How To Be A Hoe

33 | The Good Guy

You could barely see.

The tears seemed to blur your vision, but maybe it was the pain. It was eating you up from the inside, it was killing you.

You'd read a lot of books where they'd describe heartbreak as a pain in your chest, the feeling of a hard block of ice in your heart.

That wasn't true.

It wasn't pain, it was numbness that spread through you. The way you wouldn't be able to feel your toes when you would stand in the snow as a kid, staring in wonder at the crystalline flakes that would drift through the air, so white and so pure.

You knew you looked completely fine on the outside, with the exception of your eyes that shone because of unshed tears. This wasn't the first time you were suffering a shortness of breath, the unshakeable cloud of desperation, but there was something different about it this time around. There was hope. There was passion. There was fear.

The door was half open, and this time, you saw much more than flashes of skin and cloth. For a moment, you stood there, uncomprehending—what was happening? What was wrong with your heartbeat?

"Jimin?" Your voice was shaky, broken through with sobs.

He turned to look, and you caught a glimpse of utter surprise on his face. There was a split second of recognition—you could see he was trying to process what was this, but the moment your eyes met his, your body reacted.

There was no yelling this time. No hasty first introductions, no embarrassed girls, no rustling of sheets.

Before he could realize what was happening, you were turning away, face bright red, hands shaking in their fists. "I'm sorry—"

The door banged shut.

Silence.

Your footsteps echoed through the wooden interior, the sound bouncing off the walls. Except for that and your heavy breathing, it was eerily quiet.

And the first thing you thought was: Maybe all those descriptions of heartbreak were right after all.

The pain was a hard block in your heart, an ache in your chest, a burn in your throat.

All you could think of was Jimin's hands, and his swollen lips, and the girl under them. The red carnation inked between her shoulder blade. My heart aches.

You were drowning.

|

He didn't know why you were crying; neither was knowing the reason his main aim. All Jimin wanted at that moment was to fall to his knees and apologise for something that probably wasn't his fault.

But then, it was his fault.

But he couldn't move. He felt numb, frozen in shock, unable to react, unable to speak.

It was like an ache in his heart—a sting as he watched you look away, as if you couldn't bear to watch any more. And that hurt even more.

He hadn't moved, hadn't done anything, except watch. Watch you smile, then stumble, then smile again. Then fall. Then cry. And he hadn't moved to pick you up. Hadn't even managed a reassuring smile. He had watched you fall, and break, and he had let you do it. With hope and passion and fear.

Again.

What did I do? His thoughts abandoned the situation at hand as he breathed out in pain. What did I do this time? Why do I always end up getting her hurt?

Why can't I be the good guy?

"Jimin." Lee was sitting next to him, a hesitating hand on his back. "Stop doing that."

He shook his head, still bent over his lap. His silver hair felt rough between his fingers, but he kept threading them through it, touching and pulling. "Doing what?"

"Looking miserable." She sighed, then shifted away from him. Jimin knew she was still not completely clothed, and yet he couldn't bring himself to look. It was as if she had known what was happening even before it did, and there was no passion in her gaze now, only a deep mourning.

"I'm not looking miserable," he mumbled, but he could almost see her roll her eyes at that. At that, he felt a stab in his chest, as if someone had taken a knife to it from the inside. He closed his eyes, picturing you rolling your eyes at another dumb pick up line, a sunny smile on your face as you smacked his arm with a rolled-up newspaper.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. His nails dig into his scalp as he forced his eyes open, feeling them burn. Don't you fucking dare cry.

"You're sitting at the edge of the bed with your head in your hands, glaring holes into the wall," she said. "Hell, you're looking more than miserable. Was I that bad?"

He scowled. "Ha ha."

"Nice to see you haven't lost your sense of humor," she muttered, and he heard the rustle of sheets as she pulled them off. "This is a nice apartment you two have, actually. Good paint jobs are hard to find."

"I bought it."

"I know." Another prolonged pause. He felt impatient now, suddenly, like he was being unproductive and he wanted to do something, but he didn't know what. "Except for the couch. The couch sucks."

"That's because I pulled out a lot of threads," he admitted distractedly. "Look, that doesn't even matter."

Lee was quiet for a moment, probably examining the walls. He could see her in his peripheral vision, tall and gray and, despite her faded clothes, the picture of elegance. The way she held herself was beautiful. Strong, a ripped canvas that was still painted vibrantly underneath the tears. He could see that in her sometimes, something poignant and faded, that had once burned bright.

"The bar," she said, suddenly. "The Silver Bullet."

He frowned, extracting his hair from his hands, and looked up at her in red-eyes confusion. "What?" He knew she was referring to the bar owned by Taehyung's uncle, yet had no idea why she was bringing it up now.

"Taehyung," she spoke, pursing her lips. "Take your anger out on him, not the wall."

He rose to his feet, quiet—but the gratitude in his eyes spoke volumes. Managing a respectful nod in her direction, Jimin grabbed his jacket before heading to the door, close to breaking into a run. Maybe he should have acknowledged her in a better way, but he didn't have the words. Not every girl would have been so helpful after being thrown aside in the middle of 'getting it'.

"And, Jimin," she called out, with a rueful, playful smile.

He turned, impatient.

Lee winked. "Remember, angry sex is the best sex."

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excuse the french but how the HELL is she a sl*t or wh*re if she says something like that? i genuinely don't understand. it's not like she's trying to hurt someone on purpose. she doesn't even know about jimin and the mc's relationship. if some people think that name-calling is gonna make them seem cool or relatable: news flash, kid. it doesn't. it only makes you seem immature and rude, like a person who jumps to conclusions based off the most limited knowledge. like y'all don't even KNOW anything about her and you're really gonna tear her down based on limited knowledge.

we stan women supporting women, men supporting women, PEOPLE SUPPORTING PEOPLE. if you're only here to spread toxic stereotypes and close-minded opinions—and are not even ready to listen, the door's right there. i'm not gonna force you to continue reading.

STOP. SLUT. SHAMING. god.