Ri is a girl fated for greatness who's biggest dream is a simple life. After years of one tragedy after another, everything finally seems to fall into place. There are pitfalls and some people will always be assholes, but things start going well.
Un...
'There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.'
― Howard Zinn
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CHUNKS OF PLASTER AND chipped wood flew over them, landing in Ri's hair and on her arms. She tensed every time, waiting for the blinding white-hot pain of a bullet wound. But none came. The assault stopped and the helicopter flew upwards, content with it's destruction.
For a moment, all was still. But nothing was quiet. The frantic voices outside had turned into blood-chilling screams. There was a huge gust of wind from the broken window that sent debris flying upwards. They were on the fortieth floor. She could hear more gunshots.
Then Minhyuk moved, quickly and silently. He let go and gave her a once over to check for wounds. The strain around his eyes relaxed considerably when he found none. He moved his hands to her shoulders and held her gaze. She saw fear in his eyes, but it was the unsurprised bleakness that gave her the chills.
He's done this before, she remembered the stab wound and the scars and the steadiness in his eyes. He'd told her, during one of the nights when they'd stayed up too long, that the longest he'd been 'kept' - never kidnapped, he hated that word - was three months. A quarter of a year, alone.
Ri'd asked why. Why wasn't he brought home sooner? Why was he taken? Why so long? He'd smiled and it had looked empty. His eyes were haunted and hollow. Ri felt sick with anger and remorse and she hadn't been able to focus on anything more that night. He'd brushed it off but she could tell how much telling her had meant to him.
"There was no ransom, no contact, they didn't want money. They wanted me out of the picture." Minhyuk's voice was light but his lips pressed into a grim line. It gave away everything he was trying to hide. "I escaped," a laugh that fell flat escaped, "mostly in one piece. Got out myself that time, since dad had stopped paying ransoms about three years earlier. It was a while ago, memories are blurry, but I'm pretty sure I set someone on fire."
He'd spoken with a forced lightness. His eyes crinkled at the edges with fake amusement.
When she'd tilted her head, confused at his 'mostly' comment, he'd lifted the edge of his shirt up. Her eyes flickered down and she saw it. A mangled bullet wound scar above his right hip bone. Like someone had shot him point blank. It was still faintly pink. She'd been too scared to ask just how long a while was.
