#pitapatrs

a prequel to this.

what was a vacation to the infamous rowan? it was the same as the mundane daily and less about the sightseeing. it was not so much about taking in everything she was seeing for the first time in the flesh and more thinking about how much of this she could retain for the assignments she was to inevitably execute.

it was also scrolling through social media checking on celebrity devotees defending their icons by sharing their i-too's only to find themselves dying on hills not worth. it was clamoring for nourishment, as if it was possible to fill her appetite plagued with the chronic service of psychological gratification. it was going online, checking on auctioned vases from museums for charity; to quench her overwhelming desire to hoard ornaments, filling her chosen home with beauty her life could never truly possess and to sate her itch to 'save' those in need, because she had dedicated much of her life to taking—in a way, it was like indirectly pledging a monthly financial aid to her victims like a divorcee responsible for child support, even though they probably deserved their demise.

every single one of them were ordered to be killed for a heinous reason. one way or another, the reason would have to do with failures in political alliances. it was usually some prominent personality uncovering a conspiracy that ran deeper than south korea's criminal underworld or just a big boss with an abundance of wealth and a military, or sometimes even personal motive wanting their grievance avenged. chaeyeon cared, or rather used to care. she used to think she was some anti-hero, vigilante destined to discover the truth about injustices that had controlled her life for far too long. from the path that she played down to fictional stories, the only ideation that came true were the uneasy pacts, some of which led her to become embroiled into relationships that forced her to confront the life she leads.

in the twinkling of an eye, chaeyeon had become immobilised by an intense wave of fear. her body had decided to ambush her with a surge of panic on the first day in amalfi coast. if there was anything that made rowan really cry, it was the loss of control, the physical feeling of detaching from herself and the sense of irreality that came after. at that exact moment, she was insubstantial. she was imaginary. she was not existing objectively. not in fact. she was a fog of unknowns. a non-entity, a falsity. she was a lumpy, dark cloud bringing continuous precipitation for eternity. she was neither chaeyeon nor rowan. all of this came about around the company of piper, possibly the person she least wanted to see her in such a state. apart from tears and over worn eyes that quickly turned red, it manifested in quivering lips and an anxious jaw clicking. this was as mild as it could be, as the walls to her home had seen much worse. she was curled in a ball, back against the headboard of the hotel's queen bed next to the only person able to talk her out of it.

the stressor would be an unexpected assignment. rowan's surveillance coverage on its own was not to be trifled with, but the holy salvation society's was something else entirely. finding rowan was as easy as gliding a finger across a model of the planet. clearly, it was not information she could divulge to the friend, no matter how close they had become. frankly, there were already too many liabilities for her taste. any more and she would need to start killing them gradually, preemptively, only letting the quietest ones survive, which would make piper first in queue to the corpse gathering.

alas, piper was a little more special than that. just a month ago, they were intimate. a month ago, chaeyeon was yielding to the habitual daydreaming of a stable life where she owns a greenhouse and resides in a provincial home with wolfgang, yeoreum, and her wife piper, only worrying about household management. the following month might have been committed to spending her days bricking off the door to her house and tin foiling her windows, blocking all potential connection to the outside world, but they had made amends. fairly easily at that, since chaeyeon was fragile and vulnerable to declarations of people she cared for expressing qualms about losing her in their lives.

the day after was no better. in hindsight, the commission assigned to her was not completely unexpected. prior to the phone call, rowan had been following a mafioso who had paid a handsome fee for protection. only today, it was possible to get the ball rolling because of a wedding at the coast. she thought their complacency to be foolish, but the weight of her steps reaching to roof of the building didn't quite relent. it was more noticeable, even. as to why, she had no idea. there was nothing out of the ordinary other than the fact that it was in a land completely foreign to her, but that had never been a hindrance to her procedures. rowan was a master at the art of sucking it up, and she was familiar of the patterns that infrastructures took. the coastal strip in turn was familiar with red trails of blood and rubble.

