"Let's talk sex."
He was a spark, a wildfire of flames that intended to set her heart ablaze, and she was merely another doll-faced student who was too easy to mess with.
EXAGUSTD, 2021
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I spend the remainder of my forenoon in the library. My feet shuffling against the wooden floorboards as I pace the room. My head is throbbing with a million different emotions as they scatter down the valley of my chest, sinking deep in my ribs and tearing through my walls. I make it a point not to fidget too much, seeing that the eagle-eyed librarian is already watching curiously as I prowl about the bookshelves in search of something that would help take my mind off everything.
I lay a hand flat against the pocket of my jeans as a rough vibration instills me with momentary fear. It should be Yawang, calling to ask me why I haven't joined her in our weekly language club meet-up yet. It should have started already and I am in no position to volunteer some participation.
My brain feels like a thick log of worms; I'm numb with anger, contempt, and guilt and I'm determined to locate the dictionary and unearth the meaning behind whatever he calls me.
I loiter around the foreign languages section. The library here is huge, stocked with all sorts of books and I'm convinced that I can find something somewhere. The corner of my lips digs into my cheek as a frown layers my forehead and I trail my fingertips against the spine of a few books whilst peering up at the tall shelf. Half the texts seem unfamiliar to me, and the manuscripts are old and garlicky as I sift through a few pages.
I could just google translate the word but I recognize neither the spelling nor the language to fix this term in my vocabulary. I can't physically sit here all day and probe over a frenetic tonne of old dictionaries.
My fingers move to fish my phone out, skin sparked with a long vibration and I am hemmed with worry whilst watching my inbox deluge with words from everyone. I have about ten calls from Yawang, a hundred messages from Jimin, Yoongi, and Mila - all of it whelms me with dread until I spy a notification from V. Unbeknownst to me, my cognizance chooses to ignore everything else and a part of me springs with guilt as my thumb touches their name.
V how did you get this?
They haven't responded to my question from earlier, and I have grown incessently frantic over how this person is slowly infusing a new share of emotions in me. I stand there, struck with melancholy as I fail to come up with a response. They haven't denied claims of being a random online bot, and my instinct is to believe that this is a real person I am texting.
My lips purse themselves in a lopsided line and I bring my nails to their chapped skin. I don't know what to say, although the answer remains embedded in my memory. I don't want to talk to someone I don't know - these online prowlers have a history of causing trouble and I'm afraid of being their next bait.
Block, my morals blare.
My fingers type a text instead.
Kim Mirae suga redirected my messages to your number im sorry if this is weird, i dont mean to annoy you ... seen
