A Distraction // Bangchan

Chapter Thirty-Four

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden light across the room. Lauren lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her body numb from the pain that seemed to weigh heavier with each passing hour. The silence of the apartment was oppressive, a constant reminder that she was alone, that Chan was gone, and nothing would be the same again.

She hadn't slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, memories of Chan flooded her mind—his laughter, the way he had held her, the look in his eyes when he said he loved her. And then, the cold, distant way he had looked at her when he ended everything. It felt like she was living two lives in her head: one where Chan loved her deeply, and another where he had walked away like it hadn't mattered at all.

The weight of it all was crushing.

With a deep breath, Lauren forced herself to sit up, pushing the covers off her legs. She couldn't keep lying in bed like this, even though every part of her wanted to stay there, to hide from the world and the pain that seemed unbearable. She needed to move, to do something—anything—to keep her mind from spiraling further.

Her feet hit the cool floor as she stood, feeling the stiffness in her body from the hours she'd spent curled up, trying to will the tears to stop. But even now, as she moved toward the bathroom, she felt the tears sting her eyes again. She splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would clear her head, but it did little to dull the ache in her chest.

She couldn't stop thinking about him—about the way he had said it was over, his voice so flat, so detached. But she knew Chan. She knew him, and deep down, she knew it wasn't true. He had loved her. He still did. She could see it in his eyes, in the way his voice had trembled just slightly when he had spoken. But he had done it anyway, pushed her away to protect his career, his band, his future.

And now, all she had left was the emptiness.

Lauren dressed slowly, her movements sluggish as the emotional weight of the past few days hung over her like a cloud. She tried to distract herself with small tasks—brushing her hair, putting on a bit of makeup—but nothing seemed to help. The emptiness inside her persisted, and the apartment felt too quiet, too still.

She made her way to the kitchen, her stomach churning at the thought of food. She hadn't eaten much since the breakup, the grief making her lose any sense of appetite. But she knew she had to try, had to at least put something in her body, even if it felt impossible.

She stared blankly at the fridge for a moment before deciding on something simple—cereal. It felt like the most she could manage right now. As she poured the milk into the bowl, her mind drifted back to the mornings she had spent with Chan. They had always been quiet, intimate moments, shared over coffee and laughter, his arm draped around her as they sat at the table together. Now, the silence in the kitchen felt suffocating.

Lauren sat at the table, staring down at the bowl of cereal in front of her, but the thought of eating made her feel nauseous. She pushed the bowl away, running a hand through her hair as she tried to steady herself, but the tears came again, unbidden, and she buried her face in her hands, letting the sobs escape.

The pain felt like it was never going to end. It was a dull, constant ache in her chest, one that she couldn't escape no matter how hard she tried to distract herself. And the worst part was, she didn't know how to fix it. She didn't know if it would ever get better.

A knock at the door startled her, pulling her out of her spiral of thoughts. Lauren wiped at her eyes quickly, trying to compose herself as she stood up and made her way to the door. When she opened it, Nicole was standing there, holding two cups of coffee, her face full of concern.

"Hey, love," Nicole said softly, stepping inside. "I figured you could use some company."

Lauren tried to smile, but it faltered, and she stepped aside to let Nicole in. She had messaged Nicole the day before, telling her what had happened.