GO INWARD & CHOKE

seonji’s wordlessness allows her to introspect; to admonish herself for falling into this mayhem in the first place. he’d only inquired of the humble beginnings of their friendship, searching for the lost memories to complete the fragmentations in his timeline. one story after another and the truth had toppled forth from behind her teeth -- well, yes, we did it; you were actually the first -- unbidden, unnecessary, unwanted. not even the caustic manner in which she bites her tongue to silence herself does no good; the secret is out, and mona is mortified.

finally, he speaks, and her eyes move their gaze from her restless hands to his face. seonji’s words make her cheekbones bloom vermillion; she grips the mug of tea more securely between her white palms. “w-well, yes. you were,” she bites her inner cheek, revolted by her stutter.

when the word lovers is released from seonji’s lips mona nearly squeaks. red to the tips of her ears, she emphatically cries out with a no! before recovering her sense ( somewhat ). “we weren’t lovers,” she refutes firmly with a shake of her head. “it was just a one-time thing. it was awkward, i think, for the both of us. we did stay friends though, as you can see.” mona smiles then, lips pulling back to reveal her cordial grin. “i think it was just too good of a friendship to let go. and i don’t think you were into me all that much. i wasn’t either -- no offense.”

instead, she’s taken to apologies so easily it seems pre-destined. even as she comes up to cameron’s door, panting pathetically and nursing the blooming stitch in her side, her tongue is heavy with i’m sorry’s and forgive me’s. she is a broken record that only reiterates repentant words. mona’s knuckles rap on the door in her conventional sharp, brisk manner -- after finding a deep breath a suitable amount of time to allow for a response, she wraps her fingers around the knob’s cool handle and gradually opens the door.

“i’m only two minutes late this time,” she utters between pants; the stinging in her side furrows her brows and turns her features into an expert grimace. “i’m sorry; i honestly didn’t think you’d reply so fast, since i’m a little short notice. i ran from my place to here in my pajamas.”

her fingers entwine, unravel, repeat in her restlessness. today, unlike most days, she is decidedly anxious for her usual fix. with a mind plagued by melancholy that spreads throughout her like lethal poison, the dark-haired girl is extraordinarily fidgety -- and she is need of something, anything, to calm her down.

she catches her breath just to lose it again. it dissipates with his fervent mouth against her open grin; it is almost juvenile the way his hands have captured her cheeks, how they stand a centimetre apart, how this kiss reminds her of being sixteen and in a tender first love. but this is jaewook, and she is mona, and there is nothing tender or lovely about them. she breathes in again. “you better not have been kidding,” she says, levelling him a glare stripped of its menace. “i had to go through that awful crowd to come here. i can’t leave empty handed.”

upon their arrival, the upscale interior of the vip lounge arrests her breath -- gone is her audacious grin and the spirited mirth in her eyes. mona remembers, abruptly, the sheer discomfort that overwhelms her when she tiptoes into affluence; her mother’s sphere, her mother’s longing. she’s never been comfortable in the face of splendour -- silk is too evasive, gold is too blinding, diamonds are too distorting, and mona has never quite been able to keep a firm grasp of herself in their midst. her spine rescinds and her shoulders hunch; her fingers, entwined in jaewook’s grip, loosen their hold; she walks behind him cautiously, wary prey being escorted into a lion’s den.

the dark-haired girl scans bo’s texts with a curious eye. she is, on the one hand, amused -- only the inimitable kyung bo would christen a bra with its very own epithet -- and on the other, she is bemused. it isn’t as if bo visits her workplace frequently; she is positive that the older girl wouldn’t dare sully the red soles of her louboutins by dredging around in this parallel universe far-removed from her own. for bo to come to the pc bang of her own accord made mona’s skin prickle with nervousness -- it had to be something of momentous consequence to propel bo into such dire action. mona wonders what that occasion is -- and she wonders why it necessarily has to involve her.

( to: bo ) i’ll be waiting! ( to: bo ) is anything the matter? ( to: bo ) are you okay?

the climax happens all at once.

instead of the tender kiss of the sun and the taste of cold coffee it is the acrid stench of rubber burning; the poignant, loaded silence and the shrieks that follow; the dark, deep red colour that floods the crosswalk. someone yells -- what they yell, mona cannot comprehend -- and from the motionless crowd she sees a boy jump into action, knees hitting the pavement hard as he scrambles towards the prone animal. it’s distressing -- how his cries go unheard, how everyone else in the crowd are cardboard figurines in their inactivity. mona can’t stand it.

“find the wound and keep pressure on it,” she utters with a firm tone that belies the mayhem inside of her. “do you have cloth -- anything -- to keep it pressed down? do that, okay?”