BOOK 2 of 'Bubblegum Gucci Punk & Gangster Model Hunk'
•Be it night or be it day, the voices in his head, always mange to stay•
Ex-underground fighter and overnight sensational idol Park Dae Ho, dropped out of sight, making the people of South Korea...
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"Park-ssi, it's been two weeks since you entered the rehab and have been attending my counseling sessions, only for you to stare at the ground till the hour comes to an end." The psychiatrist smiles warmly, her tone soft with a little hope in her metallic grey eyes. "This is a judge-free zone. You may not know but I've worked with soldiers in the military and even some vile criminals. Murderers, rapists and serial killers. You have nothing to worry about when you're talking to me."
Dae Ho further sinks into the armchair, chord-like veins protruding with the way his fingers tighten around his knees. He thought he could do this, but it isn't easy. His voice lodges itself in his throat the moment he tries speaking, a feeling of impending doom taking over. If it was Haneul maybe Dae Ho would've talked to him, after all, he's the only person who he knows he can talk to without being ashamed. How is he supposed to bare his darkest moments to a stranger? And telling the psychiatrist would entail reliving all the incidents in the past years.
Ding!
Dae Ho looks up to meet the eyes of the psychiatrist, the woman chuckling lightly.
"Here we go, another session over." She stands up and makes her way toward the door. "I hope the next meet you're more willing to share the thoughts that are circling your mind right now. I wish you a great day ahead."
The former undercover cop bows with a slight curl of his lips and leaves the room.
When he lays in his bed at night, white sheets covering his body and the air conditioning breezing the room with cool air, Dae Ho's mind runs a mile a minute as his eyes stay closed, breathing even. Then he feels it. The predatory eyes staring at him. He pays them no attention but the ticking of the wall clock and the sound of air around him become too loud to ignore.
"Damn it!" Dae Ho curses, sitting up and slapping his hands against his face, peeking through the spaces between his fingers.
The room appointed to him in the rehab center isn't large nor is suffocating. It comprises of a single bed tucked in a corner, with an attached bathroom on the wall opposite to it, a white dressing table with a stool and wardrobe just beside it.
"What are you looking at?" A hoarse voice speaks, a man on the stool tilting his head with eyes drawn to slits. "It must be driving you crazy, right?" He sneers, bringing a hand to his mouth. "That thirst is agonizing. Just take a sip, it's okay."
"Shut up," Dae Ho grits, neck snapping to the night table as his fingers grasp the water bottle placed on it. He gulps it down, thin trails of the liquid trickling down his chin to his tattooed neck, dying as it touches the fabric of his black tunic.
"No-uh," the man clicks his tongue. "That maddening thirst for blood and alcohol isn't going to be satiated by simple cold water." He brings a hand to his neck then, pressing his fingers into his flesh to choke himself. "You know what to do."
