower," I instructed the taxi driver. "We need to talk." My voice was clipped. Short words to hide the fact that I was high as a kite.

"We are talking, are we not, Yoongi?" The old man was starting to get on my nerves with his smugness. I would have ripped him a new one if I didn't need him alive and functioning.

"Do you need me or not, Jeon? A simple yes-or-no question, so spare me your diplomacy." I spat.

"Guess I do. And you need me too. What's the question for?"

"Good, because I have a counteroffer for you. I'm on my way. See you in fifteen." I hung up without hearing his answer because I knew what it would be. Jeon hated Park the same way Park hated my father. The man ruined his reputation when he ruined my father's business. A double whammy at the same time. He had a fish to fry in this feast, and I was sure he'd take the pleasure to season it very well before he served it. My phone lit up as I held it up to my face, and a picture of me with Inaya glowed from behind the cracked screen. So I did what I should've refrained from if I didn't want to be sent to jail for harassment and stalking. I opened the app that allowed us to locate each other and was surprised to see where she was. She was at a fucking restaurant while she let me stew in my anger and guilt. I would've felt unworthy if I hadn't known she was with the child I urged my sister to kill.

I regretted those words and that day and every single word that had passed between us with a vehemence I had never felt in my life. No words could explain how I felt about her pregnancy at her tender age, but no words could justify my reaction either. Lana needed my support. I let her down. Now life has taken away the only person who supported me. Karma and that yada-yada.

Still, I had every right to feel protective of my baby sister, and no one could take that away from me. She was eighteen, for crying out loud. She fell for the games of a scumbag who was after her fortune. A criminal with no future or past, for that matter. A fucking nothing who didn't even know who popped him out. A tree without roots doesn't grow. I didn't want my sister to waste her time watering a plant that would bear no fruit. But my blind protective instinct prevented me from recognizing the nature of that plant. It was a parasitic weed that needed to be removed, so I did just that. I never regretted it. I only regretted the pain it had caused my sister. Maybe it wasn't even regret. Maybe it was frustration. Definitely, it was frustration. I was frustrated by her naivety, but I never regretted sending that bastard to prison.

It wasn't hard, considering all he'd done. Bulgarley. Car theft. Illegal gambling. Actually, that was the only offense I could bring against him. The rest were committed when he was a minor and the statute of limitations had already passed. When my dad told me about my sister's obscene decision regarding her emotional life and showed me the background check on that scumbag, I wanted to run him over with my car. He should be glad I only sent him to jail. And if my sister wasn't as obsessed as she was, she would have seen the huge mercy I had with him too. He wasn't fit for my sister. He never would be, and I would never have blessed that relationship even if she was still alive.

But then again. But then fucking again. The motherfucker impregnated my pure, innocent sister. The biggest felony he committed. The unforgivable crime. And if it wasn't for my dead sister's wish, I swear I would have killed him with my bare hands.

Kim Taehyung. There was a special hatred I reserved for that son of a bitch. Something akin to repulsion. A feeling so potent that it would never die. Because true,my sister had killed herself, but the one who had put the noose around her neck in the first place was him.

Kim Taehyung had killed my sister.

I couldn't hear what the taxi driver mumbled as my thoughts drifted to memories I preferred to keep locked away in the depths of my mind when we pulled up to the curb in front of Gangnam Tower. "Man, are you deaf or just illiterate? Here," he pointed to the glove compartment, which had a sticker on it with ugly writing that said smoking is not allowed. I looked down at my hand and, without a fault, I was holding a lit cigarette. I pulled a few bills out of my pocket and threw them on the console before opening the door and getting out of the cab without acknowledging his scolding. "Good riddance!" He shouted before driving off.

I took the elevator to the tenth floor without syaying a word to the receptionist, who kept calling after me. The elevator opened with a chime when I reached Jeon's floor, and I got from and walked with a quick but determined stride to the old man's office. I didn't bother with futilities such as knocking on the door. I barged in unannounced with the rush of cocaine still racing through my blood and controlling my actions.

"Here's my favorite CEO," Jeon greeted me with a feigned glee that made me want to shove my shoe in his mouth. I didn't acknowledge that shit either. I went to his cupboard and poured myself a glass of whisky, which I gulped down in one go, and another, which I took to the chair opposite him and sat down. If it bothered him that I had no ethics, he didn't show it. Instead, he smiled mirthlessly and went to the cupboard to pour himself a drink as well. Jeon was a man who refused to follow the pace of life. He was stuck in the nineties— his heyday. His clothes reeked of money, which people nowadays disguise with simplicity. He didn't do simplicity. He liked everything regal. His office was a reflection of his style, and his penthouse, where we currently were, was no different. The man still used an answering machine in this age and time. He still had a fax printer, and if it had been up to him, he might still have been using those old computers with the huge backs. I firmly believe that he upgraded because he needed stronger, more effective software.

I wiped my nose—a nasty habit I reckoned materialized from the constant substance use— as he sat down in his plush chair, grinning. "You said you had something for me, Yoongi. I'm all ears."

I leaned forward, propped my elbows on my knees, and twisted my lips into a cheerful grin that matched his. "Park. And don't worry about it. I know you're a maniac when it comes to keeping your hands clean. So I'll get mine dirty. At any rate, he has to go." I lit a cigarette and took a hearty drag. The smoke came out of my nose as I pointed at him with the fingers holding the cigarette. "We both want them gone. Pronto."

Jeon tipped his glass as he thought about my words. He lit a cigarette as well and dropped the carefully crafted metal lighter on the desk with a dull thud. "And what's in it for you?" He asked.

"I'm going to do what you wanted to do but couldn't. I'm going to make them pay for what they did to you," I paused. I took another drag and exhaled, building momentum. "In exchange, I'll become a shareholder in your hotel, not just the acting manager. That's my final offer. Take it or leave it ." I leaned closer and rested my elbow on his desk. "And I suggest you take it, Jeon. After all, that man has destroyed your career. He'll think you're his bitch if you just bend over and take it without giving some." I finished with a wink. The way he looked at me was my answer. The shotgun blast before the start of a marathon. The game had begun.

I'd run if I were you, Park Jimin. Run!

I changed the child's name because i'm not sure which one i like better. You tell me.
Votes and comments are appreciated xo