Killing Stalking-Rejection

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This will be a short story. Just something I couldn't get out of my head.

MN= Male Name (But of course, you can put whatever you want)

"I know you have money you little shit!"

That is how it all started. The day Sangwoo learned the true place from which you came from. The darkness that has surrounded you since your birth. Today. He finds out you are full of shit.

"H-how did you find me?" You stutter looking around even though you know no one is around.

He has cornered you at the back building of the athletic department. The place where they store old mats, equipment that no longer works but no one has thrown out. A storage forgotten. The truth is, he hasn't cornered you at all. This is the only place you could think of to bring your drug-addicted brother after he showed up unannounced at the lecture hall.

"Why?" He says sourly. His face is so close to yours that you can smell the stale beer festering in his mouth. You can see the sores on the corners of lips and the scabs he has peeled from his face so clearly. They look gooey. Red. "You're embarrassed by your family, huh?"

You step back but you don't get much distance when you are already pressed tightly at door of the storage. Your brother has always been taller than you and strong. Was strong. Not anymore. You have vivid memories of him carrying you up in his strong arms, but those strong arms are gone. You know he hides his thinning frame under that disgusting hoodie he wears.

"Back off!" You yell, frowning. Your elbow curves in front of you pushing him back with your forearm. He is so disgusting. You don't even want to touch him. "I don't have any money."

"Bullshit," he spits at the ground spearing his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. "You don't want anyone to know that the student body president has a brother like me, is that it?!"

He lingers on the same thought and when you look away from him thinking of making a run towards the stadium, he grabs you by the collar of your short-sleeve dress shirt and slams you hard on the door. "Your fucking face is posted all over the fucking bulletin boards. 'Bring your gently used clothes and shoes for the better Seoul drive' you help the very place you abandoned, you piece of shit! Do you remember that you were born in Guryong Village??! You left me to rot."

No. Don't say it. Don't remind me of the truth behind this façade of good student whose parents are overseas. Don't remind me that the MN that everyone loves is not truly me...

Anger overtakes your natural peaceful features. You manage all your strength and you push him. You are surprised by how quickly, the brother you admired, falls on his ass.

"You did this to yourself!" You rant, clenching your fists on your sides. "Grandma and I needed you! You decided to go fuck around. You made her worry with your late partying and drinking! She died because of you! You piece of shit! You should've died instead of her! It should've been you!"

His eyes widen. You're not sure if he can truly understand with the veiling itch of wanting to get his fix, but when his (color) eyes--so similar to yours-- flicker there is a connection with the past. An instantaneous second throws you back to the days your older brother meant the world to you.

I'll ways be there to protect you, MN.

***

Sangwoo smiles with a cigarette still in his lips. With two fingers he cradles it, allows the smoke to float from his sculpted lips as he hears the family feud. He stands on the side wall of the storage that faces the distant parking lot. He listens patiently. The heel of one boot propped on the rust colored wall.

He knew there was a reason he felt this odd tie to you, a connection to that slender boy with that almost feminine shape of a mouth. Your eyes had only met for an instant this morning and yet he felt he had known you all his life.

What caught his attention was that gleam he recognized so well. It was the same gleam his mother had. The same gleam he had when he was growing up or hid the bruises on his legs with high socks. It was the light of a person who had seen shit that they had no reason to see...ever. The light of a survivor. Only a survivor could recognize another. That is why you swiftly turned away from him...

Or was it because you thought you were better than him?

Nah, he is sounding just like your brother now.

"I never want to see you again, Name! You disgust me! Don't show your flea-bitten face around here again! To me, you are already dead!!"

You are so adorable. Although he can't see you he is sure you look like an angry kitten. Your tousle of (color) hair a mess and falling over your forehead. You remind him of an orange tabby. How would it feel to push you to edge? To put you face to face with death? Would you, kitten, have the strength to survive him?

He watches the homeless looking brother of yours run past him. Sangwoo drops the cigarette with nonchalance, steps over it, and waits. His hands inside his jeans.

***

You stumble your entire body shaking. For all you know your brother could go and expose you. You had built a reputation in your college. You are the student body president, you volunteer, you have created an image of the perfect student who was born in the suburbs, who has parents in America. An only child. A complete farce.

You comb your fingers through your longish hair. You take deep breaths and you rebuild the image you have so carefully constructed. Once you are ready, you'll try to catch your professor and provide an excuse.

"From Guryong Village, huh?" A baritone voice asks. Deep. Smooth.

You freeze and turn to find Oh Sangwoo looming over you. You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't noticed him. How could you not notice someone with such an intimidating presence? A presence you had noticed when your eyes first met this morning. A presence that told you that he was trouble.

"Oh Sangwoo..." you breathe shakenly. It was over.

Sangwoo smiles handsomely and rakes fingers through his two-tone hair.

"I am happy you remembered my name, President."

Silence stretches between you. He just watches you, his hands in his pockets. That smile still pasted on his face. A victorious smile. He enjoys the fear that cracks your face.

"You heard--"

"I heard everything," he interrupts. "Who would've known that the student body president was hiding so many secrets?" He takes a step closer to you, but you don't step back. You have to crane your neck to see him. You can't help but stare at the expanse of his shoulders under his tight t-shirt. Why does he look at you so intensely? You gulp.

You can't speak through the shock of being so blatantly exposed.

He is a model student. You have had a class with him before a year ago. Maybe you can convince him to look the other way.

"Please," you murmur beggingly. "Please don't say anything."

He loves how the disgust of begging makes your please fake. He loves how you hold on so strongly to your dignity. He realizes with joy that he doesn't want to kill you. He wants to have you. He wants to crush you.

You inhale sharply when he leans towards you. His face is so close to you as if he would kiss you. His thumb. He has a such a big masculine thumb! It rubs over your bottom lip with calloused pressure. Desire shivers through him...through you.

He enjoys every bit of your acting, lying, and surviving.

He wanted you. No. You were already his. You just didn't know it yet.

~Tell me what you think! Please comment and vote!