#helllsh

[ sms ] trying to get on my god side then? [ sms ] you know how i feel about prostitutes.

(text) in my defence i never asked for the money.

(text) he offered, and i was like.. sure, yo're attractive, clean and i'm getting money out of this

(text) like why not

(text) yeah welp that’s another thing illegal to add to my list 

[ ♔ ——— He’s sitting on the other side of the bed, cigarette ash floating down onto his bare chest. It singes against his skin but it hardly registers in his mind. She’s managed to distract him from the sting and an eyebrow raises as he shifts in her direction. “Funny, considering you look like that and I look like this. That’s the difference between half a million and whatever you see on your paychecks. It looks like you’ve never seen more than five hundred let alone five hundred thousand. There a reason for that?” He gives her a pointed look and he isn’t sure whether he’s caught her in a lie or whether this is something akin to dramatics on her behalf.

Jaehwa doesn’t make a habit of listening to people when they talk unless it’s something he cares about and it’s not often that he can be made to care. He’s rather aloof when it comes to retaining information like what people do for a living or if they have some deadly disease that will kill them in a month. He made the assumption she hadn’t seen money because she didn’t look like money. He’s still making that assumption now. Something about it is outright classist. Status drawing a line between the two of them. He was slumming it really, but the slums had considerably less women who cared about his latest stock investments or who he ate dinner with on the weekends. She doesn’t care about those things. Or something. He doesn’t really know.

She listened to his words without really paying much attention to it, letting herself stay as she was, head under the pillow. If he meant to offend her or not, it just rolled off her like any other comments because she was used to that. This was what she was aiming for anyway, when she left everything behind and jumped out of her window. Almost breaking her arm in the process, but she was sixteen and more than a little bit stupid she could be forgiven that. 

Still she felt she had to do something, react in any other way than to just let it roll off her. Like a jolt of pride to who she'd been, who he was talking to as if the other her had never existed. When she still lingered, clearly so, somewhere in a far corner of the life she had now. She woke up sometimes with the need to pull out the only picture of her family she had from under her bed and wondering with a frown if she'd made the right choice. All his comment did was just bring back all of that to the surface. So all she did was roll onto her side, settling the pillow under her cheek as she found herself kicking voluntarily roughly so against his side so he'd hopefully fall off the bed, or just get a really bad bruise.

[ sms to; unknown ] i plan on it. and how would you know it's nothing like that? [ sms to; unknown ] your pessimism is disappointing.

[ MSG → unknown ] Because I've had both?

[ MSG → unknown ] It's nothing like that actually

was where it all began, wasn't it? 

This was like a routine now. Sometimes, when she was clearly not in the mood to refuse any company, she'd let herself be dragged to a club. Simple laughter of people she now considered her friends making it impossible to not feel light as she let her footsteps fall in sync with theirs. She'd join in the conversation, trapped in this thing that she had to do to survive. Mingle. 

"You've changed." One of them let out when they were finally past the doors of the club chosen for the night and Sash knew what they meant without having to ask them. Everyone knew, everyone who caught the words and gave her a meaningful look at least. Shed opened up, was what she'd done. Change wasn't the word but she gave a shrug.

"Gotta grow and evolve or yo'know, just like in a fight it gets boring and you end up the loser." Because if you did not evolve, if you did to change, grow stronger ,opened up more possibilities and left behind your weaknesses, grew too stubborn to break some limits, then you ended up always using the same techniques and your opponent would always know what waited for him. Know where to hit to hut, know where to hit to put you down. 

She hated being down. 

Her thoughts were cut short with another bust of laughter, and she tsked, tongue poking slightly against the corner of her mouth, letting the arm that was slung around her shoulders tug her down in a headlock. She pulled when his hands made to pull her hood off and mess with her hair.

"Hands off, I washed it and brushed it tonight."

"Why? Trynna look good for someone?" 

Another tsking sound, a disbelieving stare and a roll of her eyes asshe shoved him away from ehr side so she could slide in the booth before he could. "Like hell." 

But truly, when was the last time she'd dne that? Try to look good for someone? she couldn't remmebe. Her first time had been when she was fifteen, putting on her best clothes, making the best out of her first date, being bold, being coy, getting her first kiss and then literally falling out of all of it once they'd been in the sheets and out of them.

It'd been awfully dull afterwards. 

The memory left a bitter taste in her mouth, she refused to settle down for this reason. She ran away for this reason, through the years , trying to keep a relationship was like trying to stay still under the icy jet of a shower. There was no way. It just made her run away, not because she was scared. She just did not want ot ocmmit. It always ended up dull.

Tasteless, too used, or not used enough. Too many fights or not enough fights. Never right enough, never wrong enough. She rose from her seat and leaned over her neighbour's legs to get to the other side, laughing a little when she felt his hand give a firm slap to her behind. The back of her feet hitting his shin in retaliation once she was out and standing.

"Bathroom." She explained to one of them when he looked up at her with a questioning look, having to shout over the music that was now clearly going to hurt her ears for quite awhile. It was half a lie, half not. She was heading for the bathroom, but she'd take a smoke break first. So her steps were more directed towards an exit and her eyes searching for the sign that would lead her there.

She might have been a bit too distracted though, to catch the sight of too many bodies coming at once towards her. Clubs were such a hassle to walk through sometimes. She hissed lightly, but then clearly shoved away whoever had just bumped against her side, purposefully or not did not matter. 

6. Our muses are destined to be each other’s eternal rebounds

what they are,

She wanted to ask at times.

Burning at  the tip of her tongue, but she’d recoil with what it’d mean she needed, wanted from him. So tongue tied, she let it fall into places. Because she’d just left someone else behind—or did they let her walk out? She wasn’t sure. The last times they’d done this, they’d used the excuse of him being dumped.

But if it wasn’t her, it was him, or both at the same time. Then the intensity seemed ot just build higher, longer, until when they reached their high, she’d come down with a sort of blissfulness that made her want to try it again But the fun thing was—it never lasted.

Then they’d return to their normal state. Bump into each other, share jokes, laugh and smiles, but no kisses no lingering touches. No, they’d let themselves fall into someone else’s arms instead. Let themselves kiss someone else, introduce the new lover to the other.

As if wanting to say—soon, we’ll be soon again. Sharing a look over the table and his leg that reached hers under the table, although she had another pair of mouth stuck to her ear whispering words that could be interpreted as the reason why crimson would bloom on her cheeks.

So she didn’t ask.

The thrill came from ending, then beginning what this was she had with him right after. Ending up at his doorstep when it was her turn, with nothing but this quiet certitude that he’d be here, that he’d know the moment he opened the door. He’d let her just shove her fists against his chest, push him back, push until he hit something, anything.

Or until she had enough of pushing and wanted to grab, then she’d grab a fist full of anything she could get, his hair, or his clothes, his collar and then she’d drag her mouth anywhere she could find. At times more tempted to just press it against his, at times against the vein that pulsated against his neck.

At times she’d just breathe and laugh against his mouth without doing anything and he’d join her and they would be nothing but the moment of realisation that they could finally do this again. Until the next round at the very least, that she was allowed.

Then the question would stop burning on her tongue. Replaced by the bitter taste he’d leave on it instead, with a sprinkle of spice that she’d lick as an after taste. Right before she fell numb against the sheets and let sleep claim her. Sleep that she seemed to always find easier to fall in when she was covered in his scent and nothing else but this.

It was always just a few nights. Taking in the bliss right before the numb familiarity that’d install itself later on.