She leaned against the cold, tiled wall, the starkness of the porcelain biting into her skin. The room felt smaller somehow, as if the walls were inching closer with each breath. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, its harsh glare casting unsettling shadows that flickered like the ghosts of her past. She could feel the Percocet blurring the edges of reality, turning the world soft and malleable—too soft, too blurred. Clarity was too sharp these days, like shards of glass cutting through the haze of her numbness. She glanced at her reflection, barely recognizable in the distorted glass, and wondered when she had lost sight of who she was. Who was this stranger looking back at her?
"Sometimes," she whispered, more to herself than to Bobby, "the only way out was further in."
Bobby slid down the wall until he was seated on the grimy bathroom floor, his legs sprawled out awkwardly like discarded furniture. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of antiseptic and something else—something stale that clung to the tiles and her thoughts alike. It wrapped around her like a shroud, suffocating, making every breath feel like a laborious effort. The space seemed to shrink, the mirror reflecting not just their images but the mounting tension simmered, like a pot on the verge of boiling over.
"That's why we're here, huh?" he replied, watching her through a haze. "Running from all the bullshit. Ain't nothing like this to quiet it down for a while." He patted his suit's breast pocket, the pills clinking against the metal case.
"Maybe…" Her voice trailed off, her gaze falling to the sink, its porcelain surface glistening like a blank page waiting for the weight of her unspoken truths. She felt as if she were peering into an abyss, searching for answers that danced just beyond her reach, elusive like shadows in the corner of her mind.
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "You were really fucking him?"
"Yeah, well… it didn't start that way. He was kind of boring, actually—the type you wouldn't notice. But that's what pulled me in."
"The boring guy?" Bobby's voice held a mixture of disbelief and curiosity, but there was a sharpness there, too.
"He barely even registered to me at first." Her voice was soft, almost tender. "But then… during my third year, something changed between us. He was like this quiet place I could go to when everything else was too much. He just let me be—broken parts and all."
"What went wrong?" Bobby's voice was gentler now, like he was starting to understand.
She let out a shaky breath. "A lot of things. Mostly… his family." Her voice was tinged with bitterness, but her face betrayed hurt.
"I think… I think he got scared. Or maybe his family finally got in his ear. It started out fun, us sneaking around like we were some kind of forbidden secret. But then, as the months ticked by, I started to feel like that was all I was…A secret, tucked away somewhere he could keep me out of sight."
"He comes from this rich, old-money Japanese family. They're… you know…" She didn't want to tell Bobby they were racist. Trying to think of another way to explain, she settled on, "They didn't like me, not even a little," she confessed.
"They're very traditional; he's very traditional..." The weight of those words was heavy on her chest.
"You know, and I'm this ghetto-ass bitch from Atlanta, and he's all polished and proper and polite." The bitterness in her voice dripped like venom as she contrasted her upbringing to his.
"We just didn't look right together to them." She rubbed her hands against her dress, attempting to self-soothe her anxiety.
"I swear, they looked at me like I was something they'd stepped in. And I got it, kind of—at that point, he was just my boss, not the guy I was fucking." She paused. "So it didn't really matter at that point." She rubbed her temple, as if trying to press the memory back down.
"I think they saw me as a distraction, someone he just wanted to get his rocks off on and you know have a little fun with…" She took a deep breath before continuing. "I think it agitated them that I was still around six months later." She sighed, looking at herself in the mirror, watching as the words fell off her lips.
"I wanted to go public… just to prove them wrong…" She felt the knife twist in her heart as she explained, "But he'd tell me to think about my image, my brand." She let out a bitter laugh, glancing down as her fingers traced an invisible line on the sink's edge.
"How it would ruin everything if people knew. He was still my boss, after all." Her voice trailed off, her hand clenching the edge as if steadying herself against the weight of the words.
"And you believed him?" he asked, voice tinged with disbelief. His gaze stayed fixed on her, unwavering, as if waiting for her to realize the answer herself.
