The Croupier

I was bored as hell. And don't get me wrong. There was nothing I enjoyed more than lounging in the in-house casino I'd built in the basement of this brownstone that I'd bought five years ago. It was something you wouldn't spend a penny on even if it had grown a mouth and demanded it. It was so old and on the verge of collapsing, but the location was Chef's Kiss. Secluded and away from the hustle and bustle of the city, which I despised with everything in me. So, I worked hard to give it a new look. It took almost six months of moving from one hotel to another, but in the end I made it resemble what I had in mind in terms of aesthetics, even if it was painfully far from what I had envisioned for my first home. No laughter. No chatting. No family. Most importantly, it was a house without Lana in it. No amount of money or renovations could replace the warmth a family can give a house. Let that sink in.

So, as the house was as cold and lonely as a morgue, I avoided it the way you'd avoid, well, a morgue. I used it to store my belongings and made sure I at least got my money's worth in the shower. I spent the rest of the time in the in-house casino. The cards and token chips didn't remind me that I had no one to talk to. They kept me company with silent victories and thorough planning. The bottles of liquor were the prize and caresses of a lost lover when intoxication clouded my brain with a sweet mirage that brought her image before my eyes.

"You've lost again," she'd say. Voice laced in silk and velvety feel. She'd smile. A smile so beautiful, so like her, so Lana. So alive. And maybe it was the intoxication, or maybe I just wanted to bask in the brief time the illusion lasted, but I'd smile, too. I'd shake my head and put my hand on my shoulder—there, where her touch was felt even if it was invisible to the viewers. And she never disappointed. At my touch, she would drop a kiss on my temple — a kiss that was so warm, so real, so alive. Because at that moment, she was alive. With me. In my heart, where she will never die. "Are you even a cardshark? At this point, Tae, one would wonder."

"I'm not a cardshark." I'd say. And she would wrap her arms around my torso. A hug so warm. So authentic. So alive. "People who are blessed with luck in love aren't lucky gamblers. I have you. I can't have it both ways. That's not fair to others, L."

I liked it, that mirage. That illusion. That was a problem because I started losing on purpose just to drink that bit more. I bought more booze than food because let's face it, who was I going to eat with in this huge house? Who was I going to share my day with while grabbing a bite? Who was I going to cook for? Yeah, that's what I thought. No one. So liquor it was. Every night. In excess, and the fucked up problem was that I was aware that the addiction wasn't alcohol. It was the apparition of her face whenever I drank it.

That mirage.

But now, the same in-house casino that I cherished so much brought me endless boredom for one simple reason: the presence of Park Jimin in it. I didn't like it when people thought they could come here and chill like it was a neighborhood pub. I had taken the day off specifically to avoid human interaction, and the bastard thought that if he couldn't see me in my office, he was welcome to barge into my house.

Okay! I might be distorting the truth here. Not lying. But just slightly modifying the facts. I didn't go to work because I had a meeting with Inaya today. It was Wednesday. Our Seolleontang day. I figured it would be better to keep my schedule free since, unlike her, I was in charge of my schedule so I would be ready to hit the road when her message came. Jimin, however, had other thoughts. He came and took a shite all over my plan.

"Don't be such a bore. Let's have a drink, man." Jimin insisted, but I had no intention of becoming his drinking buddy. It wasn't anything personal against alcohol, but it was very personal against Jimin.

Now, I may look like the biggest hypocrite on planet Earth, but that's okay, I guess, because I couldn't give less of a fuck about unsolicited opinions. Park Jimin was an animal. A man who wasn't above forcing himself on a woman. So I feared that I would puke in his appalling face if I drank water in his presence, let alone alcohol. Granted, I was the one who had paved the path he had taken to get to Inaya, but then,I thought he had limits. I didn't think he would force his disgusting touches on her. A few snarling or even lewd remarks? I'd roll with that. That's what I had in mind when I pushed him towards her anyway. But touch her? Fucking kissing her? Feeling her body even though she had explicitly told him she didn't enjoy it? That was a violation. In other words, rape. And I didn't want to be associated with a rapist.

