Withered | Smoke

Her bare back shone to the disco lights as I walked closer, her head tilted toward the crowd upstairs. But that wasn’t something she was investing herself in, her thoughts had filled her head and then constantly swam beyond her skull; they were everywhere.

  I stood beside her and drank in her face, her hair, the little mole on her earlobe. She had been the fantasy of my late teenage years, the woman whose voice and sway of hips made me sweat, question my sanity. It wasn’t minutes before she turned toward me, her neatly plucked brows furrowing as her eyes just beneath failed to recognise the subject of her distraction.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” what was I doing? She was a married woman, but she was also alluring.

  Her eyes fell on my hair and softly glided across my whole form, her gaze professional but thoughts rather contrary. She had told me so later herself. “Yes,” she whispered as her lips curled in a smirk. My heart skipped several fucking beats. It was wrong, but I had no care in the world as the woman who had made me cum in my pants bazillion times before tipped her head toward the ceiling, closing her eyes, and radiating in a rather accomplished smile. Then I was the one who stood confused, then not knowing what could’ve caused her to light up so blatantly, so suddenly.

  That night we drank, I smoked, and we talked. I could tell the light crease of her nose every time I pushed a fresh cigarette between my lips. She was repulsed by my addiction, but she was addicted to me.

  After getting home that night, I felt like this perpetrator, this horrible home wrecker. My heart stung in pain that I had conflicted upon myself, and I was rather ashamed to admit that. The fact that a mere teenage crush drove my legs to propose a night as intimate and personal with a married woman made me feel like a rather disgraceful young man. Thus when I met her the next night, I shoved it in her face that she was to be faithful to her rather goodlooking and charming husband. I was just an outsider, a momentary infatuation, a whimsical mistake.

  As she swiftly traipsed away from me, clearly mortified by such an unexpected comeback, I felt lonelier. It wasn’t misery, it was seclusion. I felt as if all the warmth that once resided by my shoulders has softly soared away with her. Coldness wrapped around my heart, squeezed at the muscle, caused me pain. That’s when I realised that misery would be a rather comical understatement.

  It was very simple. Fanboy had met the woman of his dreams and foolishly let her go because he couldn’t win against his morals. The scenario laid out was pretty simple, nothing out of the ordinary. And probably that’s how it should’ve stayed. But it didn’t.

  Because I went back to her, took her in my arms and apologised for my verbal transgression. I assured her of happiness, of butterflies in her stomach, of her head over heels. I assured her of all the pain it would bring along, and she didn’t even hear me. I lied to her, not letting her know that a mere teenage crush had me moving on my toes, because I wanted her to believe I liked her. I did so of course, but it was a version of her everyone knew if she could, she’d rather forget.

  She was the calmest storm that could turn an entire city over without procuring even a whistle. The rate at which my heart was picking up its pace every time graced by her presence and the implore of it whenever she drifted off my vision had my insides in a tumultuous uproar. Never in my entire life had I experienced such longing for a woman. She was a goddess, and in no angle did she look even half-human to me.

  I was in love. I was in love the night I kissed her. I was in love the night I made love to her for the very first time. My heart was bursting with love when I had no other way but to only kiss her goodbye the very next morning. I was in love when I told her she wasn’t worth dying over.

  Thus as I got in my car without my driver and drove to the hospital she was being treated in, no care of the masks or shades or caps. I was in love. I was in love with the woman who had gotten into a physical fight with a husband she wasn’t in love with. I was in love with the woman whose husband had shot himself right before her eyes. I was in love with a woman who I had wronged gravely.

  Jealousy used to eat up my heart when I saw her beaming at cameras, her arms in his. I knew she didn’t love him and nor did he care about her beautiful heart or her enchanting body, but I felt contempt toward the man with that dashing smile and heart-melting dimples protruding his cheeks. I wanted to be in his stead for I knew I was humble enough to cherish the position, that I was in love enough to stand with her for my entire lifetime as she striked another pose for the camera.

  When Mr. Jung entered his cabin, he found me inside. I had told his assistant that he had asked for my immediate presence, saying that he needed to replenish his files with my updates. She offered me some coffee and forbade me to smoke before letting me be on my own, leaving some magazines behind. I lit up a cigarette his very own wife had gotten me the moment the door closed behind that little slut he fucked in his office a week prior to that very dreadful day. I knew her voice, and her moans were no different at midnight when he relentlessly he did what he did.

‘Mrs. Jung’ had stood outside the cabin as his animalistic grunts almost consumed her moans, her eyes misty and her knuckles white. She had no right to be mad, not anymore then. She was seeing me, she was letting me have her in every intimate way possible. Yet, she was jealous. She was jealous that her husband preferred a cavern that wasn’t hers, that his nails dug into hips that were some other woman’s, that her husband didn’t want her like he wanted other women. I could feel my blood boil as she failed to feel my presence, too consumed in the activity that took place on the other side of the door.