she proceeded as usual, starting with the initial assembly and the inspection of joint condition. once everything was set and it was rested on the bipod, fine crosshairs hardscoped over the target in motion. all the kinks were worked out: the optical zoom, the focal length of the scope, and the right amount of grip to control the recoil of the rifle. with the windage accounted for and the bullet drop dialed in, she paused and listened to the beat of her heart, blocking out any and all other noises and visual disturbances. she fired on the very moment between the beats—when the body has the least amount of movement, and therefore giving her the greatest accuracy. she gloated over the sight of the crowd's reaction for a moment, the panic and distress, and instantly realises this malignant pleasure she relished on. the push and pull of her morals began while the mission 'ends' with a high caliber bullet right on target's head; an end product to the extensive training in the covert arts, a so-called success or happy ending. she couldn't say the same for the trajectory of the events to follow.

there's only so much she can be in control of. after packing up her trade tools, she turned to find piper frozen in her place at the door of the rooftop. how she could have let a huge oversight happen, leaving it unlocked, was beyond her. there was something off after all. she couldn't have been there long, rowan reasoned to herself, but the expression of shock said otherwise. she hastily blurted out "what are you—" but before she could finish the sentence, piper stormed off. rowan made little effort to chase. she stopped at the door, one hand gripping at the frame and the other in a fist landing a punch on the metal door. it would have hurt like hell any other time, but her brain was far too focused in on the fact that piper witnessed not only a mental breakdown the night before but also her killing another human being. the turmoil settled in quickly, rendering her numb and weak simultaneously, as if the bones in her body had crumbled to dust, leaving only a shell of her unfeeling body. she gave herself the small kindness of rest. sat on the staircase then, she discovered a wallet. upon inspection, she found that it belonged to piper.

a sigh left her lips. the remainder of the day would be dedicated to the search of piper, who had ran off to hide from rowan presumably out of the reasonable fear of being a victim to the violence that she could enact as a retaliation to her secret being found out. but locating piper was one thing and it wasn't a complicated task at all. the hard part was finding the answers to the questions waiting for her. she had none. how do you explain killing for a living anyway?

(you can't.)

there was no running from her shadow. europe was no exception. this dark figure cast upon her will always chase her down to the ends of the world. until then, all she could do was wait until the light comes.

liquid was her trust: easily shaken, easily stirred. so when the stillness was interrupted by a rocking, it spills all over. it seemed to be a pattern between the two. things spilling. soup, feelings, words. but to chaeyeon they came in a barrage she had not a strong enough shield for.

she did have some trust in piper. not a lot, and like a meter, its degree would go down in measure little by little. once when a straightforward 'i kissed you because i liked you' wasn't clear enough for piper to catch the message. twice when chaeyeon was denied of a little tlc after their intimate encounter during piper's birthday—which chaeyeon shouldn't have yielded to in the first place, considering the firm rules she's placed to protect herself. and then most recently, when piper's fuse unexpectedly blew out. it was a setback from the slew of apologies, even if they were met with chaeyeon's reluctance to accept.

chaeyeon did realize how harsh she must have been with her words; calling piper dense and clueless being the paramount of her cruelty. and, ironically, she had come to realize that she too was clueless for not seeing the red flags when they had been blaring like the most obnoxious alarm right in her ear. the signs were everywhere, all laid out for her. it did not matter that she had been 'so good' for piper to have had the best of her, because the friend never felt that way about her. there were no indications that she could have had even an inkling of fondness for chaeyeon in the way that she had hoped.

the words would continue to ring in her head regardless. piper was successful at making chaeyeon feel guilty, never mind if that was the intention or not. in her attempt to drown out the thoughts, she kept busy. chaeyeon must have pulled out her entire phonebook, went down the list of people who could take her without asking for details, without the awkward how-are-yous and small talk, without the rabid interrogation on who she was sleeping with this time that had gotten her fretting and looking for a temporary fix; that sweet, sweet oxytocin.

if there was one thing piper was spot on with, it was that none of what had transpired made sense. even to chaeyeon, it didn't. if she were to be honest with herself, the attachment simply stemmed from greed and humiliation. she despised the thought of anyone taking small bites out of her feast, despised the fact that she had straightened her act only to find that it was going nowhere. it was an immensely warped perception on the passion she couldn't even find a proper name for. it was not love, at least not in its pure form. she would have been perfectly fine treading life unaccompanied by ties irrelevant to her pursuit of saving the children of holy salvation society. she was, in fact, to blame for most of the problem.

