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JISU WAS SICK AGAIN. But it's pretence, it's always pretence and it had always been their words that rang true. Their words prevailed over hers, which drowned her version of the truth. When she was younger, when they'd accused her of lying shamelessly all the time, she would become overly temperamental. Because she was afraid of their words, their accusations held the truth.
When Jisu stormed out of the classroom, she had been sweating so profusely that the roots of her hair and forehead had become drenched. She was cold, shivering in her own skin. Violent tremors tore through her body and drained the colour out of her face.
Jisu was sick. But nobody, not a single soul would believe the words that would come out of her mouth if she told them this truth.
If she had stood up and asked for permission to see the nurse they would laugh. She could hear it, their mocking laughter ringing loudly in her ears.
No matter how much she hated to admit it, she was afraid. Jisu was afraid of getting laughed and mocked at. She was afraid that no one would believe her.
She learned this the hard way and as she grew up, Jisu stopped fighting their accusations. She kept silent. And when she was thrust into the malicious and predatory streets, she learned how to own her truths and lies—the words that came out of her mouth.
If the class believed that she was bluffing and seeking attention with her outburst, so fucking be it Jisu thought. She would make them believe this. She would turn this truth into a lie.
The only fatal mistake that Jisu had made was to look up when she had brushed past that boy. And she'd hated and cursed her stupid self for finding his eyes in the midst of her exit.
Jisu had once found an unequalled solace in those solid brown eyes.
And she would treasure this as if this was a gift that he'd given her. Because Jisu had once found herself spilling her deepest and darkest secrets and sins and not once would judgement, hatred... or disappointment would pass through those eyes. But that had been a lifetime ago.
Dae-hyun, like the others, would've just thought that she was making a scene, that she was just simply skipping and making it a show.
Jisu sighed and rested her head back on the pillow. Even though the nurse was sceptical of her illness she was at least nice enough to let her rest on one of the infirmary beds.
She was so, so tired.
Though it had felt that the pain in her body had subsided, Jisu knew that she'd only slowly grown numb to the feeling. The cut in her hand, the scrapes along her knuckles, the imprint on her cheek. They'd all slowly moulded into a dull ache, something that Jisu could bear.
