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Her hand cracks across his face, the sound as loud and fast as a clap. His head snaps to the side with the force of her blow. It stings his face, his jaw clenching, but eyes watering as well.
In this intense silence, she, somehow, screams with her whole body, "How could you do this to me?" The eyes wide with horror, the mouth rigid and open, her chalky face gaunt and immobile, the fists clenched with blanched knuckles and the nails digging deeply into the palms of her hand.
Clutching the side with the red welt, his head slowly move upward, dark eyes clashing against her.
A sudden ringing cuts the silence like a sharp knife. Swiftly pulling the phone out, her eyebrows furrow as she reads her almond-eyed friend calling her, yet ignores it.
She throws the phone on the hard ground next to him. It cracks open, shattering across the whole area, just as her heart. "And you can take your phone back," she mumbles, looking down at the broken cellphone.
She is a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She is a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.
Smart people learn from their mistakes. But the real sharp ones learn from the mistakes of others.
Slowly shaking her head, a dry chuckle escapes her, smiling bitterly right after. "I, sincerely, thought that I could trust you. That I found someone special, my other half; that I found you."
Blood slowly flows down from Ahri's palms, the cause of her harsh clenching. Yet she ignores the physical pain, her emotional wound being deeper than that. "But I was wrong."
Without saying another word, the dark-haired girl leaves the garage. There are tears stinging her eyes on the way out.
Seojun extends his hand, but Ahri is far gone. There is grief in his slumped shoulders, loneliness in his heart, and an ocean in his dark orbs.
A drop of rain, carrying years of shattered hopes and promises, streaks on her pale skin to her quivering lips where it struggles to drip down onto the ground under her feet.
The time her face is spattered with raindrops again, almost drenching her hair, is when she realizes how the water clenches to her skin for it knows what she's going through.
She is walking unusually slow, almost robotically, as if her brain is struggling to tell each foot to take the next step. It is as if she is in a stupor; like someone under hypnosis in one of those scooby-doo cartoons.
