You are quite like a wilted flower,
neglected,
dried out,
and crumbled into pieces.
But, why did you still catch my attention with that beyond-belief beauty of yours?
All you need is a little love to bloom,
a little care to grow colorful,
and a litt...
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XXXVIII: Wilted Flower
Ghosts of Yesterday | The lingering memories and unresolved issues from the past that continue to influence the present.
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Rage consumed Minho, an inferno that blazed beneath his skin, turning his blood to molten anger.
He stood there, fists clenched tightly, knuckles stark white against the backdrop of his turmoil.
There she was again, the girl who filled him with loathing, smiling as if she had the right to exist in this space.
Before him stood the girl he despised above all, Iris's clone; an apparition of everything he wished he could forget.
She had appeared mere days after Iris had shifted into the parallel realm, a bizarre twist in their reality that felt like a cruel joke.
The conversation they had shared, contemplating the possibility of her existence, echoed in his mind, amplifying the intensity of his emotions.
As he regarded her, the rage bubbled just beneath the surface, pushing against the confines of his restraint.
He fought against the primal instinct to lash out, to hurt her as she had hurt Riki. Every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance, but he had to hold back, for now.
"Becky, which dress should I wear?" the girl giggled, her voice light and teasing as she held up another dress, her eyes sparkling with a false brightness that made Minho's stomach churn.
She wore a short, tight-fitting dress that hugged her curves in all the wrong ways, exposing a dangerously plump neckline that was entirely inappropriate for the occasion.
The sight twisted the knife deeper in Minho's heart, and he felt a fresh wave of anger wash over him. This was not the time for her games.
"Uhm, I'm not sure," Becky said, her gaze flitting nervously between Minho and the girl. She could sense the tension in the air, heavy and suffocating.
"Oh, come on, don't be boring, Becky! Let's go clubbing tonight, just you and me!" The girl pouted, her voice dripping with childish charm as she threw the dress onto the bed and clung to Becky's arm, as if to stake her claim.
Minho felt his blood boil; this was a direct assault, a manipulation meant to rile him up further.
With a swift motion, Minho launched himself forward, grabbing the girl's arm with a grip that felt more like iron than flesh.
"Not in that dress, Iris." he spat, the words laced with venom as he forced himself to call her by the name of the girl he loved the most.
"Fine, What if I wear this one instead? It's longer." she challenged, holding up another dress and batting her lashes in a way that was both irritating and infuriating.
Did she think that would sway him?
"Are you a slut?" he shot back, his glare turning lethal as his grip tightened. "We just lost a friend! How can you even think about going clubbing?!"
"Excuse me?! How could you call your girlfriend that?" she snapped, pulling her shoulder free from his grasp, her dark eyes flashing with defiance.
"I'm not dating a slut, so why are you acting like one?" His voice grew louder, each word heavy with the weight of his emotion as he stepped dangerously close, their faces inches apart.
The anger radiated from him like heat from a furnace, filling the space between them with tension.
"I'm not acting like a slut! Why is it so wrong to have fun? I'm hurt too, but that doesn't mean I should be miserable!" She met his fierce gaze with her own, a flicker of irritation hidden beneath her bravado.
It was a moment that threatened to break the tension, but Minho wouldn't let it. He refused to see anything but the anger in her eyes.
His gaze shifted momentarily to the floor beneath her feet, and a chill ran through him.
She had no shadow, this was real, and the truth was standing right in front of him.
The anger boiled within him anew. "Move on? Seriously?" he retorted, a dry chuckle escaping his lips that held no humor, only scorn.
"It's only been a week since Riki died, and you want to have fun already? Can't you show a bit of respect?"
Her expression shifted, anger mingling with hurt.
"I don't see anything wrong with what I'm doing! I just want to breathe, to move on from what happened!" she declared, gathering her belongings with fervor as if to shield herself from his words.
"I'm leaving and coming back late. Don't bother looking for me," she threw back at him as she stormed toward the door, her footsteps heavy with defiance.
Becky stood up, her instinct to chase after the girl taking hold, but Minho's firm grip on her wrist stopped her in her tracks.
"Becky, I need to talk to you," he said, his eyes pleading yet intense, conveying the urgency of the situation.
She sighed, recognizing the gravity of the moment. "What is it, Minho?" she asked, her voice softer now, tinged with concern.
"Stay away from her," he said, the words leaving his mouth like a command, but the plea behind them was unmistakable.
"What? Why would I do that? She's my friend!" Becky questioned, bewildered by his sudden insistence.
"Please, don't question it. Just trust me and keep your distance for now," he urged, clasping his hands together, desperation lacing his tone.
Becky hesitated, glancing back toward the door where the girl had just exited.
"Fine, if you say so, I trust you. But you have to explain this to me later," she relented, stepping back as uncertainty etched itself across her features.
Minho nodded, grateful for her understanding but anxious about what lay ahead.
The situation had spiraled far beyond his control, and as the silence enveloped them, he couldn't shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.
Each second that ticked by felt heavier than the last, a reminder of the storm brewing within him, a storm that threatened to break, unleashing chaos on everything he held dear.
