All signs point to me being a horrible person in my previous life. Surely, all that happened was a punishment from the Gods. Losing Taehyung was tragic enough, but J-Min's passing made it a thousand times worse.
Yoongi and I have been in Japan for a year when the devastation of J-Min's passing hit us. I thought I was thriving. I was getting stronger by the day. Mentally, physically, emotionally. While I will probably never recover from losing Tae, and now J-Min, I managed to hide the pain in the deep recesses of my psyche.
I learned to 'compartmentalize'. I created these little safe boxes in my mind where I could tuck away the painful episodes in my life. It was a survival mechanism.
Jeno became a constant in our lives even before Yoongi and I told him that we lost our third musketeer. His smile was infectious and he always knew what to say...or not say when he senses that I was in one of those moods.
"You realize that Jeno likes you, right?" Yoongi says this at least once a week. I guess I sensed it but refused to admit it. What I admit though is that Jeno was like a soothing balm to my shattered ego and self-esteem. It feels good to be appreciated. To be admired. It felt good to be wanted.
Oh and Jeno could sing! No wonder he suggested going to a karaoke bar the first time we went to the city. It felt like he was serenading me. But instead of making me feel elated, thoughts of Tae flooded my mind. I hyper ventilated and had to run out of that bar. He was like a ghost that kept haunting me.
I wasn't surprised when news of Taehyung's wedding came out after a few months. The girl, named Crispy, turned out to be the daughter of that governor in California. Who the fuck names their child Crispy??? But I'm not bitter. Nope. Tae was also being groomed to run for mayor. The Kims are hoping to get sympathy votes when they lost J-Min. But I thought Tae could have won that election regardless because people trusted him. Despite everything that transpired, I knew Tae would have made a good mayor.
This thought process honestly surprised me. It seems the burden of anger has been lifted. They say there are five or seven stages of grief. But who's to dictate what the order should be? It's very subjective. Whether I just learned to deal with it or not, I still consider it a small personal victory. Perhaps not all the Gods hate me after all.
