between the tides
"simply to endure,” she says, “is to triumph.” — p. mccormick ( @iddaewon )
★
she should’ve said no.
should’ve made up excuses, lie---something she does best---to avoid this, to prevent this from happening; and it’s victim-blaming, maybe, because this is her own goddamn fault. she digs her own hall, shovels away dirts from the side with every shot of soju downed, feels herself sinking deeper and deeper the more dizzy her head gets, the more the room spins around her.
she’s drunk---incoherent, completely not the same from her usual self, and yet, she still knows, she should’ve said no.
because then, she’d be at home right now---sober and in the right mind, bedside table light on as she pads away through pages of script, forgets to glance at the clock every now and then to notice that it’s grown late, that the sun is threatening to rise as birds emerge from nests and settle into chirping.
but yet, she’s still here; company dinners are not foreign at msg entertainment, no, but her presence at them might be---she only remembers their debut celebration as the last time she’d seen so many faces, and since then, her attendance at such gatherings has only dropped off in heaps; she knows, full and well, that these events aren’t worthy of her time, yes, but still, persuaded she remains as she strolls into local restaurant, finds herself to be seated within a cluster of middle-aged men for politeness and civility are enlaced into her veins too well, allows them to pour her drink after drink without a moment’s protest (her tongue is bleeding, from biting it down for so long) and soon enough, she’s tipsy.
though, she’s not complaining.
because, from the second she sits down, she notices his face---bright and clear as day; for how could not? when it’s still so vividly ingrained into her mind (and heart)? so she drinks, yes, in hopes that she can forget, for blurry vision and shaky head are all she needs to do so---to let go of these feelings.
she excuses herself, muffles out the protest and cries of the men who plead for her to stay---the very ones who she’s witnessed eye her chest and throw questionable remarks in her direction---as she forces glass door open, sighing in relief at the cool air breezing past her face.
she gulps; maybe she can sober up, so she can escape. for they wouldn’t be ban hyera and park daewon if this be the case, if she isn’t running away from her feelings.