She scoffed lightly. "I mean, it made sense. It still does, but I think I just wanted to believe him. Because I didn't want to believe what his family thought about me."
"And like I said…" She paused, looking over at Bobby, the words sticking in her throat. "If it came out that I was fucking my boss…" Her voice softened, but the bitterness was unmistakable. "That would be everywhere. Every blog, every gossip show, every headline dissecting my life like it was entertainment." She swallowed, feeling the sting of reopening wounds she hadn't touched in months.
A silence settled between them, heavy and unspoken, before she finally shook her head, her gaze drifting around the room as if searching for a way out of the memories closing in.
"So he would just disappear. Like he'd just… vanish… off the face of the earth. Poof!" She mimicked an explosion with her hand. "He'd disappear for weeks, then turn up like nothing happened. It was like I didn't even deserve an answer." Her voice dropped, as if remembering each bruise left on her heart.
Bobby's frown tightened, his gaze hardening as he looked at her, disappointment flickering in his eyes. He shook his head slightly, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"I honest-to-God thought he was fucking other bitches… I still do." She laughed at herself. She knew he'd never tell her if he had, not that it mattered now.
"We'd argue, ignore each other for days, and then one of us would give in. The same fucking cycle, over and over." Her voice wavered.
"Months of this… until finally, one day, I just blew up, and I just went the fuck off on him. I told him I wanted to know what the fuck he was doing—then I asked why he wouldn't go public. Why was he keeping me in the dark like some dirty little secret in the back of his closet?"
"He told me," she whispered, her voice almost hollow, as if the admission itself hurt. "And I didn't like what I heard."
She hesitated, then added, "So, I hooked up with Tae-Yang." Her tone was sharper now, almost unapologetic. "I wanted to be spiteful. I wanted him to feel it, to get that he'd messed up. I knew he and Tae-Yang didn't like each other… figured it'd cut deeper that way."
A quiet understanding settled between them, letting the gentle thumping of music pulse through the bathroom walls like a heartbeat.
She leaned back, a wistful look crossing her face. "I thought it'd be like Bent Turner chasing after Tina Aviani in Serendipity," she murmured, her tone drifting somewhere between frustration and nostalgia.
"You know, that scene where he sprints through the airport to stop her. I thought he'd chase me down, make some grand gesture. But he never did. He just… left me. Didn't care at all."
Her voice faltered, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. A shiver ran through her, a physical manifestation of the coldness creeping into her heart. Bobby's brows lifted, his expression softening with understanding, but she felt the chill deepen.
"So Tae-Yang stuck around," she continued, forcing the words out even as a tremor of uncertainty threaded through her. Her shoulders slumped slightly, a gesture of resignation. "Once it hit that he wasn't going to come after me, I thought… maybe it would be easier to try to make it work with Tae-Yang."
She shrugged lightly, but her stomach twisted. The lie felt heavy on her tongue; it was easier to grasp at the familiar than confront the ache of rejection. But beneath that surface, a flicker of doubt ignited, churning in her chest as she glanced toward the door, half-expecting to see the shadow of Tae-Yang looming just outside.
"He was there, he was attractive, and back then, I hadn't seen his other side yet." She paused, a faint bitterness edging her tone. "But slowly, the signs started to show. Little comments, the way he'd turn things around on me. I'd mess up, and suddenly I was the one trying to make it up to him."
"And I even took him to meet my momma," she adjusted the hem of her dress, the fabric gliding against her skin.
"With Hikaru, my momma didn't say much, but I could tell she was skeptical. She thought he was too quiet, maybe even hiding something dark," she muttered, crossing her arms protectively. "But I brushed it off. I was just too in love with him to listen to anything anyone had to say."
Bobby leaned forward, sensing the weight of her words. "You thought she might be right?"
"Sometimes…" She hesitated, a brief, haunted look crossing her face. She glanced at the mirror, searching her own reflection.
A muffled thump outside the door jolted her, snapping her back to the present. She shot Bobby a panicked look, her heart racing as adrenaline surged through her.