Admittedly, he didn't follow through with his plan. The act of defilement was not complete if you really care about details when it comes to something whose seriousness should not be measured by secondary details like sexual intercourse. But that could have happened if Inaya wasn't a strong woman who stood her ground and fought — literally, with fists and all — to prevent worse things from happening. She even left the imprints of her nails on his chest. I knew because she, in her quest to convince me that I had no right to terminate her contract — as if I would after all I had done to hire her—told me and rationalized her actions by implementing that her reaction was self-defense.

That night, when she came to my house trembling from both fear and cold, sleep refused to meet with my eyes. I tossed and turned, deciding that meeting up with alcohol would be a better option than the missed RSVP with snooze. I refused to let her go to her house that late at night. She spent the night in my cold, secluded house, and that was a first. No one was allowed to spend the night at my house. Not even Seokjin. So as I drank and drank and then drank some more in search of — what was I even looking for? Maybe to appease my mind — I worried that she would come into the kitchen for a late night snack or a glass of water and see me in that state. Festered in guilt. Guilt because Inaya Chen didn't hurt me. She didn't destroy my life. She didn't take my lover away from me. Inaya Chen was innocent; her only crime was being the most precious thing in Min Yoongi's life, and that man didn't deserve to have anything precious in his life after taking away the most precious person in mine.

That thought alone appeased me enough to find my way to my bedroom, and when I heard the guest room door burst open, I thanked God for the balanced timing. She didn't see me in whatever state I was in, and I didn't see her broken state either. A win-win in my book.

"Nobody drinks at noon, Jimin. And even if they do, 'cause we're all free to do whatever we want, I don't think my house is a bar you'd hit when feeling the urge for an early start. So, what wind drove you here? Wanna cry about your busted lip? Who did that to you anyway?"

I noticed his ugly state when I opened the door for him—by mistake. I thought it was an Amazon delivery— but I refused to address it, what about being empathetic and all that yada-yada. I also didn't question it because Jimin was still a teenager in his mind, even though he had passed thirty some time ago. He liked to party, and when I say he liked to party, I mean the full package. Dance floor, excessive alcohol consumption and pissing contests over the girlies who were actually teenagers. I wouldn't put it past him to have been beaten up by an angry father who caught him exploring his daughter's anatomy outside their house.

I didn't care about eye contact as I questioned his uninvited presence in my house. I had my cell phone in hand, shooting Chul a message to find out where Inaya was. Since Yoongi was released from prison, the man had his hands full keeping an eye on both of them. The priority was Yoongi, especially after the planned fight they had after his release, to which I had a front row seat from where I watched the unveiling of my plan, the way fate would watch the strings it pulled left and right in the lives of mortals. It was a spectacle. Marvelous, just as I had imagined. And when the time came for my interjection, I didn't shy away.

I followed her as she drove aimlessly through the busy streets of Seoul. Typical stalking behavior that Seokjin suggested I should be checked for. When she parked in front of a cheap pub, I did the same and waited twenty minutes after she entered. Then I ruffled my hair and loosened my tie, the typical look of someone who'd had a long day and needed a drink to de-stress. The doorbell rang as I made my way to the counter. I chose the furthest seat to her left and ordered a JD on the rock. I downed it in one go and ordered another. I had to reek of alcohol before I approached her to sustain the look I was going for. And what do you know? It had worked its magic.

After the third glass, I sighed audibly and made a show of raking my fingers through my hair before tilting my head to the right. I did a double take all so surprised before calling out her name.

"Inaya?"

But you see, when you're in the habit of planning things, you forget that there can be deviations. When those deviations happen, they'll surprise you because you were so blinded by the success of your plans that you didn't see them coming. Or maybe you did see them coming, but you didn't weigh them up properly. In my specific case, I didn't anticipate the way she would look at me when I called her name. Bloodshot eyes. Mascara smeared. And rejection painting her face an ugly, pale color. I recognized that color. It was part of the color palette that life had given me. A color you wouldn't recognize if you hadn't worn it before. A disgusting shade that I didn't think suited anyone, let alone her.

