Thirty Seven: Namjoon

Two hours before the accident:

This has been going on for far to long. Either Abby tells me what I want to know or I will have to give her a call (and I'm not to stop until she answers her phone). I know that she claims to be protecting me from her father and his need to kill all Asian folks, but this is getting ridiculous! We're meant to go through this together. I don't give a flying shit about what her father thinks of me. I love her and I'm not giving up on us. I would eventually like to start a family with her. Built a home with her, because quite frankly, a house could never be a home without her there. I parked the car infront of her and Abby's apartment. Today's the day. I had just about enough of this!

Without knocking I barged into the house. Abby jumped up from the sofa and she's not alone either. She had company. "How dare you show your face around here?" The old man exclaimed his question. I would lie if I said that his tone don't surprise me. Pure venom laces it thickly. "What does it matter to you?" I spat back a quick response. "I'll advise you to turn and leave. I eat your kind for breakfast," he snickered. "Who gave you permission to go around playing God? I'll never give you the satisfaction by giving up on somebody that I deeply care for," I assured him. Backing off had never been a policy of mine. "That's some big talk coming from such a scrawny little thing." Who does he think he is asulting me like this? I'm not about to give him the benefit of the doubt. By ignoring Sam's rude father, I turned my attention towards her friend. Over these last few months Abby became a friend of mine too. "Where is she? When will she be home?" I bombarded her with questions. "Don't turn your back on me boy. Our conversation isn't over until the fat lady sings," his angry voice bounced off the walls. Instantly pulling my attention away from Abby. Perhaps I should have bought a few of the Hyungs along for the ride. Seeing how this argument would most likely turn into a bloodbath. The Hitler wannabe has much more experience and lots of blood on his hands, I have none. My hands are as clean as a whistle, so is my conscience. The only thing that keeps me up at night, is the memory of her. Thinking about her. Missing her beyond comprehension.

Before the argument between myself and the old man could get any more heated, Abby's phone rang. I have no idea who's at the other end of the line, but her facial expression gave me the chills. I'm not the only one who noticed her blank features. The phone fell out of her hand and dropped down on to the carpeted floor.