Love, Story, and Love Story

Page 1 The Writer's Own Story

Jaehee

So that's how it goes. I ended up inviting this stranger to my house. I still can't believe he's a detective though. Is he a poser?? Oh my glob! What if he has an ulterior motive and kidnap me all of a sudden???

"Hey, don't give me that look, I'm not a bad guy." He said entering my apartment's door. I still eyes him suspiciously.

"I can't believe detectives are stalkers." I murmured but it seems he still heard it.

"I heard that." And he gave me a somewhat annoyed look.

Despite the unwelcoming aura I'm obviously having, I still led him to my small living room, with only an old worn out sofa and a small center table both facing a second-hand flat screen tv attached to the wall.

"I'll make coffee." I said then I just went straight to the kitchen hoping to find something for my own hospitality. I don't like him around, that's given, but he's still a guest, gotta treat him like one.

After some moment, I managed to brew the coffee my mom sent me, which is pretty high quality (well, never was a moment my mom gave me anything lower than her standards) and some cookies I just bought from the store I went from when he blocked my way and started the commotion that led to this.

I sigh to myself. What did I get myself into? Bumping into that guy is a misery. I'm digging my own grave, knowing he's a detective.

I brought a tray of two coffee cups and a plate of cookies with me when I got back to the living room. When I put it on the table he said..

"You shouldn't have bothered.." suddenly, he was shy.

I wore my poker face at him while I sit on the wooden chair I pulled from the kitchen. There's no other stuff to seat on but that sofa he's sitting on, and I certainly don't want to sit with him. "Stop the pleasantries." I said.

"...." he fell quiet after that.

It felt awkward....the silence.

"So, what the heck...?" I purposely trailed off, I know he knew what I meant.

"I apologize for bothering you this much. I feel sorry that this has to happen, trust me, I really am, but.....just as you said, I'm desperate."

"What does a detective has to do with me? I didn't do anything wrong."

I saw him clench his fist. What the heck is his problem??

"Well, that's true but.." there's hesitation in him. His quite quizzical. What's wrong? "About my sister.."

"Your sister? I thought you just made that up?"

"No. I wouldn't lie just to get you to talk to me." he had his gaze straight to me. He looks serious. "What I told you is true. I need you to help me about my sister."

"Hmm..." am I going to buy this? Or was he just playing the lying game with me? "How so?"

"Ever since you stopped writing, she stopped living a normal life. She fell ill, mentally ill. It's called 'Major Depressive Disorder'. She's now confined inside the hospital because of the danger she is with this illness of hers. This was fixed long ago, but then, her depression about your retirement triggered it back. You can say that she's pretty obsess with your works." I listen intently in this interesting story of his, wondering if detectives can make good stories too. "Usually, this kind of case should be mild and treated fast by therapy but we didn't expect it could get worse. She..." again, I noticed him clench his fist. "...she almost killed herself last time. And it's the effect of her illness. Because of too much depression...I almost lose her."