How to Be Human [EDITING]

30 | secrets best-kept

30

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THE SUMMER OF 2007
The Aftermath 2

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The thing is: Jisung wants to pretend.

He wants to pretend that the last six months of his life didn't happen. That he didn't have to feel a heartstring tear from his aorta when bidding his goodbyes to Hyunjin. He wants to pretend like his father isn't a drunkard who's spent the last decade of his life trying to drink himself to death. He wants to pretend like his mother loves him, and isn't carrying a child in hopes of restructuring the perfect family, at last.

He wants to pretend like Minho is the same person he fell in love with last summer. Pretend that they didn't change. He peers at the cuts on Minho's arms and wants to pretend that Minho Lee is still happy, and bubbly, and full of life, and pretend that he's not falling to pieces. Pretend like Minho isn't spiraling into something darker than before, like he hasn't fallen deeper into the abyss, and like the light isn't out of reach.

Most of all, Jisung wants to pretend that he's not drowning. But there's a constant thrumming of water, and it's filling his ears, his lungs, his throat, his mind. It's an unrelenting pressure on his chest, a crushing sensation.

Jisung wants to pretend loneliness doesn't exist. Wants to pretend that his father loves him. Wants to pretend that Felix isn't his only friend. Wants to pretend that Minho's touch doesn't burn like the fire of a thousand suns.

Maybe pretending is what makes everything worth it.

The thing is: Jisung isn't sure if it is.

"How was the weekend?" Narae asks, setting a plate of cookies in the center of the mahogany dining table. Jisung thinks he's going insane from the amount of times he's stared at her stomach, looking for an outline of a baby bump that isn't there.

Narae then sits at the table in front of the lunch she's just finished cooking with Miss Celine in the kitchen. She sits, legs crossed, elbows propped on the table. Her long, inky hair is pulled back into a messy bun. John silently scrolls through a magazine that's destined for the trash by the day's end.

Jisung sits on the other side of the table, picking up one of the sugar cookies.

"Jisung, honey." Narae raises a suspicious brow as Jisung chews. The cookies are a little too soft, and a little too sweet. "I'm trying to talk to you."

Jisung swallows. "Yeah. Um, it was good. Nothing too exciting, though. Um. I don't exactly have friends here...not anymore."

"I see," Narae says. She nods, leaning back in her chair.

Narae looks at him, really looks at him, a calculating expression on her face. It terrifies Jisung that he doesn't know what she sees. Doesn't know what give-aways are in his eyes, what's written on his face, and what's been carved into his skin. Doesn't know if it's obvious to her that she's birthed a liar.