“Red means stop. Yellow means slow down or check in. Green means go. Tap the counter once if you understand.”
I tap the marble once. “Good boy. Tap once for green, two for anything else. You’ll be keeping this soap in your mouth for sixty seconds. Startingafteryou tell me if you’re green or not.”
I tap once.
“Good boy,” he says again, and I close my eyes against it, but his hand suddenly appearing on my chin surprises me into opening them again. “That’s right, keep them open. We’re going to wash those lies out of your mouth together, and every time you think those things, I want you to remember this taste. Understand?”
He waits, and I finally tap the counter once. He gives me another approving ‘good boy’ and I almost tap out, because he can’t be saying it that easy, can’t be giving me these small wins, I don’t deserve them–
Shit, this soap tastes nasty.And I was right, my saliva is making it a hundred times worse. A line of milky-pink drool drips from the corner of my lips, since no way in hell am I swallowing that shit, and I think I might spontaneously combust from the embarrassed heat simmering under my skin.
“You said you couldn’t be trusted,” he says, all hypnotizing and low. “But you saved my niece’s life, and avenged her. Protected your friend at the bar last night, searched for them when no one else noticed they were missing. Stayed with Kirathe entire week I was gone, even though you wanted to run away, because you know she’d worry if you disappeared. You pay your rent when you aren’t even living there, give extra money to someone you aren’t even sure will follow through just because you empathize with him. You made sure I got up and down those dangerous stairs safely, and hid your true self from Kira this week because you don’t want to scare her. What’s not to trust, Tommy? Thirty more seconds.”
Goddamn.Thirty seconds went by a lot faster when he was counting down before this. I’ve got pink soap-drool all over my lower lip and I’m breathing through my nose hard, because I can’t get enough oxygen into my brain with all the swirling panic and hope andwantand fear and anger and bitterness that Young-gi is stirring up in me.
“You said that you belong on the street, but you’ve been honorable and honest. You haven’t taken anything that wasn’t given to you, haven’t asked for more than your share, haven’t cheated or stolen or lied. You’re here because, from the very first moment my niece met you, she could tell,Ican tell, that you’re worth more than you think. And I’ve already told you, Tommy; I don’t throw away valuable things. You’re not going back on the street, back to that shithole you lived in. Not now, probably not ever. Fifteen seconds.”
He can’t mean this. He can’t. He doesn’t. I close my eyes but he gives my shoulder a little shake to remind me that I’m supposed to be watching my own humiliation. The taste is so pervasive I think it will last for hours. The scent of the soap is probably soaked into my nose forever. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.
I want him to tell me more.
And he does.
“Lastly, you said I don’t give a damn about you. That I can’t. Does that feel true, Tommy?”
He pulls my head to the side so I have to look at him, not the mirror. I stare up at him, soap in my mouth, and feel so watery and small and unsure that an honest-to-god tear falls from my eye before I have a chance to blink it away. He watches it track down my cheek, allowing the silence to simmer between us as I suffer the consequences of my own actions.
Or, more aptly put, as I get exactly what I wanted.
“Good boy,” he says, plucking the bar from my mouth. I spit into the sink immediately, shaking like a leaf, feeling like he scooped something out of me and left me hollow. Like that beast inside me just got blasted back to the hellscape far in the back of my mind, like all my ugly emotions are getting spit out with the leftover globs of soapy saliva. Young-gi turns the sink on for me, giving me silent permission to cup my hands under the stream and wash my mouth out with water. It helps a lot more than just spitting does, but the taste lingers.
I feel clear. Quiet.
My head is finally quiet. Like last night, after corner time.
Young-gi steps out of the bathroom, but before I can get too mired in confusion, he returns with his mug.
“Here.”
I straighten up and stare at the offering, blinking at it. “That’s your coffee.”
“I’ll make more. But you were very good, Tommy. So let’s get the last of that taste out of your mouth, along with those things you said. Hm?”
His words sound so comforting, so therapeutic, but holy shit does he manage to make it sound threatening. And, honestly? I like that he sounds like he’ll stick that bar right back into my mouth if I don’t agree with him.
Consistency is an important part of… of trust, I guess. If that’s what this is.
“Thanks,” I whisper, taking the warm mug into my hands. He watches me sip it, and we stand in the silence for a while. My head is so empty, everything so quiet and fuzzy, that I have no thoughts and no words.
Holy shit, I’m like, basking. Shit.
“Do you have anything you want to do today?” he suddenly asks, when I’m almost done with his coffee. It’s the same question he asked me earlier, but I’m in an entirely different headspace now.
“No,” I murmur, inhaling the coffee steam to get the soap smell out of my nose.
“Good. Then you’re coming with me today.”
I don’t have the emotional energy to whip my head up in shock, but I do actually look at him then, instead of the cup in my hands. “Where?”