But it would suit Min Yoongi. So right then and there, and before I could even take a step towards her, I promised I would make him wear it. And very soon.

She wiped her tears with her palms as I sat down next to her and ushered the waiter for another JD and another glass of whatever she was drinking. My bet was on vodka. "Mr. Kim. What are you doing here?" Her voice cracked, all so broken and fragile. I slowly tore my gaze away from my glass and looked at her before replying, "right back at you. And we already agreed that last name basis was over."

She took inventory of my face, my hair and I would go as far as saying of my clothes too. Understanding rolled by, and the hint of a smile — a sad and apologetic smile —graced her lips. "Bad day, huh?"

I took a sip of my JD and let my gaze drift to the vitrine lined with bottles behind the barman. "Not the best. Guess the same goes for you?"

The smile remained on her face, but it was not the only one. The tears were there too, and this time she couldn't hold them back. She couldn't even wipe them, seeing how fast and continuous they were. Fat and plentiful and full of sadness. There was a slight, almost invisible movement in the hand I was holding the glass with. An uncontrolled muscle movement that wanted to wipe those tears away. I reigned it. It wasn't my place to do that. Life might have shaped me into a person who didn't care about stomping on others when it came to exacting my revenge, but marching in the funeral of someone I'd killed was the kind of low I liked to believe I hadn't hit yet.

"Was supposed to be the best." She murmured right before downing her shot. "Turned out to be the worst.

"Wanna talk about it?" I offered. This time, I shifted in my seat so that my body was angled toward her. A sign that I was all ears and ready to take what she was willing to give. To alleviate the burden off her shoulders in case she needed someone to help her with it.

The place was dim, smoke filling the air with the stale smell of tar, but I still saw how her chin quivered despite the lack of light. I saw how her fingers curled with such force around the empty glass she still held. I saw how her chest heaved with the sigh she expelled and every deep inhale she took. She was fighting the breakdown. Caging it along with the words she wasn't ready to let out. I saw her strength in the midst of her vulnerability, and I respected how said strength didn't make her an arrogant person who refused to acknowledge weakness. Many people lost that ability when life didn't relent from the continuous stabbing. God knows I did.

"Sometimes it helps, you know," I probed, "to talk. To let everything out, especially to a stranger."

Onyx filled with unshed tears looked me straight in the eye, almost boldly, "And are you? A stranger, I mean."

"I can be if you want you want me to." I called the barman, who was wiping clean glasses: "Another round here, please."

Liquid courage. She needed it. I needed it too, because there was this nauseating feeling that was brewing in my chest that could only be quilled with alcohol. This was the first time I hadn't enjoyed Lana's ghostly presence around me. She scolded me. Wordlessly. She pointed fingers and accused me of becoming inhuman. I didn't want to hear any of it. I saw the repercussions of my actions, but I wasn't willing to back down. Not now. Not until I had taken my revenge.

"It's curious, you know," she offered, "how the means you take to protect your lovers can turn you from someone they once loved into someone who disgusts them all in the blink of an eye." She downed another shot and grimaced, "A trash they'd want to toss away in the garbage bin before it pollutes the house with a stinking odor."

Bile rose in my mouth. I had turned her into the very thing that I was. The very thing that took Lana away from me. The pariah. The social outcast that no one wanted anything to do with. The ugly stain in an otherwise white cloth. Min Yoongi hadn't changed. He was still the entitled motherfucker who thought he was better than the lot even though he had lost everything that had once given him the right to think he was superior. At least he sat on a throne I couldn't afford when he belittled me and considered me someone who didn't deserve his sister. I was poor. An orphan who gambled for a small commission to afford bread. Now? All he had was the audacity, and I'll be damned if I didn't take that away from him too.

I didn't regret what I've done. What I did had a purpose. She'd be crying now, but it was only a matter of time before she realized that losing a scumbag like him wasn't a loss. It was a gain she was still too blind to see at the moment. I would take off her blindfold. I would show her the bright truth. And if I couldn't wipe away her tears now, I would make sure she didn't shed any more in the future. I would make up for the pain I had caused her and make her understand that it was just like medicine. Bitter and hard to swallow, but it comes with a promise of healing.

