I allowed myself the time to feel it so I would know this was it.
We were done.
I needed to keep feeling it, to keep understanding that concept, because if I allowed myself to hope, to wonder… it ached in a way that was visceral. A vice twisting around my heart, and it was unbearable.
I needed to feel the agony of his absence.
Because I had reclaimed my digital tether to the world, with all its automatic Google alerts, it didn’t take long for me to become aware of the fact that he was absent everywhere, not just from my life.
The first time I’d gotten the stream of notifications, it was like being punched in the gut. My phone took the opportunity to pummel me with a stored up stream of consciousness, culminating in an ever-increasing speculation as to his whereabouts.
I tried very, very hard to not read them, but it got to a point where I just… couldn’t not see them.
I think that if the whole dinner party photo hadn’t happened, no one would have noticed his absence now, but as it was, people had noticed, and were inventing whole narratives about it.
The scandal hadn’t gone away just because everything was different, because the fact was, the world had no idea how much it had fundamentally changed.
The last time anyone had actually laid eye on him had been when he’d flown out of Incheon two weeks ago. Given that much of the world was still restricting travel, theories as to his whereabouts were varied.
People had also picked up on his appearance, in much the same way Becka had, which hadn’t helped.
People were stringing stories together about Hyejin’s supposed infidelity causing him to flee the country.
The lack of a story was the story itself.
Knowing I wouldn’t find any answers there, I regained control of myself and swiped away the notifications, turned off my Google alerts, and put my phone down.
I had two weeks of reading to catch up on from my journalism course, and I was damned if I was going to fall behind.
Life goes on.
Chapter 27
Christmas Day
Mum shook the brightly coloured tin, the wrapped, little chocolates rustling around inside. “Another toffee coin, love?”
I held a hand up, patting my stomach with the other.
“I will pop, Mum. Please, no more treats!” I groaned.
“Lightweight,” Dad said, shaking his head as he popped another Twiglet into his mouth. “The whole point of Christmas is to feast!”
“I’m more stuffed than the bloody turkey!” I protested, leaning against the sofa cushions, glad I’d worn my stretchy sweats. Theday was winding down, and it felt like we’d spent the majority of it eating.
“Leave room for pudding!” Mum piped up as she got up from the sofa and walked out room, presumably to check on the pie.
I groaned louder.
The living room looked like a Christmas cracker had exploded all over it. Crinkly wrapping paper covered the floor, bows had been ripped off presents and stuck over multiple surfaces. Several Chocolate Oranges were littered around the room, and piles and piles of presents were scattered haphazardly wherever they’d happened to be opened.
It was chaos. But it was also joy.
It was on Mum’s insistence that, every year, no one was allowed to tidy up until Boxing Day, not even to clear away the ripped wrapping paper.
Dad would normally grumble about the mess, but not this year. This year we’d watched Mum happily, sat on the floor in the middle of scrunched up colourful paper that merrily reflected the multi-coloured twinkle of the fairy lights on the tree.
She was like a kid, and honestly, it was the best thing in the world.
