On Thin Air

The Truth Hurts

When he came out after his shower Namjoo had finished the entire bowl. It sat on the bedside table next to the tablets she hadn't taken. Fair enough he decided. As long as she had eaten he was happy. Turning the lights off he crept into bed beside her. Adjusting the blanket over her as he laid down. Hoping tomorrow she would feel better.

He jolted awake early morning when he heard Namjoo vomiting in the bathroom. Immediately getting up he found her bent over the toilet. He patted her back as they both waited it out. Sehun withdrew his hand when she flushed the toilet and moved over to wash her hands. She looked tired. He didn't know what to say. What kind of words would make her feel better than asking the obvious: are you sick?

Knowing it would irritate her he said nothing. Namjoo brushed by and crept back into bed. Curling up on her side. He turned the bathroom lights off and climbed in beside her. The sun was starting to rise. Not yet above the tree lines. Not yet dark nor bright.

From where he lay he couldn't see if Namjoo had fallen back asleep. Unable to sleep he watched her.

By the time he woke up Namjoo was still asleep. Without waking her he grabbed the bowl and headed downstairs. The kitchen lady and her daughter were in the middle of cooking.

"Where's the wife?" the elder lady wondered taking the bowl from him.

"Let her sleep," Sehun told. "Just set the table for one this morning."

She gave him a sympathetic look. Promising, "I'll make sure she eats later, so don't worry."

It didn't happen often, but he went to work without seeing her.

ꜛꜛꜛꜛꜛ

Namjoo had woken up, but she sat in bed. She didn't want to face the world. This eerie feeling in her chest made her emotionally withdrawn. Even worse, she was nostalgic for home.

Home.

A place that felt far away. Some place she hadn't thought about. At all. In forever.

Home.

Where her mother had raised her. Where as a little girl she had laughed and smiled once.

Burying her face into her knees she hugged her legs. Wanting her mother to give her the guidance she needed the most right now. Because for what was about to happen, she wasn't ready.

Namjoo felt her eyes burn and she became irritated when she felt the incoming presence sit down on the bed. She wanted to be left alone. She didn't want sympathetic eyes. Didn't need anyone to feel sorry for her.

"If you're up, why don't you come down to eat?" It was Auntie Park. "Your husband already left. He seemed very sad that he had to eat alone."

Refusing to respond Namjoo clenched her eyes shut.

Giving her a motherly pat on the back, she said, "Wash up. I'll set the table for you."

Namjoo didn't move from where she was even minutes after the woman left. Then finally, tossing the cover aside she strut toward the bathroom. Brushed her teeth with a kind of vehemence, went down the hall, searched through her closet, changed, and headed downstairs. Indeed there was warm food on the table waiting for her.

Sucking in a breath Namjoo pulled a chair out and sat down. Snatching her spoon as a sort of determination washed over her she stuffed herself. After a day and a quarter of feeling like shit the food finally settled in her darn stomach.

Bringing the dishes to the sink she washed them, dried her hands, and slipped into her shoes. Auntie Park's husband was outside pulling weeds from the lawn when she walked out.