by Manga_a_art

I ended up pacing up and down the shop's parking lot, waiting for Joon to arrive. I didn't want to go back. This place no longer felt like home, and just thinking of it made me sick. So instead I had remained here, smoking one cigarette after the other. Despite not having smoked in months, the cancer sticks went down with ease. I already lit up number five—and that within the span of probably not more than forty-five minutes. 

Joon had texted me five minutes ago, saying he was on his way, and I told him to come here. I hoped he saw the message, he hadn't replied since. 

I took a deep drag. My lungs were already burning as if they were on fire, but I couldn't care less. It gave my fingers something to do and calmed my mind, although not enough. I would need stronger drugs for that. But before I blew my own brain away, I needed to ensure Jimin was safe. I could only imagine how scared he must be…

My imagination was no help. I pictured Jimin in a bare holding cell, along with tripping drug addicts, and violent gang members, not understanding what was going on. 

I could see him sitting handcuffed inside a sterile investigation room, trying to answer questions he couldn't comprehend. Who in their right mind arrested a person that was mentally no more mature than a six-year-old? My anger flared again, despite the cigarette I had smoked to the butt in only three drags. My fingers tickled with the need to punch something…anything. I didn't care what. "What a fucking joke," I yelled at no one in particular. To my right was a parked Mercedes: sleek, shiny, and most likely brand new. There was a sparkly sticker on the back that ready Proud Grandma, and had the silhouettes of two cartoony girls. What did that person do to deserve an affluent life and an intact family, while everything I touched turned into an utter mess? I kicked the stupid wheels of the car. Then I kicked harder. I kicked until the rims were dented and the siren went off, but I was too far gone to give a fuck. I kicked and kicked and I pummelled the side mirrors until the glass broke and my fists bled. "Fuck you! Fuck it all. Fuck the world and fuck all people in it."

I kicked the licence plate until it came off, then I picked it up and threw it across the parking lot. Fucking stupid car and fucking stupid everything it stood for. 

"Yoongi? Mr Min?" 

The voice didn't sound like Joon. It was too female. I turned to the source, wiping angry tears from my eyes, and saw Dr Han walking towards me, two large shopping bags in her arms. She pressed the little car key in her hand, and the Mercedes' alarm went silent. 

I… I bit my lip as I realised that it was her car I had just kicked into oblivion. I opened my mouth again, trying to apologise when a second Dr Han approached, this one approximately twenty years younger, and with longer and blacker hair. There was no denying that this must be Dr Han's daughter. 

"Erm,.. I… I…I'm so sorry. I will cover the damage, of course," I said, simultaneously kicking myself for the lame apology and wondering how I was supposed to come up with the money. Probably each rim cost the same as my monthly rent. 

"Is everything okay?" Dr Han asked, "did anything happen to Jimin?"

Before I could reply, she turned to her daughter. "Jimin is the name of the young man, who…"

"I know," the daughter nodded in a hoarse voice, as if she had a cold. In fact, she didn't look too well from up close. Her eyes were red and her lip was quivering. Dr Han put down her shopping bags, then placed her arms around her daughter, giving her a tight squeeze. 

She turned her face to me, still waiting for my answer. "I don't even know where to start," I mumbled, wiping my own eyes, where treacherous tears kept on streaming down my cheeks. "Jimin…my neighbour…the police…" I stuttered, "why are people so horrible to someone who is a little different? Why is everyone so fucking scared just because they don't fully understand? Why…can't they just let others live? Even if its a lifestyle they cannot comprehend themselves? Is that really so difficult?"

Dr Han didn't respond, but her eyes shifted from me to her car and back. I just wished the ground would open and swallow me whole. 

"I shouldn't have lashed out, I should…" I trailed off, not knowing what I could have done instead. Gosh, I really needed those Anger Management classes for which Joon had signed me up. 