  I had simply cleared my throat and smiled just the usual, before taking her to my place instead of her own. She constantly persisted that she were to stay home that night, that she were to be in the room and not let it rot cold. I didn’t oblige as I fucked her hard. I pulled on her hair and bit her shoulder as my hip strutted hard against hers, her voice escaping from the back of her throat as her nails dug on my back and dug further below. I sat with my back against the headrest and pulled her on me, as I pounded inside her in a pace she hadn’t experienced in years. Her mouth fell open and her eyes clenched shut as her hands held onto my shoulders in a death grip. My finger played with her clit and she cried out my name out of sheer pleasure. She used to joke that multiple orgasm was a myth till I fucked her brains out that night. I could be passed off as the proudest man on earth and no one would even object.

  Yet, I was jealous. So jealous that when he entered his cabin to find it smelling oaky, I chimed, “One for Yuta.”, just because he looked damn irritated.

  “Nakamoto, what are you doing here?”

  “I was waiting for you, Mr. Jung.” I stood up and walked toward him, taking careful steps as he eyed me with disgust, the corners of his mouth drooping in anger, “I wanted to talk to you how you can take your time to fuck all the women you want and just-” at that point, I dropped the cigarette butt on the carpet and trampled the little fire which had thin, silvery smoke running across, “let her go.”

  “Who are you talking about?” he spat through gritted teeth, as it was no question. He was testing my courage, and I was surely getting on his nerves.

  I walked closer to the taller man, looking up at him and narrowing my eyes rather spitefully, “Let her go quietly before I steal her from you. You want a trophy wife, whereas I want the woman I love. She will be happier with me. Stop being such a self-centred prick and let her go.” I finished and effectively bumped my shoulder against his before exiting the cabin. I could feel his rage from my studio, I could feel him growling beneath his breath as his fingers clutched onto his own brown locks in frustration. I just smirked as the thought crossed my mind for I knew I had pained him a great deal with my words.

  What I didn’t know is it would lead him to hurt her, and her to hurt him back. I could not bring myself to even conjure up some rather arbitrary detail in my head as I felt sicker the closer I got to the hospital. There were reporters and paparazzi everywhere as I pushed my way through the crowd, poorly helped by Roane. She dragged me to the room in which she lay quietly, yet not awake. We stood outside the door as Roane cried, my hands in her sweaty ones.

  “She was pregnant, Yuta.” She cried, “She lost the baby… I’m so sorry, Yuta. This is terrible, I’m so, very sorry…” she cried on silently as I stared agape at nothing in particular. My mind failed to register the rather surprising news that I had no knowledge of. As her friend cried in agony, I took her quivering from in my arms. I cried too, but not for the loss. None of the loss could even matter at that moment as relief swept over my thumping heart.

-

She took three days to regain consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open as her palm shifted within my grip, her body softly twisting as senses drove back implicitly in her entire system.

  As I looked at her waking up, I thought about how everything was worth it when it came to her. Even dying. My vain and pride had caused so many losses in the span of a couple of days. A man had killed himself and an unborn child was gone. I felt pang of guilt in my heart as she opened her eyes. I was relieved that she didn’t have my child in her womb. I was relieved over a loss that, I knew, would drive her insane.

  “Yuta,” she whispered as her eyes flooded with tears, “Oh my god… it’s all true. None- none of it was a dream.” She cried softly as her grip on my hand tightened.

  I hushed gently as my other hand went to run across her head soothingly, “It will be okay, y/n. Don’t you worry, it will be okay.”

  “Yuta,” she called out, sniffing and gulping before looking at me, “I- I am pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.” She managed a weak smile at me as the tears finally pooled her cheeks.

  I stared quietly at her as her eyes looked into mine, expectant and hopeful. My heart broke in the pain with every single time her eyes flinched to blink, which she didn’t give into. Just to stare in my eyes and look for an answer. And I could tell, there was nothing. Just void, only void.

  I let go of her hand and rushed outside her room, running down the corridor toward the exit. On my way, I ran into Roane. She held my arm and made me turn, her brows furrowed as she failed to realise the reason behind my sudden urgency.

  “She’s awake!” I breathed.

  “That’s great news!” she gasped, letting go of me, “Where are you going, though?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully.

  “Have you informed the doctor?”

  “The nurse went in while I was leaving.”

  “Why are you being so weird…” it wasn’t even a question as she studied my face for an answer, “When will you be back?”