The sound of my heart was best described as the beating of a base drum on crack at a techno festival during an earthquake. My lung seemed have entered the state of wokeness and now identified as a political party: expanding and exploding without getting anything done. Come to think of it, I didn't even remember what oxygen smelled like.
My extremities must have died because I couldn't feel them anymore. I was sure my torso was still there, because of the pressure in my chest and the tightening sensation in my lower intestines. Or rather, the being-squezed-to-death feeling in my stomach. My colon on the other hand felt like it turned into a living snake. Or in short: I felt seconds away from shitting my pants.
Note to self: Only wear dark clothing moving forward—if I somehow managed to survive today.
Time simultaneously seemed to stand still and race forward. Perhaps this was what being sucked into Black Hole felt like. However, the idea of a Black Hole wasn't even half as scary as the sight of an erupting Min Volcano just an arm's length away from me.
Cold sweat soaked the back of my shirt as I dared to meet his eyes. I don't know why I did that. Perhaps I was a masochist. Or perhaps I was part rabbit. Just look at the size of my ears.
There didn't seem to be any living people in the room, as all of us had turned into rather ugly-looking marble statues. Not wanting to go into detail, but Michelangelo wouldn't have gotten famous for sculpturing Min Jabba the Hutt …or my current facial expression.
The slow ticking of the downstairs neighbour's grandfather clock seemed to increase in volume with every second. My ears rang.
I didn't mean to hurt ChimChim. I wasn't in the right state of mind… I shouldn't have been operating a vehicle… I know I should have reacted... should have jumped from my car and helped… should have…
I didn't say any of these things out loud. Part of me wanted to rush from my chair and run. It didn't matter where to, as long as my feet managed to get me away from this uncomfortable situation.
Eyes seemingly made of steel seemed to puncture my skull. Was Min Yoongi searching for every hidden thought and playing it like a movie? It certainly felt like!
My knees jerked, my abdomen tightened, and every muscle inside my body prepared for flight.
You need to learn to deal with challenging situations, Hermione shouted at me, and I could only assume she had been the one to disable my motion mechanism because how else was I supposed to explain why I wasn't out of the door and halfway down the stairs yet.
Fucking run, it's what you do best after all. What does it matter anyway, you're not welcome here anymore now that the cat is out of the bag. Might as well get to Long Bridge and score until you're high as a kite. Maybe you're even lucky enough to never wake up again this time.
Every pore of my being told me Putin was right. The world started to spin. I had worked so hard on getting better. Why the fuck now? Why didn't I have the guts to address this with Min TaeTerminator during one of my sessions?
Not knowing whether I should cry or laugh, my face remained motionless. Only yesterday during my last session with Dr Maeng had we discussed inviting everyone in my life I had lied to or needed to make amends with concerning my drug addiction. You know, to clear the air. It had been Dr Maeng and Jin who suggested talking to Min Yoongi last, as this was going to be the most difficult conversation I would be having.
But as always, the universe seemed to have alternative plans for me and decided to leave me to my own devices as I handled ChimChim's raging bull brother.
If you give up now, who is going to help Star? Hermione, the traitor chimed. I'm right, you know. What kind of example are you giving her when you run away from this? How are you going to teach her to stay strong in difficult situations, if you can't handle them on your own?
He can't, Putin provided. He was a loser and he'll stay a loser. What did you expect? His dad was right. Seokjin was the one getting all the good genes and the second one was nothing but a collection of human garbage.
My stomach churned. My dad had said those words. And not only once. He had said them numerous times. Not to me directly, of course. In hindsight, the guy had always been always been a coward. I guess, this was something I inherited from him. During their many fights, he used to say this about me to my mother. I hadn't even needed to eavesdrop. The arguments usually were loud enough for me to hear while in my bedroom.
I tried not to take it personally and covered my ears with my hands, just like my brother used to have done for me.
"Dad doesn't know what he's saying," whispered a soothing voice in my ear whenever the argument came up. Jin would come to my room to cover my ears with his hands while rocking me. I wonder what other things my dad had to say about me. Perhaps these words would have broken me. But I had an older brother to look up to who meant the world to me and this almost turned me invincible.
Shit, I really, really needed to tell Jin more often how much I loved him and what he meant to me. Without him, I probably wouldn't have even made it into my twenties.
