After that day, I knew I'd never return to Dr. Asher. No more visits, no more therapies. I've been seeing a therapist, Jennifer, but I carefully avoid mentioning Asher in any of those sessions. I still tell myself I don't know the man's name. I don't know it's Asher. I don't know anything about him, and I certainly don't want to destroy myself again by coming into contact with him.
It's been two months since I last saw him, and that day I decided never to go back—not ever. For an entire month, I convinced myself it was the medication he prescribed that had messed with my mind. I was certain that something in that pill had twisted my thoughts, because the more I found myself near him, the more helpless I felt. But over time, I realized it wasn't him—it was something deep inside me that went wrong in that accident.
Jennifer, my therapist, says all my memories belong to the past. But I can't accept that. There is no past, not really. I don't have one. All I have is this endless, shapeless life I've been living, without any clear sense of time. I don't even know how long it's been, and I try not to dwell on it. Instead, I spend most of my time painting—not on the computer, but with real colors, with my hands, with a brush. The paint ends up all over me. I feel a strange peace in it, a quiet kind of release. I start with no plan, not knowing what I want to draw, but somehow I always reach a destination. Yesterday, I finished a painting I'd been working on for the past two weeks.
I began with wild splashes of blue across the canvas, and now, when I look at it, I see a girl drowning in deep water, her gaze reaching upward, yearning for the sunlight. I often wonder how drowning can be so hauntingly beautiful. People look more divine, even, when they drown. Everything in the depths of the water takes on a soft, surreal glow. It's as though beauty is magnified in that moment of helplessness.
I've been skipping work a lot lately, lost in the world of my paintings. It's like the old days, back when I was just Lily's jobless sister, sitting in the gallery, drawing. People used to stop in the pathways as they passed by, lingering to look at what I was creating. I can't forget how Andrew first found me. He'd pass by our building every day and stare at my work for hours. Then, one day, Lily reported him to the authorities, calling him a stalker. After a fine and two days in the locker, Andrew came to me with a proposition—he'd only publish his book if I designed its cover. Looking back now, I can't help but laugh at how everything unfolded. I always seemed to bump into the right people at the right time—until Asher.
But that's in the past, I suppose. Forget about it.
Lily sets her coffee mug down and looks at the painting, her eyes scanning every brushstroke. "You've painted enough for now," she says softly, her lips curving into a small smile. "I think it'll be perfect for the upcoming exhibition."
I can see how proud she is. It's like my work matters to her as much as it does to me.
"How's Jaerim doing?" I ask, picking up the sandwich she made for me this morning. The bread is slightly over-toasted, the cheese oozing out in uneven patches, but it's the thought that counts. Most mornings, we grab something on the go. Neither of us has the time or energy to make breakfast, let alone sit together at the dining table.
But today feels different. The art gallery is temporarily closed for renovations, and I've taken the rare step of giving myself a day off. I'm still surprised that Lily decided to make sandwiches at home instead of ordering them from the café down the street.
"She's been busy these days," Lily replies, her voice quieter than usual. She doesn't meet my gaze, focusing instead on the crumbs gathering on the edge of her plate.
"Oh, so that's why she doesn't hang out here anymore," I mutter, more to myself than to her.
Lily doesn't reply, and the silence stretches awkwardly. It's as if the conversation has hit an invisible wall.
"Lily," I call her name, and she finally looks up at me. Her eyes search my face, probably trying to figure out what's on my mind.
"I've been thinking about moving out," I say, trying to sound casual, though my heart races.
Her expression remains calm, but I notice the slight furrow of her brow. "Out of the blue?" she asks after a moment, her voice tinged with disbelief.
"No, not suddenly," I explain. "I've been considering it for a while, but financially, I wasn't in a good position. Maybe after this exhibition, I'll be able to manage it." I take another bite of the sandwich but immediately regret it. The saltiness overwhelms me.
"Did you throw all the salt into this?" I ask, grimacing as the taste lingers.
Lily doesn't respond to my complaint. Instead, she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. "I don't understand," she says, irritation flickering across her face. "You've lived here for six years, and now, all of a sudden, you're talking about moving out?"
I set the sandwich down and meet her gaze. "Lily, look at me," I say firmly. "I'm not a child anymore."
Her expression softens, but her eyes still hold confusion.
"I haven't been feeling like myself for a while now," I admit, my voice quieter. "I don't want to keep living here, hoping you'll notice that something's wrong. Hoping you'll ask me about it. But you're too caught up in your own life to even realize."
I stand up, the chair scraping against the floor. My appetite is gone. "I just think it's better for both of us," I continue. "You're always worrying about me, whether I'm okay or not. I don't want to be a burden to you anymore, Lily. You need to be free of me."
"That's not true, Rae," Lily says, her voice trembling. "You've never been a burden to me. Never."
I turn to her, my resolve faltering for a moment.
"Lily," I say, my voice almost a whisper. "I heard what Jaerim said that day."
Her face pales. She knows exactly what I'm talking about.
I remember that morning vividly. I hadn't slept at all and was wide awake at 4 a.m. when I overheard Jaerim in the kitchen. Her voice was sharp, filled with frustration.
"You're not her babysitter," she had said. "Rae is an adult. Doesn't she have enough common sense to move out?"
Their argument escalated quickly, Jaerim even going so far as to tell Lily to choose—her or me. Lily's response had been immediate. She told Jaerim to leave. I hadn't seen her since.
Even though I pretended not to know anything, the guilt had been eating away at me ever since.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Lily says, standing up and reaching for my arm. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and I can feel the sincerity in her touch.
"Lily," I say softly. "Me moving out is the best thing for both of us. Imagine me bringing a boyfriend here. How weird would that be for you?" I try to force a laugh, hoping to lighten the mood.
"Rae," Lily says, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. "You have a boyfriend?"
"Yeah," I blurt out, my stomach twisting in knots.
What? No!
"Oh my God, Rae!" she exclaims, her eyes lighting up. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Ah—surprise," I stammer, my voice weak.
In truth, I hate lying to Lily more than anything. She's not just my sister. She's my best friend, my family. But things have spiraled so far out of control that I don't even know how to tell her the truth anymore.
"Who's the guy? When are you going to introduce him?" she asks, her excitement bubbling over.
My brain scrambles for an answer, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "I'm planning to introduce him—at the exhibition," I say.
"That's great!" Lily beams, her joy infectious.
Oh dear God. What have I done? A boyfriend? At the exhibition? How am I going to get myself out of this mess?
✧✧✧
Rather than dwelling on how I could've said something different instead of blurting, "Yeah, I have a boyfriend," I should focus on the fact that I accepted it. Even though I didn't say it directly, I let it slip, and now I've trapped myself in this absurd lie. The exhibition is next week, and that gives me exactly one week to find a real boyfriend.
I sit at my desk, scribbling aimlessly in my notebook, trying to brainstorm where I could possibly find someone willing to pretend. The problem is, Lily knows all my friends. If I pick one of them, she'd see through it immediately, and the risk of being exposed is too high. I can't take that chance.
If Lily finds out I lied, she'll definitely think I'm unstable—emotionally and otherwise. That would lead to endless conversations about how I need her support, which would ultimately make it impossible for me to move out. And moving out is non-negotiable at this point.
I tap my pen against the notebook, frustrated. My scribbles turn into random shapes, a tangle of nervous energy. Where do people even find boyfriends on such short notice? I need someone who isn't connected to Lily, someone convincing but safe. The weight of my lie feels heavier with every passing second, but there's no going back now. I have to make this work.