Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
In movies, whenever the main character is heartbroken, they cry a little over the weekend, roll around in bed with tissues and ice-cream, then they receive this glorious flame of motivation and show up at school looking better than they ever were in their relationship.
In real life, I spent my night sobbing so hard that my throat burned while deleting all my photos with my ex-boyfriend, and now I'm on my way to campus at barely 9 in the morning. In early spring. On a weekend. Dressed in the same clothes I slept in! I have zero energy to consider looking decent; my hair is tied down in a loose ponytail and the only thing I did to my face was wash it.
I look and feel utterly disgusting; this isn't me. This isn't who I am. Yet then again, I haven't been able to find "me" since the break-up.
The entire walk from home to college has me feeling more sour with every step. It's not that far of a walk but I would've much rather gotten Renjun to drive me. I'm tired, I'm sad, I'm freezing, I look like birds used me as a toilet. I'd love nothing more than to rot in bed right now but there's this stupid fucking club meeting. On a fucking Saturday morning. Fuck my life.
Don't get me wrong, I love my club, I'm just pissed that our president decided on the worst day possible to have our first meeting. Last year I wasn't too happy with how extracurricular activities are compulsory for freshmen but I found a home in the Justice Club. Although the name makes us sound like a gathering of nerds who geek over superheroes, it's actually a club about community service, volunteer work and social justice. And that was the literal name until a senior decided he couldn't be assed to pronounce a club name that long and came up with "Justice Club". Thank you, Johnny Suh.
When I arrive, campus is mostly empty—it's a godforsaken Saturday after all—and noone is around to witness the security guard mistaking me for a ghost. I trudge towards the main administration building where my club meeting is held, my earbuds playing soft Korean ballads at a low volume, making it seem like I'm the miserable star of a K-drama.
The hallway is empty when I walk out of the stairwell. I stop by a vending machine on my way to the club room to get some sugar in me to function for the next two hours. The machine swallows my money diligently, but my bottled tea doesn't pop out of its place.
"What the fuck?" I groan.
Oh, come on. This can't be happening.
My anger heightens immediately. I've always had some issues with my temper and especially since I'm not in the best of moods in the first place, I can't control myself from punching the machine. I use my knee when my knuckles doesn't work, all while curse words are relentlessly flying from my lips. I give the machine one last kick before I give up.
"Woah, Peach. I think you need to calm down."
My entire body perks up when I hear that familiar voice behind me. And that nickname. That fucking nickname. Of all people, of all mornings, why do I have to bump into him?