"Well, I'm glad this wasn't anything personal," Dr Han told me, and I hung my head in shame. "I understand what feels like to be overwhelmed, or to feel hopeless. But you do need to find a better way to deal with those issues. What if this had been someone else, Yoongi? Someone who would press charges? You don't want to ruin your life just because of one stupid act, do you?"

"No I don't," I sighed. "Thank you so much for not pressing charges." I had ruined my future enough with the records already on file. 

Dr Han nodded, and her daughter put their shopping bags into the boot. 

"Is there anything I can do for you, Yoongi?"

I shook my head. "I'll be okay. My friend will be here any moment. Everything will be sorted," I sighed. 

Dr Han nodded, then she and her daughter climbed into their car and drove off. I sagged to the ground, lighting up another cigarette. That pack was getting very empty very soon. 

I checked my phone. It was nearing ten o'clock and still no sign of Joon. No text message either. What was the hold up? Damn, if he didn't hurry his arse over here, Jimin might have to spend the night inside a cell. I dialled Joon's number, but it went straight to voicemail. 

I might be bald before the age of thirty if I kept ripping out my hairs at the current speed.

In some sort of hopeless attempt, I called Sookie. I needed to speak to someone, anyone, who would calm me down. 

Another voicemail.

D-dawg was next on my list. "Yo, wassup fucka, you don' cancel on me for Friday? Havn' seen your ugly mug for too long."

I wasn't in the mood to talk about Friday night right now, nor was D-dawg sober enough for a coherent conversation. I affirmed we were still good, although I wasn't really in the mood for party planning, and hung up.

Another five minutes had crept past. 

I checked my signal, realised I wouldn't have been able to speak to D-dawg if that had been the culprit, then dialled Joon again. Still, straight to voicemail. Fuck, mate! What are you doing?

I called DJ (voicemail), Ms Eli (voicemail), Shop-dude (some drunk singing, mixed with declarations of 'Becky, I love you'), then tried Joon again. Finally, a ringtone. 

But my high spirits pummelled back to hell a minute later, when the call signal was still ringing in my ear and Joon still hadn't picked up. 

"You okay, man?"

I looked up to see a massive dude in a black polo and black jeans looming over me. "Yeah, fine. Feel free to fuck off."

The guy didn't seem perturbed by my less than social behaviour. "You sure, mate? You don't look too well."

"I'm not your mate, and perhaps you should consult the mirror yourself occasionally."

The dude seemed to be into self torture as he sat down next to me. "My name is Bam."

"I didn't ask."

"You're a defensive one," Dude laughed. "Are you hungry?" He held our a bag with food. What the actual fuck?

"What part of leave me the fuck alone didn't you understand?"

"Okay, okay," dude got up, lifting his hands in mock-surrender. "Take it easy, mate. Have some food, okay? There are people around who are wanting to help. I'll leave you the address of a close by shelter, and…"

"Shelter? Do you think I'm homeless?" I asked incredulously. 

Judged by his facial expression, this is exactly what he had thought. "Sorry, mate. I guess I jumped to conclusion when I saw you sitting in front of the closed store for about half an hour." He eyed me up and down, and I guess I must look the part with my hair in utter disarray, my trousers that acquired a rip above the knee and my falling-apart trainers. But hey, what was I supposed to do? Jimin's medical expenses didn't come cheap. "No harm done," I mumbled. "Sorry, I'm just having the shittiest of days, that's all."

"Anything you wanna talk about?"

"What are you? A fucking counsellor?"

"Social worker, actually, but I guess that's not too far off." The dude laughed. "I work in a shelter close by, and if we aren't at capacity, I sometimes have an evening stroll around, to see if there is anyone in need of help."

"That's all great and stuff, but I'm afraid that's not the kind of help I need."

"Perhaps, I can't help you. But I'm rather good at listening."

"You're a very persistent motherlover, you know that, right?"

"Always have and always will," Dude grinned proudly. 

