FAUX REAL

29

Jennie's POV

I was ten years old when I first experienced disappointment.

I can remember it so vividly as if it happened yesterday. The shrieking of children, the hushing of parents, the screeching of the AV systems as the headteacher brought the shoddy microphone to her lips.

"Parents, relatives, and friends," the teacher said, "It is my honor to welcome you all to St Peter Primary School's annual Christmas concert." The audience clapped. "We have so many bright children here ready to wow you with their talents. First up, please give a loud round of applause for im nayeon and jennie ruby jane!"

The excitement I felt for the performance vanished in an instant. The moment my parents' seats were empty. The second I saw the reserved signs in the front row. Excitement was no longer what vibrated my heart, no, it was disappointment. But despite the pain that infiltrated every fiber of my being, I played. I played my heart out.

What else was there to do? Crash and burn in front of all my friends? My classmates? All the other parents who actually gave a shit about their children? No. I wasn't about to embarrass myself. I wasn't going to look sad. Or angry. Or hurt.

What useless emotions.

I soon learned that those unwelcome and cumbersome emotions were a direct result of caring, of having expectations, of wishing for the impossible. So I stopped. I let go of those feelings. I taught myself the art of not giving a fuck. Of having zero expectations. Zero.

It happened slowly. Every year. I felt myself care less. It started first with my parents. Soon my classmates. Then the world around me. Then myself, I guess, if I'm being honest. And over time, it became easier. Nothing affected me. Nothing. Like I was numb. Like I was a vessel with nothing inside. No heart, no feelings, no emotions.

I know it's not ideal. It's not a healthy way of living life. I know what. I really do. I am so fucking aware of that fact. But what else was I supposed to do? What other solutions were there? Especially for a child? A child that was never lucky enough to experience the joys of parental comfort, love, or pride. Was I to cry? Beg? Pray for the affection? No.

You can't be hurt if you don't care. I've known that for years. I've lived by that mantra for years. It's been my shield for fucking years. So why am I disappointed now? Why am I feeling like I did when I was ten years old? Why did I allow this to happen?

But most importantly...why isn't she here? Why isn't she in the front row looking up at me with those doe brown eyes? She isn't smiling up at me?

Why isn't she here? Why?

"Alright! Alright!" the MC hollers, settling down the crowd. "This next band is a hometown favorite, give it up for Catharsis!"

"Ready guys?" Suga asks, glancing at us as he tunes his guitar. We all nod, and he turns back to the audience. "We got a couple originals for you guys today, and a little treat at the end! Let's give 'er!"

And I play. I play my heart out. Hitting every beat, running all the fills, bashing the drums so hard that my stick breaks. Twice. But I play. Like I've always done. Claps, snares, and thuds fill my ears, travel up my fingers, arms, filling my body with noise. Noise. It's drowning out the clamouring of disappointment that's running rampant in my brain.

This is what happens when you start caring. This is what happens when you aren't careful. You start to feel. And feeling? It doesn't feel good. Not at all.