| Fan Fiction |
by Micah
Yoochun still couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t been fired already.
He walked into the kitchen to make breakfast, but when Mr. Kim switched to another news channel, he walked back into the living room.
He felt his mouth go dry and his throat clogged. Unable to speak, he could only run to grab the remote control when Mr. Kim raised it again to change the channel.
Mr. Kim refused to release the controller, using his other hand to pry at Yoochun’s grabby hands in order to defend his property. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Don’t change the channel,” Yoochun managed to say.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?”
Yoochun used more force and stole the remote control from his employer’s hands. He turned his attention back to the T.V. It was talking about a man who was put in jail for abusing his children. It showed some pictures of wounds that had been inflicted on the children and their mother.
Yoochun felt his stomach turn. He was too engrossed to see Mr. Kim’s unconscious gesture: he was just sitting there with his hands raised and head lowered, hoping he was staring at his own hands. His hands felt kind of tingly.
The man sitting on the couch raised his head in shock when Yoochun dropped the remote and ran to the guest room. The door slammed and he barely heard Mr. Kim yell, “What is wrong with that measly brain of yours?”
■■■■■
That night, Yoochun practically ignored Mr. Kim. He didn’t do any chores, except for cooking and placing everything in the usual spot.
He went to bed early, but did not sleep until two. At three in the morning, Yoochun woke up screaming. He was drenched in sweat, yet at the same time, he felt so cold. The memories were back to haunt him.
They replayed in his mind as he unconsciously raised his hand to touch the scar on his left cheek.
All of a sudden, he heard thumping footsteps and a bunch of banging. The door to the guest room burst opened (Yoochun didn’t lock it in case of emergencies) and after two long strides, Mr. Kim came tumbling into the room. He landed face first on the bed.
Yoochun watched him with an open mouth as Mr. Kim pushed himself onto a sitting position on the bed. It was obvious that he was embarrassed, but still tried so hard to look suave.
“Am I in the right room?”
“Uh…yeah.”
“Okay, lucky guess. Was that you screaming like a pig about to be killed?”
Yoochun rolled his eyes at how insensitive the guy was. “Yes, now get off my bed.”
“Why were you squealing?”
“That was NOT squealing! Now get out of my room!”
“That’s not a way to treat a blind man,” he frowned. Yoochun wanted to throw an insult at him, but noticed for once that he was JOKING about his disability. He wasn’t smiling, but it was proof that he was beginning to ‘look on the bright side’.
“Fine, I’ll help you back to your room.”
Instead of getting up, Mr. Kim felt his way around the bed and climbed his way to the upper section. Yoochun shrunk away when Mr. Kim touched his foot (that was under the blanket). The blind man managed to get himself to one side of the bed.
“Actually, I plan to stay here until you tell me why you were squealing.”
“I’m a housekeeper, not a slave. I have my rights.”
“Then good night,” he bid as he felt for a pillow and lied down to sleep.
“Mr. Kim!” Yoochun exclaimed.
“THAT was definitely a squeal,” he murmured in a sleepy voice. “Are you sure you’re not really a girl in disguise?”
Yoochun frowned and knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight (or was it ‘today’?). “Fine, I’ll tell you!”
“Okay,” the other man sat back up.
“You know that part of the news I saw this morning, the one that I wouldn’t let you change the channel on?”
“Something about child abuse,” Mr. Kim recalled.
“Yeah…”
When Yoochun didn’t say anymore, it dawned. “You mean…”
“Yeah…”
“Sorry,” the man in the classy pajamas murmured.
Yoochun looked down at his own Hamtaro pajamas and sighed. He didn’t want pity. He wanted to change the subject. “I thought you never say ‘Sorry’.”
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
Yoochun sighed again. “My father was abusive. He always got drunk and would hit my mother, my brother, and me for no reason. My brother was seven. My mother always tried to protect us. When he gambled all of our belongings away, he planned to…sell my brother and me into an illegal market. I…did something to ruin his plans and he beat me until I nearly died. My mother couldn’t stand it anymore so she forced me to take my brother and run away.”
His voice cracked as the memories flooded his mind, but he held the tears in. He wouldn’t allow himself to cry.
“I remember. I took his hand and I ran and ran. I refused to let him turn around, but I turned back once to see my mother begging at the bastard’s feet. He hit her and all she did was cry for us to run. I…ran to an orphanage. They asked me questions, but I was too scared to talk. I just asked them for a place to sleep.”
Yoochun was too trapped in sorrow to realize that Mr. Kim had scooted himself closer to the skinnier man, using Yoochun’s shaking voice as a guide.
“I remember that night; I’d tucked my brother in. I snuck out to go back. I had to go find my mother and convince her to run away with us.”
“How…how old were you?”
“Ten, but that was okay. I didn’t mind having to start working. We lived in a bad area where rules were always broken, but that was okay. It was easy to find someone to hire a kid my age and pay me under the table.”
“Did you…convince your mother?”
Yoochun released a bitter chuckle. “Like I said, it was a bad area. The authorities cared for money and relations. My father’s friend was a policeman and he would always close one eye for his ‘gambling buddy’. When I went back that night, I saw him beating her again. I fought back.”
“You were ten,” Mr. Kim whispered as he scooted closer.
Yoochun closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “The fight still happened. I was thrown around, broke a few ribs, coughed blood. Then…then it happened. He knocked over a candle. We were too poor to pay for electricity. He knocked over the candle and it set the small house on fire.”
Mr. Kim’s hand found Yoochun’s arm and slowly made his way to wrapping an arm around the skinnier man’s shoulders.
“It’s okay.”
Yoochun felt the familiar coldness of his skin. It was the type of coldness that hurt. His whole body began to shake.
He quickly wiped away the bit of moisture in his eyes. No tears. No more tears.
“No, it wasn’t okay. The house was on fire and all the drunken bastard could do was continued to beat us! I tried to pull Mother out of the house, out of the fire. By the time the drunk realized that the fire was a serious problem, he pushed us into a closet and tried to lock us in!”
Yoochun voice was rising as his sorrow was replaced with anger. At least he found comfort in the arm that was around his shoulders…
…arm around his shoulders…
Definite not his own arm.
Without another thought, Yoochun pushed Mr. Kim away and the other man nearly fell off the bed.
“What in the world was that?” he exclaimed, his head turning to find Yoochun’s voice.
“That was for putting your arm around me!” Yoochun retorted, rubbing his shoulder as if he was wiping off cooties…or a contagious tingle that made his heart flutter.
“That didn’t make sense. You should be thanking me for comforting you.”
“You were the one who forced me to remember the past. Now you’ve got what you want. Go make your way back to your room.”
Mr. Kim opened his mouth to speak and Yoochun wondered if he wanted to point out that the story wasn’t finished. But his employer was kind enough to not ask further, understanding that the memories hurt.
“How are you feeling?” he suddenly asked, catching Yoochun off guard.
“Uh…good?” he was unsure of the answer.
“Good,” Mr. Kim spoke satisfyingly as he carefully got off the bed. Unsure of which side of the bed he was on, he inquired, “Do I turn right or left?”
“If you turn right, you’re going to walk towards the window and hopefully fall out.”
“That’s nice,” he replied sarcastically as he extended both arms and turned to his left.
Yoochun stayed in the corner of his bed until Mr. Kim was about to make his way out of the room. “Wait.”
“What?”
“I answered your question. I think you owe me an explanation as well.”
“You ‘think’ wrong. I don’t take orders from anyone and I don’t have to explain anything to anyone.”
Yoochun ignored the statement. “How did you find your way from the master bedroom to this room?”