𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 ✩ Minho, TMR AU

020

I couldn't move anymore. This... this was the biggest problem ever. I couldn't tell anyone about this. I couldn't. I wasn't ready and even if I tried, a lump formed in my throat and I remembered every single detail of what happened certain moments.

This couldn't be real, oh god.

"So... I suggest you go and pay me off, Quinn. And quickly." He commanded. "I don't care how you get the money. I don't care if you steal it, make it, or whatever the hell you do, just give it and we'll be fine. I'll forget all about you, you can forget about me and I'll never bother you anymore. Understood?"

A wince was the only thing that left my mouth.

"Good." And he hung up.

The phone fell out of my hands. Maybe I was being dramatic, maybe I wasn't.

But whatever it was, it upset me way too much. All the happiness I had built in the past days was slowly falling apart. It felt like everything.

I would never be able to pay him that much money. I only owned like twenty dollars, if not less! And I wouldn't even dare to ask Minho for a bit, because that would be weird, also because I would have to explain the situation which would make him think I was some weak dog that let itself get abused by a damn owner.

I needed fresh air. So with tears in my eyes and my head down, I stuffed my phone in my pocket and walked over to the door. "I'll be back in a while." I announced fast before I rushed away.

I went out of the hotel. Out of the street. Away from the busier places, all the way to a small, alone-standing bench on the side of the road.

I sat down, pulling my knees up to my chest as I let the tears drop in silence.

I understood that relationships were stern. That I wouldn't be very free. That I would be forced to do certain stuff because then the partner would like me better... but pay this much money was not what I was thinking about.

A few cars drove by. The sun was going under, but the sky wasn't very colorful. It was grey. Just like the way I felt. Sad.

The bench was made of wood and was a casual size. I leaned against the back of it, planning to be sitting there until I fully calmed down.

And there was voice, "Gaat 't goed, meiske?"

I turned my head to the right. Someone else sat on the bench too now. An old male. He had wrinkles all over his face, but there was also a warm and comforting smile. His brown eyes were deep. His hair was brown too, even though he seemed older than seventy.

A grayish mustache decorated his face. He wore an old-looking blouse, neat pants, and a brown, also old-looking, zip-up hoodie.

"Sorry?" I asked, polite. Hopefully that would make clear I didn't understand what he just asked me.

"Ah, an American." He put his hands on his knees. "I asked if everything was all right."

I sniffed, shrugging a bit. "It's not happy tears, but I'll be fine."

His smile stayed on its place. "No happy tears?"

"No happy tears."

"Hm." Leaning back just as I did, he rubbed his chin. "That's okay. We can't always be happy."