FAUX REAL

24

Get out of my head!

I've reread the same damn sentence in my history textbook five times. Five fucking times! This must be some sort of record. I have never been so distracted in my life. And the most frustrating aspect of my current predicament is that I'm not even distracted by the fact Taeyong thinks I have no heart or that he's probably genuinely in love with Seulgi. No, that's not the issue. I wish it were the issue, that would make sense, that would be logical.

But no. The source of my scattered concentration is her. Stupid, shorty, 'maybe forgetting is the right thing to do'. Jennie. Yes, Jennie.

"Fuck," I grumble, slamming my textbook shut as I check the time.

Great. Now I've got to go and spend several hours locked in a studio with a girl who makes me crazy. Crazy!

What is there even to forget? Hmm? Nothing happened. We didn't do anything. I mean yeah, maybe it felt a little bit nice when she held me, and yeah, maybe I didn't want her to let go, but I was upset and distraught and vulnerable. And feelings that arise during times of heightened emotions are not to be trusted. At all.

She wants me to forget? Fine. Forgotten. Door closed. Windows freaking shut. No road ahead. Dead end.

I loop the camera bag I borrowed from Photography over my shoulder as I look at my reflection in the mirror. Damn it! I reach into my pocket and apply one more layer of pink lipstick. This is not for her. No. It's for me.

Exiting my dorm room, I head to the studio, hoping that she shows up on time. With her band practices and my commitments, I was lucky to be able to book a time slot when we're both available.

"Lisa, wait up!" Taeyong calls out, jogging towards me in his football gear.

This is getting out of hand.

"What do you want?" I ask, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he says, catching his breath. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I was just-" He lets out a groan, not caring that people are staring at us. "I was angry and I said shit that I didn't mean." He drags his hand across his lips, his hooded eyes on mine. "I'm sorry for hurting you, really I am, that wasn't my intention when I said I wanted to talk."

But he did mean it. I know he did.

It took several days and infinite crying sessions but I've accepted it. The whole time we were dating, I thought we were on the same page, that we were both in love and happy and everything was fine. I was wrong. I was oblivious to his pain. I didn't see it. Maybe I didn't want to see it.

"What do you want from me?" I sigh. I don't have the energy for this. "Do you want me to forgive you for yelling at me? Is that what you want? Alright, I forgive you, okay? Just stop texting me, stop trying to talk to me, just stop."

"But you don't forgive me, do you?" he asks, his tone low. "You're still mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," I admit, my head starting to pound. "I mean, at first yeah I was but I'm not anymore. I just wish you told me how you felt sooner rather than dump me out of nowhere with no explanation when clearly you had many reasons."

"I didn't know how to tell you," he says. "I didn't want to hurt you, I knew it would."

"So you just didn't say anything? That hurt more," I say, sucking in a small breath. "Honestly, it doesn't matter anymore, we're not together." I pause, scanning his face. "I'm- I'm sorry."