A sharp sting ripped me from my memories. And here I thought my attention span was improving. Darn… I better start carrying that stupid Rubik's Cube again. (Look at me, drifting off again…)
Another sharp smack and I was back in the present with my hand flying to my burning cheek. Before I had the time to properly comprehend what just happened, Min Muhammed Ali swung his fist a third time. (Or at least I thought it was the third time… bad attention span and all.) There was a cracking sensation near my eye socket. I stumbled backwards, but there was no time to catch my breath. Like a Pit Bull with a severe case of rabies Min Yoongi was on top of me, plummeting his fists. I should probably raise my hands. Perhaps, I should beg him to stop. But before I was able to do either of these things, a loud yelp sounded and it took a moment to realise where it came from.
A too-long moment of silence followed. It took a moment for my vision to centre and even then it took me a moment to comprehend the message my eyeballs tried their hardest to transmit. I realised reality seemed to have taken a holiday because I was sure I found myself in the middle of a really bad nineteen-fifties action movie. After all, shit like this most certainly didn't happen in real life.
"You're a bad guy and bad guys need shooting," ChimChim declared. He had his older brother in a headlock and was pointing something I really hoped was a water gun—despite it did not look like one—at him.
"ChimChim?" I croaked in a voice that didn't quite sound like mine.
My little friend looked up, not releasing the grip on his brother and not moving the too-real-looking gun.
"What the fuck is this?" I asked, pointing.
"It's a gun, TaeTae. Don't you see? I'm red herringing."
Red Herring…I shook my head. Who was the idiot allowing ChimChim to watch James Bond movies? And just what the actual flying frog was happening here?
I can see it's a gun, but why are you having one? I wanted to say, but before the words left my mouth, Min Yoongi interrupted, "how about we all fucking calm down and get out for a smoke?"
Min Yoongi didn't sound scared for his life, which helped me calm down a little as well. Perhaps, it was a water gun after all, albeit a very realistic-looking one. It must be. After all, where in the world would little ChimChim get an actual gun from? He wasn't the type to shop at the black market. Unless he accidentally stumbled into one and struck up a random conversation with a shopkeeper about yellow yarn or something similar, only to accidentally stumble into someone's getaway car where he was handed burning hot evidence of a robbery.
Shit… there was a chance for this being a real gun!
"I'm taking the gun for a smoke?"
"No, you're not taking the fucking gun for a smoke. You put that thing away just now." Min Superman calmly got up and retrieved his smoking sticks, which he held out to ChimChim.
I must admit that smoking sounded like the very best idea I had heard in a veeeeery long while and nodded eagerly. "I could do with a ciggy right now."
"Hand me that fucking gun. Now." Min Fearless demanded.
ChimChim coked his head. "No!"
My stomach decided it was about time to get freaking scared again.
"Jimin!"
My little friend stomped his foot. "It's Joonie-hyungie's gun," he shouted, then my blood turned to ice: He pulled the trigger.
I held my breath for I don't know how long and stood shaking like a leaf before I noticed that nothing had happened.
"I stoleded the gun but I didn't stealeded the baguettes."
"It's called bullets," Min Yoongi corrected, wringing the gun from his brother's hands. I noticed the sense of relief in his voice. So all the time he assumed his brother held a loaded gun to his temple? Just how the fuck had he remained so calm? My admiration for the tiny grumpy creature grew.
"And if that fucking wanker was here now, I would shove that thing up his to where the sun doesn't shine."
I assumed he was talking about Kim Namjoon. Perhaps Karma liked me after all, considering it immediately provided me with a new scapegoat for Min Yoongi's anger.
"This is hardly Joon's fault," I stupidly corrected. A smart person would have taken advantage of said scapegoat and kept Min Streetfighter's anger centred on the one person not in the room.
Min Yoongi seemed to think so too and gave me a 'you're a fucking idiot' sort of look. "Tell me, TaeTae," his voice cut through the air, "how does one steal a gun from a hidden and securely locked metal cabinet?"
"No, Yoooooongles," ChimChim interrupted as if the question had been directed at him, "I didn't stealeded the gun from a metal cabin net. I stoleded it from Joonie-hyungies belly-thingy."
"Belly-thingy?"
"Yes," ChimChim nodded, "the belly-thingy with the belt and the black sock-shaped bag on it."
"You stole the gun out of Joon's holster?" How the fuck had the police officer not noticed it?
ChimChim giggled while his brother furrowed his brows. "When exactly did you steal the gun, Jimin?"
Right, Officer Joon was on holiday. It was quite an extended one, lasting over half a year now.
"I stoleded it when we tookeded Raymond."
The dog in question looked up at the mention of his not-quite-name.
Without saying another word, Min Speechless nodded and marched to his cabinet where he retrieved not one, but two bottles of whiskey. "A cigarette alone won't do the trick. Now, come on, idiot," he told me and we went out on the balcony and lit up, followed by ChimChim whom I triple-checked for further weapons.
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