"Well, I have a landlord who needs shooting to the moon and a neighbour who needs to be drowned in his own pile of shit. Because those utter baboons got my brother arrested. And for what? For being loud in the corridor?" I jumped up and started pacing again, lighting up another cigarette. "I mean… who in their right mind calls the police on a mentally disabled person? My brother…" More angry tears, fuck, "My brother… I don't think he understands what's going on? He is probably terrified, scared to death… and he is not good at expressing his emotions. I mean, who the fuck really is? But Jimin… shit like that is eating him up from the inside, you know. He may stop eating, he may stop… I don't know…just sit there for days, weeks… and just stare at a wall. And it's almost impossible to break through to him once he's reached such a state." 

"Man, okay, try to calm down. I'll take you to the shelter now—no complains—we have a some useful phone numbers there, people who can help with your situation. Do you know what precinct he has been taken too."

"I don't know. But I have a friend who is working for the police, who was looking into this. He wanted to come and see me, and I don't understand what the hold-up is. He's not picking up the phone."

The dude fiddled in his pocket then pressed a piece of paper into my hands. "That's the shelter's address. Text it to your friend. Now, come on. That's way better than sitting in a parking lot in the middle of the night, especially after the shit that just went down. Plus, speaking to someone who can give you some legal advise may not hurt either. 

Wordlessly, I typed the shelter's details into my phone. Might as well. I had no intention of going home…or just anywhere near that stupid complex. 

The shelter was eerily quiet, and other than a small lit office to the side, everything was pitch black. Dude guided me into a small kitchen, and asked me to sit down. "Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, I guess." I eyed the ashtray on the table. "Am I allowed to smoke in here?"

"Sorry, no, I'm afraid. But you can do so on the porch."

"Thanks, man."

"Here, take the blanket with you. You must be freezing." 

"Thanks." I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders, only now realising how cold I actually was. There were only three cigarettes left in my pack, and I removed one. My lungs most likely would be burning for weeks. 

I checked my phone. Still, no messages, no missed calls. Darn, Joon!

"Hey?" Dude pocked his head outside, and handed me a mug of steaming hot liquid. "Any luck getting hold of your friend?"

"Not yet." I eyed my phone for a few moments, willing it to ring. I guess trying one last time wouldn't hurt. I dialled Joon's number again. It kept on ringing and ringing, and I was just about to give up, when, "Yoongs? Sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm driving. I'll call you right back." The call got disconnected. That had been better than nothing, I supposed. At least Joon hadn't forgotten about me. 

I eyed the clock. It was now nearing eleven. Jimin had been with the police for two hours now. It wasn't the longest amount of time, all things considered, I tried to tell myself. But those must have been two hours of pure torture. I bit my lip. "That number for legal advise would be great," I said. "It isn't right to treat an utterly helpless person this way."

"Sure thing, mate." The dude didn't move, but rather kept me silent company, and I guess I did appreciate not being alone. "The name's Yoongi, by the way," I mumbled. 

"Nice to meet you, Yoongi," he grinned widely. 

I nodded in turn, unable however to lift the corners of my own mouth upwards. 

"So, you mentioned your brother's name was Jimin. What's he like?"

It turned out I was quite the chatter box when the topic was right. And apparently, I could talk about my brother for hours. In fact, I hadn't noticed my phone started to vibrate until the Dude pointed it out to me. Joon's name was on the display. 

"Fuck dude, where are you? What's going on with Jimin? What was the hold up?"

"I'm on my way to the precinct right now," Joon responded, way too calm for the urgency of the situation. 

"Now????" I checked the clock. It was past midnight. "You were supposed to be there about three hours ago? Jimin…"

"Calm down, mate. I was at the precinct three hours ago. I enquired about where Jimin was and what had happened. As the police station Jimin had been taken to wasn't in my jurisdiction, I had to call in a couple of favours to obtain the full story. And I'm going to file a formal complaint about those officers, I promise you that."

"That's great… but what's with Jimin?"

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