she was far from embracing how things have become, but she also could not find it in her to talk to the person who caused her this much turmoil. so in her desperation to forget, she set out to the places that reminded her of piper, to say goodbye once and for all.

first to the noodle soup place where piper bounced around in her seat, while chaeyeon sat with her woozy smile enduring how uncomfortable it was that she smelled of beef broth just so they could continue to have a good time. then on to seongsan bridge, her place of evening solace, where they sat by the shore to take in the vestiges of winter and the promise of balmy summer days. and then to everland's flower fields where the rain and warm wind was sent to kiss the soils that awaken the seeds and sing to them as they grow. and finally, for her last stop, the aquarium.

her soles moved toward the tank in that cascade of blue deeper than ocean water, oblivious to it becoming a place for chance and fate to dance. she hankered for a glimpse of the fishes. how magical, she thought. she wanted to feel the same motion. she stood there, taking in the pinkness of the belly and the placidity of the eye. maybe this way, she could form an entirely new perspective. eyes wandered, distracted by the sound of footsteps nearby, and she turned to find a familiar face glistening in the reflected light. time stopped. she could feel a knot in her throat terminating her steady breathing and once she had caught it back, she became lightheaded.

whatever the hermit had told chaeyeon years ago didn't quite register the way it was simply stated. her brain was wired a tad different, always in extremes. always moments too late, and more often than not ending with a flashback of "he's fucking dead! what do i do now?!" ringing like an unbearable feedback against her ear. one could say she had a very feverish way of expressing her feelings.

the events that unfolded at present did so in a straightforward, plain sailing manner. it was all so simple and sweet that it gave her an illusion of security; that with this new muse she could drop her guard and shed her shame. consequently, she did. in the beginning, headfirst into conversations concerning things she had been apprehensive of and an irrefutable exchange of open-mindedness. then with songs of praise, and subtle teases which then led to soft kisses; dipping in to catch her lips between her teeth, relaxing into the curve of each others' bodies, warmth swelling then dwindling on and on, and on, and on.

but just like all the rest and everyone else, it did not last long. the signs were all around. they were nonchalant and very public. but chaeyeon, despite her awareness of it, chose to ignore. her stubbornness did not pair well with her ailing heart.

when she had started becoming this frail, she couldn't recall. she never did learn. it happened over, and over, and over. and she fell within the grips of it each time without fail. alas, it was by the innocuous yet unsparing clutches of an unapologetically doltish lass.

a civil and near-mutual rejection should not have been a big deal, especially when it was her putting her foot down. she just felt silly. she knew too that it was okay to be silly, every now and again. but she was filled with pride and entitlement that was oh-so fragile; how effortlessly it had been knotted and synchronously torn apart.

it was the loss of control. she would be doing the actions and it would be her behavior but it would feel as if the gas feed got stuck down and she had to deal with a spongy brake. a leak in the line, a failed seal. she would despairingly pump the pedal but it wouldn't budge. in that acceleration, in that momentum, the steering wheel would get all jammed up, too. it was all fight for fight; all disappointingly primitive. she didn't look on with favor the wind unslacking without her permission.

her heartbreak is grief that comes in waves, grueling, stealing appetite and sleep alike. it is a shard in her gut that never leaves. perhaps in time the edges will dull but at this time, it felt like death just the same as bereavement. in quiet moments it choked the breath from her body and short circuited her mind. this is her best, it is all that is left of once a proud and strong soul—fragments on the floor, scared that the next wind will blow them away.

her mind cycled through emotions faster than a kid flipping through radio channels. she had gone from level to rocky, fighting a mixture of competing emotions, each of them vying for dominance. after the reboot of sleep, she is calm, the day stretching ahead with possibilities; time to get jobs done, connect with friends, enjoy nature. yet the coping is a thin veil over trauma being set off and even the smallest of setbacks—like stubbing her toe against the bed frame or the bathroom's door knob breaking—changed her emotional landscape.