ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏʟᴏʀᴇᴅ - 𝖬𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀

Chapter Two

— M POV

"Mom, I'm home," I called throwing my backpack to the ground. My eyes averted to my Mom frying something delicious in the kitchen and then to my brother doing his homework in the living room.

"How was your first day? Do you like the school?", Mom questioned receiving a nod from me. I sit down on the counter near her, swinging my legs back and forth while I rest my head on the cupboards.

"It was honestly better than I thought," I reply. My mind averted to Jisung, Mr. Discolored, and I can't help but smile. "I met someone."

"Really? Who?"

"Just a classmate..." I look up to find my Mom with a sly grin making me whine. "It's not like that— I just— I've been seeing the same person literally everywhere I go."

"What? Are they following you?" Her voice trailed off with confusion as her eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't believe so, I think it's just a coincidence, the last... Four times? Maybe? I'm not sure but we bumped into each other a lot and it's making me curious about them."

"Could be fate," my Mom singed teasingly but I shook my head. Jisung wasn't interested and he didn't even need to say anything for me to know.

"It's all just coincidences, I don't believe he's here because of fate," I deny hopping off the counter to peek at the meat forming a crispy layer.

"What? Why? Four times seems like a bit much to just be coincidences, don't you think?"

"I feel like it's more than four the more I think about it." Shit, how many times did I bump into Jisung today? My eyes look at the ceiling as an instinct to think. "It's whatever, he's too grumpy. I'm gonna shower now."

I walk away to my room, remove my shirt, and throw it into the hamper in the corner of my room. Facing my bare white canvas my mouth let out a sigh. I need inspiration to paint. Stupid art block.

— J POV

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I falter, hurriedly closing my window shutters and crawling onto my bed. My chest is feeling awfully tight. Fuck. Not this shit again. Why are people still doing fireworks? I fumble to grab my phone and blast my earbuds before snatching a rubber band from my nightstand.

It stings. My whole body is heavy, my wrist is stinging with pain, and my breathing is getting worse by the minute. I can still hear the fireworks. Fuck. My fingers let go of the band allowing the rubber to take another hit at my skin. I can't help but sob under my breath. I need to stay quiet or else—

"Jisung? Sweetheart? Open the door for me, please," my adoptive mother pleaded knocking on my door. I can't move though, why can't I move? Why can I only move this rubber band to fling against my skin? I breathe heavily as the fireworks continue outside my room. My eyes look around my room frantically. The light in my room has started to get darker. "Jisung, please try your best to open the door for me."

"I-I can't," I whisper tasting the salty tears that rolled down my cheeks. "I can't."

She was picking the lock, I'm panicking like mad crazy. I watched as she opened the door quickly and walked to me in a hurry. She engulfed me in a tight hug. Yet, I still feel trapped. Held hostage.

It was moments later when I calmed down and just stared at my rug. My tiny lamp light radiates only a part of my sheets.

"I think I'm going to put you in therapy again," Mom announced making me suddenly cautious.

Hell no, I'm not going back there.

"Hell no, I'm not going back there," I blurt before covering my mouth after realizing that I cussed. Mom gave me a look of disappointment and shook her head.

"No, this shouldn't be happening. You're suffering every time you hear fireworks."

"You know I don't like therapy. It doesn't help!", I refused standing from my bed. Mom calmly stood up, breathing in, and stood her ground.

"I'm scheduling a session, you're going, end of discussion." She left my room closing the door gently. At least she's calm about it. Could've been getting yelled at right now if I had been taken by another family. I hate it, I want to scream and yell until she just changes her mind about therapy. Fudgsicles.