Diamond in the Rough (Seventeen and Bangtan Fanfic)

11: Abandoned Guitars

"I told you to sing tonight, you hear me?" Hyorin gritted out angrily as she pulled the poor girl's brown hair causing it to tumble loose from the ponytail.

"I don't understand how this will work, Miss Hyorin-ssi" Rika forced herself to say, despite the anger bubbling inside of her. Hyorin was already using her voice to sound like she could sing, and Rika wasn't even allowed to sing in front of anyone just in case they realised; what more did the brat want?!

"I said it will work, so it will!" she screeched.

"Good ole dying chickens, stop screaming in my ear!" Rika mumbled under her breath.

"What?" Hyorin's eye twitched in annoyance.

"I didn't say anything, Miss."

"I said, you better sing tonight when I signal you to."

"But-"

"You have to do what I say anyway, don't you? You're a worthless creature, Rika, just like your mother was such a useless slave. Being used and lied to that whole time, it must've felt so good, Rika, don't you think?" Hyorin giggled happily as she placed a finger under Rika's chin, forcing her to look up.

Rika's expression grew dark as Hyorin released her hair.

"No."

"What?" Hyorin's heavily mascaraed eyes narrowed.

"No, I won't sing for you."

"What?" Hyorin asked again, with boiling anger this time.

"I said, No, I won't sing for you. This is my voice, the voice my eomma gave me. I won't sing. Not tonight, not ever."

_______________________

Rika's POV

I don't know what came over me, why I had the sudden courage to disagree with Hyorin in her face- disagreement was something I hadn't done for almost two years now. I never, never had the right to disagree.

"I said, No, I won't sing for you. This is my voice, the voice my eomma gave me. I won't sing. Not tonight, not ever," was what I suddenly managed to say bravely.

Surprisingly that brat just walked away. All she did was laugh and walk away.

Only then did I realise how bad of a choice I made.

Except, I had no idea what she planned to do to me next.

.

.

.

Today's job was throwing out all the old and broken instruments from the training room. Most were guitars. I stared at each guitar and mumbling a sorry before I dropped it outside on the rubbish pickup lawn area. These were all beautiful guitars, with a soul, a personality and a voice of its own. Most looked perfect to me, just a dent somewhere or a chipped piece of wood somewhere else.