shortcake | liskook

17

It turns out the Bathroom of Doom is like Flatliners: once you cross over the threshold, you bring pieces of the other side back with you, and no matter how hard you try to rid yourself of these uninvited remnants, they cling to you and before you know it they’ve burrowed into your soul. 

For two days, I’ve carried around these pieces. Pieces I don’t want. Pieces that haunt me. Pieces that make me flush. Pieces that keep me up at night. Pieces that piss me the hell off. 

Though, apparently, I’m not the only one who’s pissed. 

I’ve spent the last two agonizing days watching Jungkook stomp around the house while wearing a perm-a-scowl surrounded by an exosphere of irritation that screams, Back the fuck off! As if I wanted to be anywhere near him. Puh-lease. I could be sipping whale soup in a remote Alaskan village, and I’d still be too close. 

It sure doesn’t help matters that Yugyeom’s new thing is to refer to Jungkook as Lisa’s old man or Mr. Fiancé. Turns out, Jungkook doesn’t like being referred to as my old man. At all. 

“Hey, Mr. Fiancé—” 

“Fuck off.” 

“What are you so pissed about? If I were Lisa’s old man—” 

“That’s it. Get the fuck out.” 

That earned Jungkook a side-cracking laugh from Yugyeom who seemed to be having the time of his life. Even Eunwoo gave a small laugh-grunt. 

Me, I just kept my head down emptying out the fridge, trying not to smile. 

When Jungkook stormed off to the garage, to find a dolly so he could “move shit himself” (by shit, he meant the new stainless appliances), Yugyeom’s demeanor lost a bit of its teasing edge. 

He and Eunwoo wasted no time grilling me about Jungkook’s attitude. Well, Yugyeom grilled me. Eunwoo just grunted. It would seem that Eunwoo can only form words and smile when he’s drunk. I really like drunk Eunwoo. Sober Eunwoo freaks me out. 

I shrugged at their questions. Because what could I say? We kissed and what they’re witnessing is the aftermath of his regret? 

Newsflash: I’ve got a shitload of regret too, but do you see me throwing a tantrum and stomping around the house like a freaking man-child? No. Why? Because I’m a grown-ass woman, which means I silently drown my regret in chili cheese nachos and cookie dough ice cream like every other freaking adult. 

I turn my gaze from the small rippling creek running along the riding trail, feeling some of the tension in my body get carried away with the current. Did I feel like going riding with Chaeyoung today instead of binge-watching episodes of Botched? No, I did not. 

But now I’m glad she wouldn’t take no for an answer, because for the first time in days it feels like the murky Jungkook Bubble around me has popped and I can see clearly and breathe fresh air again. 

Kingston, my mount for the ride, knickers, his muscles twitching against my thighs as he jostles me a bit in my saddle. 

I’m in no way a horse whisperer, but I bend forward and run my hand down his coarse black mane to his neck in soothing strokes, giving him cooing shushes. Do I think of Jungkook’s soft hair beneath my fingers? Yep. Because I’m cursed like that. 

“Nothing since?” Chaeyoung calls from behind, picking up where our conversation left off. 

“Nope.” 

“What a dick,” she says riding Coco up beside me, looking like Equestrian Barbie in her professional riding gear. 

I’m sporting more of a Goodwill Barbie vibe, wearing loaner shit from the lost and found. Dowan would’ve hooked me up with the good stuff, but he’s been giving me the cold shoulder since I refused his multiple offers to tell Mrs. Sung that the wedding was off, so I didn’t ask.