Clueless | DAERIN

27: three months

d a n i e l l e
—

It has been three months.

Three whole months since I last heard from Haerin!

I tried calling her after I had that flashback, but it just went straight to voicemail.

I would have gone straight to her house had it been any other day, but I cannot due to her being in a completely different state.

Honestly, I don't think I can do this any longer.

My mother has been worse than usual lately.

Whenever she isn't forcing Beomgyu and me to hang out together, which is rare, she is forcing me to do something else that benefits him.

A few examples are when she put me on an all-liquid diet, forced me to give a few pints of blood, bleached my already blonde hair, and took me to get a Brazilian wax.

And all of that was just last week!

I miss the Kangs so much.

Mainly my brown-haired best friend.

I've tried so hard not to be so dependent on her, but it's difficult.

She is the only one I feel comfortable around.

She makes me feel safe.

"Danielle, what are you doing standing in the corner?" my mother snaps in a whisper.

She doesn't want to draw attention to us.

I mean—why would she want to?

That would just reveal to everyone around us how bad of a parent she is.

It would reveal that we aren't the picture-perfect family she tries to present us as—far from it, actually.

"I'm not going over there," I whisper back.

I use my head to motion over towards Beomgyu, who is completely distracted, flirting with five girls near the snack table.

She groans at my response and rolls her eyes.

"Yes, you are," she grits out, "unless you want your little Kang to experience an accident," she threatens.

My eyes widen in shock at this threat.

How does she—

How did she—

Why is she—

Huh?

"Wha—how did you?" I stutter, too stunned to finish my sentence.

She smirks at my reaction.

"Find out? You didn't seriously think I was that slow, did you?" she says with another eye roll.

She pauses and takes a moment to trail her eyes over my sickly thin body.

Since we're at an all-white ball, I'm dressed in a short white dress that she picked out for me and white heels. My blonde hair is tightly curled in spirals and held back with a thick white headband.

I'm practically dressed as the rich, privileged poster child.

She grimaces with disgust at me.

"Ugh, with my luck, I end up with a faggot for a daughter," she rants. "I couldn't have just gotten a perfectly straight, obedient child?!" she exclaims, not loud enough for anyone to hear.

Wow.

If she wanted that, she could have just bought a dog.

"You're sick, you know that, right?" I tell her.