When the Stars Align Part One: Yoongi

Chapter Fifteen: Stupid Girl

"Ma'am?" The man asked, his voice sounding worried. "I have to ask again...are you sure that you want to do this?"

I take deep breath and nod my head. "Ye-yeah. Yes. I want to do it. I want my mark removed."

"It's a really painful process," he tells me.

I look at him. He's maybe five or so years older than me. He has reddish brown hair that's down to his shoulders and looks like he hasn't washed it in a week. It's almost enough to scare me off. Almost. But he comes highly recommended as the best in the business to do this. So I'm staying. 

"I'll be fine," I tell him. "I have a really high pain tolerance."

"Ma'am...even for the highest pain tolerance, it would be rough," he tells me. "You'll be losing several layers of skin. They will be peeled off your body like an orange."

"Jeez...Don't sugarcoat it or anything."

"Ma'am, there is no sugarcoating here," he says. "You're rejecting your soulmate. You're having their mark removed from your body. Your souls were meant to be together, but you're about to sever the tie that connects you. It doesn't just hurt on the outside. It hurts your soul to lose your soulmate like that. Their soul is being ripped away from yours. Do you understand?"

I swallowed hard and nodded my head. "I...I understand. But I'm not rejecting him. H-he r-rejected m-me."

Damnit. Why couldn't I talk? Why was I stuttering so bad? I've had two weeks to get used to this idea. I'm ready. I am so ready. I couldn't take being connected to somebody who didn't want me anymore. Every time I saw him, it felt like my soul was being ripped from my body. So this couldn't be any worse, could it?

My phone rang, and I reached for it.

Bip.

Weird. Why is he calling me?

"Hello, little brother," I said when I answered it.

His name wasn't really Bip. When we were little, our parents told us not to tell strangers our name, so he started telling everybody his name was Bip, after his favorite baseball player at the time, Bip Roberts. His name was actually Drew. But even into our thirties, I had never let him live that one down. 

"Hey, did you get the package that I sent you?" He asks me. His voice sounds a little worried.

"What package?" I asked him. "What did you send me? I haven't been home in weeks, Bip. We're on tour."

"Yeah, I know," he says. "I didn't send it to your house."

"Where did you send it, then?"

"One of your friends on tour," He tells me. "I think he said his name was Yoongi."

"You sent the package to Yoongi?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yeah...why? Is that bad?"

"Drew, Yoongi hates me," I tell him, my voice cracking on the word 'hates'. "Whatever you sent is probably going to be ruined by the time that it gets to me."

"He hates you?" my little brother asks. "Are you sure? That's not the impression that I got from him."

"I don't know what he said to make you think differently, but he played you, little brother."

"Cass...I think that you're wrong," he tells me.

"Why do you say that?" I ask. "You don't even know him."

"Because of what's in the package...it was his idea," he explains. "He called me. He asked for it. He said you needed it. So I sent it."

"What is 'it' exactly?" I ask.