And like an ointment, I would tend to her wounds.

"If you have to photoshop your image to meet people's expectations, I can't help but say they're not worthy of your efforts, Inaya." I picked up my car keys and threw them on the counter in front of her. "My car is outside. Wait for me there. The day calls for Seolleontang."

Her hesitant laugh came breathy. Hurt. Tearful. She picked up the keys and looked at me, "but it's not Wednesday."

"Semantics." I offered with a smile so fake it tensed every muscle in my face. I leaned forward so that my face was inches away from hers and tilted my head so that I could depose my whispered words directly into her ear. "Every day can become Wednesday if you want it to."

The moment she left the bar, I threw a few bills on the counter and rushed to the toilet, emptying my stomach from the disgust I felt toward myself until all I could do was dry retch.

Perhaps it was Jimin's presence in my domain that brought this memory to the forefront of my mind. Not sure, but I found myself so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't hear a single word Jimin spewed.

"Come again? Who did you meet?"

I was sure my mind was playing games with me. Maybe it was because I was multitasking, texting Chul and thinking about the day I tended to Inaya's wounds. But I was almost certain I heard him mention Yoongi.

"You really have a knack for ignoring people, Kim. I came all the way out here bearing some hot gossip only to be ignored. You wound me."

Good. May that wound become infected. "Do you need an invite to spill the hot gossip or what?"

"I did indeed, but I don't mind repeating myself because it deserves the double entendre." He sipped his tequila, quite smug for a Wednesday afternoon. My phone pinged. An incoming call. Chul. I couldn't take it in front of this wanker. So I sent the call to voicemail. "I saw Min Yoongi today, and guess who I saw him with?"

Oh fuck! This wasn't in my plans. I didn't want Jimin to find out the connection between Inaya and Yoongi. Jimin wasn't the stupid type of lad. He could put two and two together and get the right result. The fucker was good at math. So I played it cool. I grabbed a token chip and twirled it between my fingers: "With the president of this country?"

"Ding! Wrong answer. He was with our next Kate Moss. Inaya Chen." The chip fell from my finger. Bad move. I was known for being at ease when playing with cards and bets. If Jimin noticed my discomfort, he didn't show it. He downed his drink in one gulp and leaned against the back of the seat. My cell phone beeped again, this time with an incoming text message. I couldn't check it. I knew it was Chul, and if he was that persistent, it meant he had something important for me. But apparently so did Jimin, seeing how he changed his posture from relaxed to shifting his body forward, propping his elbows on the poker table, and looking me straight in the eye as if he was looking forward to seeing my reaction to whatever he had in store. "Today, I saw Min Yoongi, who I figured is happily in a relationship with Inaya Chen, and have a child together."

My body went frigid at the mention of the child. My child. Inaya had my child in her house all this time? How? Chul followed her everywhere and never mentioned seeing a child around. Chul. He was calling and sending messages. I didn't show the reaction Jimin had expected. I pulled out my cell phone and checked the notification panel. Sure enough, there was a message from Chul. But not only from him.

Inaya: I'm sorry. I can't make it today. Rain check?

Liar. Liar. Liar. Of course she couldn't make it to our appointment. She had better things to do. She had my child to play with, laugh with, and spend time with, while I wasn't even allowed to see him from a distance. Liar. Hypocrite. She said we were friends. Friends don't lie to each other. They don't omit the truth. I told her she was my friend; she should have given my words the right weight.

Christ!

Chul: Media file.

Chul: Park Jimin visited Inaya today. They had a long conversation that ended with a hug. See the attached media file.

Chul: Media file.

Chul: Yoongi and Jimin had a fight. The fight ended when a child came out of Inaya's house. Here is a picture of the child.

Chul: Media file.

My fingers trembled and hesitated before I opened the last attached media file. I was about to see my son. Our son, Lana. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would jump out of my chest onto the poker table. Finally. God, fucking, finally, I was about to see what my child looked like. But then something clicked in my head and I stopped before downloading the picture. Inaya had my child, and she'd never said a word about it. And just like that, my guilt about what she went through because of me dissipated.

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