Alarms blared through the silence of my room.
"Huh, what the? What's this?" I said, as a mysterious gift appeared. It was a grand finale for act one, a type of event even my lover never introduced me to. Scheduled exactly one month later, I booked a business deal while hiding my tears, returning after attending to Mr. Jimi.
"What the heck, he doesn't even have money..." I thought, my mind racing with questions. What was happening?
I arrived at Charles's house, going through my calendar as I prepared for the upcoming week. My eyes landed on Friday, May 26th, and my heart stopped. "Mr. Money - Final Day" was written in bold letters.
I ate the delicious meal that had been prepared and served by him. As I took the first bite, I realized how good it was. Suddenly, my spoon slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. Embarrassed, I began to eat with my hands. I chattered away, trying to fill the silence, but he simply sat there, saying nothing. When I was done eating, I wanted to ask for more, but I was too shy. I got up and left.
"So, your one-sided love for that man was too sorrowful. You just licked the bowl of codfish clean and left?" Jimi asked over the phone. "I see. Wasn't your business philosophy about being unforgiving when it came to ulterior motives?"
"Isn't he just a novel pervert?" Jimi asked, a sly grin on his face.
"He doesn't look like a novel pervert at all," I said over the phone, my voice sounding slightly tinny over the line. "What makes you think he is?"
Okay, let's do this! Here's my arrangement of the sentence, making it sound like a phone conversation between you and Jimi:
"What should we do?" Jimi's voice asked, slightly crackling over the phone.
"You're not gonna tell him," I cut him off. "Gosh, I'm selling my villa too. Don't talk work on my Sunday. Just buy a pretty suitcase. Later."
After hanging up, I added more speed to my car and the wind whipping through my hair. I headed straight to my secret hideaway, a place where even Jimi had never been. The secluded house was nestled deep in the forest, far from the hustle and bustle of the city. I loved spending my Sundays there, relaxing and recharging my batteries. As I pulled into the garage, I admired my Lamborghini, its sleek curves glistening in the sunlight.
About to go inside:
(Message pin, [Jimi] check your car)
I went back to my car and found a card. I turned it over.
"It turns out Santa really does live in Canada," I sighed. "My sister says Rudolph lives there too. We'll be there this Christmas, alright? And we'll bring some handsome men along."
It was Monday, and I was back at work, meeting with my client, Mr. Charles. As I sat across from him, I knew I had to tell him the truth. But I couldn't bring myself to say the words.
Suddenly, I noticed a plant in the corner of the room. It was a stucky plant, and I'd become strangely attached to it over the past few weeks. It seemed to be staring at me, as if it were urging me to speak up.
The stucky plant had been tiny when I first saw it, five years ago. Stucky plants don't usually grow much, but this one had grown to an enormous size. It was now bigger than me, a giant stalk of leaves towering over my head. I couldn't believe my eyes.
Jimi looked at me with a sly smile on his face. "You told me the person raising the stucky plant was a bit pathetic, didn't you?" he said, a mischievous glint in his eye.
I tried to change the subject, but I could feel my face turning red. Had I really said that? I couldn't remember.
"But he was so pale and lacked vitality," I argued. "How could I hurt someone who was obviously sick?" I said to Jimi, pleading with him to understand.
Jimi looked at me with a serious expression on his face. "Tell me honestly," he said, "you don't want to break up with him, do you?" His tone was urgent, as if he knew the answer but needed to hear it from me.
----------------
"You know how much I love salmon, right?" I said to Jimi, trying to make him understand my point of view. I needed him to see that I wasn't being unreasonable, that I had my reasons for wanting to keep Mr. Money around.
"Whatever, whatever!" Jimi said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You're just in love with him, head over heels. You'll do anything to keep him around." His tone was sarcastic, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.
"I just can't resist salmon," I said with a sigh. "I'm powerless against the allure of salmon." With that, I turned and walked away, leaving Jimi staring after me, shaking his head.
May 27, last dinner night with Mr Charles
As I prepared to meet Mr. Charles for the last time, I couldn't help but think back to my conversation with Jimi. I gathered all my courage, steeling myself for what was to come. I knew that today would be the day I ended things with Mr. Charles for good.
As I sat at the dining table, the words slipped out before I could stop them. "**Even flower petals and blades of grass have wounds,"** I said aloud. But then I realized what I was doing - I was speaking my thoughts out loud.
"Please continue your meal," I said, trying to sound more composed than I felt. I gave him a small smile and scratched my hands together, as if to say "carry on."
"Ah, it's from the Chinese poet Jung Ho Segung, isn't it?" he replied, a smile playing on his lips. "The poem about even blades of grass having wounds."
He continued reciting the poem: "**{As I walk along the field paths, where you and I once walked together, when I sit by the field paths and graze at the glow of sunset, wounded blades of grass wave their hands}"** He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in.
"Wow!" I exclaimed. "That's the first time I've heard that poem. It's beautiful."
"What?" he asked, his voice quivering slightly. His cheeks turned pink, and he looked down at his feet, unable to meet my gaze.
It's hot," "Would you like more?" and "No, it's okay." You said something different today. It's somewhat nice.
"Do you like it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were downcast, his hands fidgeting in his lap
If you ask me like that..." I stammered.
"But..." Charles cut in, "the last verse still remains."
"Oh, go ahead!" I said with more interest.
"{Petals with many wounds smell sweetest}," he concluded.
The last part had a great impact and darkened our mood.
"It's a poem that I like," he broke the silence after 30 minutes of no talking.
Thank you for the food." Sir, I... I stammered.
"Yes, go on," he said with more attention.
"Let's..." I still couldn't place the word.
"Divorce." He cut in. "Let's end this marriage."
I couldn't utter any word again. It was like the cat had finally cut my tongue. I was quiet until we finished eating, and I bade him the last farewell until we meet in court. It was a bit painful because he was my special client that I had never had issues with, neither did he stress me during the contract. It was only me going there to eat dinner and leave.
"Just keep in mind that all Sundays are unavailable. You must do something important on Sundays."
"I do. Sundays are used just for me without fail. Thank you."
In my room, I noticed some noise in my living room, so I rushed downstairs to check if it was Jimi.
"Who are you?" I asked when I found out it wasn't him.
-"Me? Don't worry, your husband is a dangerous man. I witnessed it. I mean Mr. Charles."
"It is quite upsetting to hear you speak badly of my husband like that," I corrected.
-"Okay, it's fine." He replied.
He was about to walk away when I grabbed him by his cloak. He turned back and said:
"You acted like you could control all men in the world. How are you so childish now that you like someone?" He asked.
"Are you criticizing me for liking someone or what? Who are you? Reveal your face."
As I was trying to remove his mask from his face, he pushed me away and ran out to the hoods.