"Bobby, don't—" The words escaped her, a desperate plea. A cold sweat trickled down her back as the tension in her chest coiled tighter, leaving her breathless.
But it was too late. Bobby turned the lock and pulled the door open. The moment he did, a heavy shadow fell across the room, and she felt the air shift, charged with a suffocating energy. Tae-Yang filled the doorway, his face tight with anger, eyes dark and piercing, like a storm rolling in.
"Get the fuck out," Tae-Yang growled, barely acknowledging Bobby.
Bobby straightened, not backing down. "Hey, man, she doesn't need you breathing down her neck right now."
Tae, don't— Her voice stuck in her throat, Tae-Yang's looming anger casting a heavy shadow. She didn't want Bobby seeing this side of him.
"It's fine, Bobby. Just… go."
Bobby paused, caught between his worry and her insistence, before reluctantly nodding and slipping past Tae-Yang, giving him a glare as he left. The door closed, and suddenly the bathroom felt stifling, charged with an energy that set her on edge.
Tae-Yang leaned against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed and jaw set, his eyes dark as he glared at her. "You've been in here for twenty minutes," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "What the hell are you doing?"
She turned sharply, her heart racing. She felt the weight of his gaze, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. "I just needed a moment, Tae-Yang. It's a lot going on out there," she said, forcing herself to speak calmly despite the tremor in her voice.
He stepped into the confined space, closing the distance until every inch felt charged with his presence. The room seemed to grow smaller, the air thick and suffocating. A knot twisted in her stomach, tightening with each step he took toward her.
"A moment?" he sneered, his voice a low, mocking murmur. "Funny. You didn't need a moment to make googly eyes at Hikaru." His tone dripped with sarcasm, each word laced with a menace that made her skin prickle.
Her breath caught, her pulse quickening as she tried to keep her voice steady. "I wasn't looking at him that way," she said, willing her hands to stop trembling at her sides. "There's nothing going on between us anymore, and you know that."
"Do I?" he shot back, his tone hardening, eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her. "Because I was watching you the whole time. I saw how you kept glancing at him, like you couldn't help yourself." He took another step closer, his gaze relentless. "You think I wouldn't notice? The way you looked at him like you were still his?"
The accusation hung in the air, its weight pressing down on her. She tried to hold his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes—dark, accusatory—left her shaken. Her heartbeat thudded painfully in her chest, her defenses splintering under the force of his words.
'Stay calm,' she told herself, but the space between them felt like it was closing, each inch stolen by the dark cloud of his anger.
"I don't want you talking to him—ever." Tae-Yang's voice was low, simmering with a controlled fury that sent a chill down her spine. He took another step closer, his gaze drilling into her.
"If there's something you need to say," he said, each word a slow beat, "it goes through me."
She felt her pulse stutter, her throat dry. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words stuck.
Tae-Yang's eyes flashed as he reached out, grabbing the ruby necklace around her neck. He yanked her closer, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Do you understand?" His grip was unyielding, and the threat was implicit in his voice.
"Tae," she whispered, her heart hammering in her chest, as she felt the coldness of his gaze. "Do you understand?" he repeated, each word tight, like a threat she couldn't ignore.
"Y-yes," she managed to stammer, the words escaping her lips like a prayer for peace.
He released her, stepping back as if he'd found some semblance of control. But the anger still hung in the air like a storm cloud, and she could feel his lingering rage.
She stood frozen, the memory of Tae-Yang's grip still a phantom ache on her skin. Panic clawed at her throat like a feral animal, a warning siren blaring within her. Her legs felt weak, trembling as she gripped the cool edge of the sink, the porcelain a stark reminder of her reality. Tears threatened to spill over, each breath heavy with the weight of what she had set in motion—a delicate balance now tipped, inviting chaos into her carefully curated world.
This wasn't just an argument; this was the beginning of something darker. She could feel it, the pulse of potential violence thrumming in the air, electric and charged.