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hey guys,
a little something....
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Monday came in like a tsunami, its waves of terror rushing and rolling against the tides of the yellow painted sky. The streams of golden that rained through my window and past my curtains had me turning over in disgust and burying my face further into the pillow.
I groaned inwardly and blinked into my pillow blearily.
I could faintly smell eggs cooking and coffee brewing from the vents. There was also the gentle tune of music playing in the background, not too loud to hear the lyrics but loud enough to memorize the melody.
I sat up, groaning again as I reached for my phone on the table and rubbed a hand over my face and then through my matted hair.
7:15am
I set it back down and forced myself into the shower.
I spent longer in there than I wanted to but I was just mostly thinking under the violent spurts of water. It had taken me forever to stop crying when I had came home after Mr. Kim dropped me off and it took me even longer to fall asleep and not have a nightmare about all of this.
It was so absurd that everything just kept going wrong and wrong.
Hye had called, begged me to pick up the phone and talk, Soy called twice, Jaemin texted once, and Jimin, well, he never called or texted.
But I asked him not to so what was I really expecting out of all of this? He had gone back to his reality and I had gone back to mine. His cotton candy fairytale of a perfect family, a picture perfect girlfriend with the coolest friends, being the guy who everyone adored and I had become something of a minuscule— a tiny, black, insignificant dot swimming in a pool of a million others.
This is how it was.
This is how its always been.
I don't know why a part of expected him to just give it all up.
He was so selfish for that, too selfish to care for anybody unless they were a stepping stool on his way to the top and clearly my vagina was a fucking ladder compared to steps.
And fuck, what was I going to do about Hye?
Eventually, I'd have to stop avoiding him.
He could damn my whole entire life in the matter of seconds.
Zero for Y/n, a million for the rest.
I sighed heavily as plodded down the steps and into the living room.
I hadn't even realized my mother was there, her lovely self dancing in a flower printed apron that read "cooking bug" in bold letters on the front, with a spatula twirling in her hands as she hopped from side to side uncoordinatedly.
