3. A Question

"No, Isaac. I don't think she knows who I am. She did it out of humanity."

That deep voice made me regain consciousness. I blinked slowly, only to discover that I was in an unfamiliar room dominated by gray and white.

"No. I've destroyed the CCTV and I'm still wearing gloves."

I looked at a man standing with his back to me. He was wearing jeans combined with a thin white shirt with the sleeves folded up to his elbows. From here I could see his sturdy arms and beautiful back. Intending to listen to his conversation, I decided not to show any signs that I had woken up. Although I tried desperately to endure the pain in my shoulder. A thick blanket covered me up to my neck. I was eager to open it, but was afraid that the handsome man would find out about my consciousness.

"Let's just say I'm unlucky if it's going to be like that. You know for a fact, don't you, that I can always evade the police."

Wait, what? Why is he bringing up the police? Sure enough … what if I'm involved too? No, no, that's really a nightmare. And what did he just say? Always able to dodge the police? Does he deal with the law often?

"I'm serious too, Isaac. There's nothing to worry about."

I tried to look at him again. And for whatever reason, I was really surprised to find that the handsome guy was staring at me. Don't tell me that he knew that I was listening to his conversation.

"I'll call you back later." He closed the phone and came closer to me.

God, I really didn't expect to be so close to him. Even being in his room wasn't what I expected. I was still looking at him like an idiot until he got so close to me. "Do you need anything? Water?"

"N-no." Damn, I stammered.

"I couldn't take you to the hospital. Therefore, I treated you myself." She pulled out a chair and sat by my bed—errr … I mean his bed.

"It's already better. Thank you," I said as calm as I could, not wanting to show how happy and nervous I was at the same time.

As I tried to get up, the blanket covering my upper body was revealed, letting me know that what was on me now wasn't a flannel shirt—like the one I wore last time, but a tank top.

"I should thank you," he replied. "By the way, I took off your shirt. I did nothing but treat you."

"Huh? Uh, yeah ... No problem." I glanced at the shoulder, looking at the bandage-wrapped wound while grimacing. "Why did you bring me?"

"Because I owe you my life. Really, I'll pay for it. What do you want?"

I want to be close to you. "No need," I replied quietly.

"Well, next time if you need help, I'll help you." He said with a faint smile. For some reason, I took it to mean that this wasn't our last meeting. Well, I hope so. Maybe we'll meet again on the street, movie theater, mall, or … somewhere else.

And instantly I remembered my bag and laptop that I left behind at the café. Definitely I left them behind, because I'm pretty sure this guy carried me out of that place. Oh my god ... "Kim!"

"Hey, what's wrong?" He looked confused as I tried my hardest to stand up.

"I have to go home now." But I suddenly stopped moving. I looked at him, he frowned. "All my money is in my bag."

"Where are you staying?"

"Hyatt Regency Hotel."

"I'll drop you off." He grabbed a gray cardigan hanging by the closet and put it on me. "It belongs to a friend of mine. I don't think she' ll mind if you borrow it.

I smiled sadly. She had a female friend who left clothes in her room. Of course, what were you thinking, Corbin? Do you think a young man as handsome as him doesn't date? My subconscious chimed in, I think she was smiling mockingly in there.

The guy put on his black coat (again) before leading me out of his room. I wandered around, the house was quiet and minimalist. The predominantly gray wall paint added to the mysterious nature of the building.

"Do you live alone?" I asked when we were in his car.

I waited for a few breaths from him before getting an answer. "Yes."

Somehow I could tell that he wasn't too comfortable with me asking such things. I looked down while fiddling with my fingers. The urge to ask about the incident in the elevator made me uneasy, whether I should ask or not. I repeatedly turned to him, compelled to ask, but I immediately canceled it.

"Do you have something to say?" he asked suddenly, without taking his eyes off the road in front of him.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Ask."

I took a deep breath. Turning to him, I asked slowly and carefully, "Do you remember that we met before?"

He stared at me for a long moment before answering, "No. Maybe it wasn't me."

"Are you serious?" I asked for confirmation.

"Where did we meet?"

"Forget it," I said softly. "Maybe I recognized the wrong person." I said that while I was actually very sure that it was this young man who kissed me that time. His black coat, the smell of Terre D'Hermes perfume, dark brown hair, as well as eyes as dark as the night made my belief justified.

He didn't remember me. But ... how could he? The incident had just happened and not a day had passed. Even the clothes I was wearing at that time were still the same as the ones I wore at the café. The assumption that I had misrecognized someone had been added to the black list. The other possibility was that he didn't remember or pretended not to remember. I didn't even have a good guess as to why he kissed me earlier. And yes, his thank-you note that was still ringing in my ears made it seem as if when he kissed me, I had saved him--who knows from what.

"Are you okay?"

I was startled softly when he asked so suddenly. I looked at him who was looking at me with a furrowed brow. "N-no, I mean yes, I'm fine."

"Are you in a lot of pain? I'm sorry you got hurt." This young man said with regret. "I really owe you."

"I'm fine."

"Tell, what do you want? I promise you'll get it."

"I don't want anything," I replied quietly as I looked down again, struggled with my subconscious that kept pushing to ask about why he kissed me.

Finally, he stopped talking again after a long sigh. Understanding the sudden awkwardness, the young man turned on the radio, playing David Cook's The Time of My Life.

A few minutes passed, and we were almost at the Hyatt Regency Hotel. I knew because from here I could clearly see the Gateway Arch of course. But … what the heck, this handsome guy just passed it by.

"You passed the hotel," I exclaimed.

"I know. We're not going there," he replied. I was pretty sure he was speeding up the car regularly.

"Where are you taking me?"

He didn't answer. I leaned in slightly to shake his arm because my left hand would hurt more if I moved it. "Answer me!"

"Calm down, there's a car following us," he said. I canceled my intention to look back when he piped up again, "Don't look back! Look at the mirrors! I can't drop you off at that hotel. They'll be looking for you."

211122, Anne Joyce