SMOKE & PEPPERMINT ‹𝟹 LIPSOUL

Three

The outside air hits her as she's blinded by the rising sun and she's in immediate discomfort, more so than she was upon waking. Yet, despite these clear skies and calmness that surrounded her, nothing was good about this morning. Not when she woke up feeling half-dead and dragged herself across her entire floor trying to get ready. She swallows hard trying to ease the torturing itch at the back of her throat but it's ineffective. And when her eyes finally adjust to the peeking sun she chokes at the surprise waiting for her.

"I can't believe it," Jinsoul groans, her voice hoarse and tired. "So, is this what you're going to do every day now? Pick me up from home and work?"

Jungeun smirked as she made her way towards the smoker, seizing her arm and entrapping her at once.

"I told you, I'm persistent," she said, fluttering her long eyelashes. "And thorough."

Right.

Jinsoul rolls her eyes and clenches her jaw. Her body was starting to jitter a bit.

"Yeah, a thorough pain in my—"

"Oh, someone's cranky," Jungeun quickly cuts her off and forcefully pulls her along. "Come on, let's go. Oh, and eat these mints. Your breath still reeks."

With no strength to resist, Jinsoul accepts the mints that were shoved past her lips and allows herself to be lugged around. She concentrates on the permeating taste of peppermint, trying to distract herself as her fingers begin to twitch and the back of her neck began to sweat.

[...]

"Ah, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!" Jinsoul hisses and she bangs her desk with an open hand, tremors run up her arm leaving a brief numbness.

She clutches her skull that was on the verge of imploding. Every pulse, every breath, shook her and she trembled underneath it all, helpless. Jinsoul sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, trying to hang on and ride out the wave of pain but it's useless. Utterly useless, and she can feel herself breaking. If she stays here any longer she's sure she'll end up screaming and so she shoots up from her desk, not caring what strange looks people gave her, and runs for the bathroom—the closest thing she has to a safe haven.

The bathroom stall slams shut and Jinsoul collapses upon the closed toilet seat. Rocking herself back and forth with labored breaths waiting for the sharp pangs to subside.

"Fr-eaking..." she mutters through gritted teeth.

She hears the door creak open and a familiar voice calls out to her, "Jinsoul?"

It was Haseul. She probably caught sight of Jinsoul bolting from her desk and got worried.

As always.

"I'm h-here," she tries her best to sound fine.

"Are you alright?" Haseul asks and Jinsoul can hear her getting closer.

"I'm fine."

Lies. But what else can she say? That she's rotting? That she can't do this anymore when she's barely even started?

No. She can't say any of that. Though, she knows it to be true, she has to lie. Not just for Haseul but for herself as well. How else was she going to get through this?

I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay.

"It's just a migraine. D-Don't worry about me." That almost sounded convincing. Just a bit more.

"Are you sure?" Haseul asks as she stands directly in front of Jinsoul's stall.

She holds her breath and with gritted teeth, forces out the words, "Yeah, I'm sure."

There's silence and Jinsoul tries to calm her trembling, clutching onto anything she could to keep her still, the toilet seat, the wall, the toilet paper roll, anything. She just wanted to stop.

Come on, Haseul. Please.

Tick.

Throb.

Tick.

Throb.

Pain was on a rhythmic schedule as it kept in time with the clock on the wall. She could hear it and then she could feel it, a wave hitting her every second. Why couldn't it all just shut up? Then, the sound of shifting feet diverts her attention.

"Alright, then. I'll cover for you out there so take as much time as you need, Jeong."

"Thanks," she manages to reply.

The door shuts, finally alone, she releases a strangled cry of pain. An unusual shriek akin to that of a dying bird. It's pathetic and she can't understand, why—why is this so hard? It's only been a day of this severe cigarette shortage—just a day—and yet, here she is, grasping at the scattered bits of sanity that she can't seem to hold together. Her mind is in such disarray, it has her on her knees like a prisoner.

Hold it together. You can do this. You can do this.

More lies. Futile encouragement to go on. Her hand begins to twitch. Two cigarettes left. Why lie any longer?