I'm not okay.

I stare at the food Hiram made me. It's eggs and bacon. My appetite is gone. Minho is quietly eating beside me and so is his father. Jennifer is at work. On one side, I'm happy she is. She would keep urging to know what's wrong with me. Hiram and Minho eventually let go of it.

What do you think? My brother is in the fucking hospital, of course I'm sad, is what I eventually somewhat yelled.

That's one of the many things.

He was in the hospital. I could see him in the corner of the waiting room. When our eyes met, he kept staring. I was rooted to the floor, unable to move. My eyes wouldn't draw away from him. I don't know how many minutes passed when he finally walked off.

And I followed. I had to know how to stop him. He could murder me, for all I cared— the rest just needed to be safe. They couldn't and can't be the consequences of my actions.

"Stop," I hissed at him, acting a million times tougher than I was. My heart was begging me to leave it and go back to the waiting room. My knees were wobbly and my hands shaking as I forced him to stop walking. "Tell me what to do," I urged, voice desperate. "Please. I'll do anything. Just don't hurt my family or friends. I swear I'll do anything you want."

"And what if I make you hurt your family or friends, hm?" He had grinned a bit. "Technically, that wouldn't be me hurting them."

"No. Please, no. I swear— I'll do anything but hurt them. Please just stop whatever you're doing. All this torture. Just tell me what I do to stop it."

"You get me my money," he said slowly, as if I was a three year old he explained it to. "Ten thousand dollars in cash. I think, now that you're reminding me, we'll get another due date. In about two days? I mean, I gave you months to collect the money already."

There was only one option for getting ten thousand dollars in two days.

And I didn't want to do that.

"Are there any other ways?" I was about to go on my knees to continue begging if he wanted me to. "Please. I can't get that much in such little time."

"That's your own problem," he snapped. "I mean it this time. You don't give me what I want in two days, and I won't let go of it as easily as last time."

I pressed my teeth together to keep a sob from coming out.

"I've made friends along the way, so don't even think about hurting me," he adds.

"Isn't there one other way to—"

"No!" Out of a sudden, he slammed me against the wall of the room we went in. A yelp of surprise left me. "There are no other ways. You are getting me my money, little bitch. In two days, I want it physically in my hands."

Tears started streaming down my face from both the pressure he was holding on my wrists and his words. All of it hurt. My wrists would be bruised, if not freaking broken. And there would only be one way to get money.

Steal. But I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for that.

But my friends and family getting hurt brings me more guilt.

That's the two options I have. Steal or let them get hurt. I cannot tell anyone.

"Because if you do," he pressed me harder u the wall, "you won't get away with it. I have friends everywhere. I might know more about you than your own boyfriend does. Minho Lee? I think I also know a lot about that boy. And that best friend of yours? Did you know his father and I happen to be great friends?"

Thomas's words come back to me, when Mom finally managed a divorce, they also diagnosed him with antisocial personality disorder. Better known as sociopathic behavior. A psychopath.

A psychopath, the word rings in my life like a mantra, echoing from ear to ear. Ten thousand dollars in cash, mirrors through my head and won't leave me alone. In two days, keeps the shivers and goosebumps coming.

"I'm full," I scoot my chair away from the table. "I'm sorry. It was nice." A pause. "Would it be okay if I take a shower?"

"Oh, yes, of course." Hiram gives me a smile I wish I could've returned. "Use whatever you want."

"Are you okay?" Minho gets up as well. "Do you want me to come with you? Help with anything?"

"I'll be okay. Thank you," my voice is hollow. I twitch the tiniest hint of joy at him, then walk up the stairs, on my way to the bathroom.

The Lee's designed it in a modern, expensive-looking way. Seems rich but is comfortable after all.

I block the bathtub's drain and run the water. Cold or hot? I hesitate. Cold, more chills but less thoughts. Hot— whatever. Who even takes cold baths?

I twist the button to the hottest option available and undress before I sit down on the cool floor, waiting. My eyes feel dry and my sight is dull. Drip drip drip, I hear the water. I close my eyes. His face is there. I open it again.

I stand up. I look in the shower cabin and in the drawers and everywhere I can, but there is no sign of anyone watching me.

Once I'm calmed down, I notice the bathtub is full. I dip my foot in. The water is going to burn me alive. It's way too hot.

I add my other foot, then my whole legs. I sit down in the tub, legs pulled up. I focus on my breathing, not on the pain. Not on the pain of my bones melting. The pain of my cells drifting away from me. The painful sizzling feeling on my skin. The way the hotness blocks my windpipe.

I take the deepest breaths possible, lean backward, and go underwater. I block my nostrils with my fingers.

My eyes open. Pain and pain and pain pierces through them like daggers— too hot, my body alarms. Too hot. Too hot. Burning. Too hot. But I stay underwater. I want everything to be quiet for a moment.

I breathe out as much as I can, watching the air bubbles hit the surface. With quick pops, they vanish.

What am I even doing? I rise out of the water again. Revealing my wet, hot skin to the open air might hurt as much as holding myself underwater did. Sharp little needles prick into me. I shrink.

My skin is red. It hurts. It feels good, but it hurts. It hurts.

Yeah? And in how much pain must Lyndon be right now compared to you? I want to dip my head underwater again, but I'm already attempting to dry myself.

It's one thing.

One simple thing, and then it'll be over.

Just have to steal money. I'll take my time to make it back and then I'll return it.

To whoever I'll be stealing from.

Because I don't know about that yet.