Gigolò: 18/20
---CHAPTER EIGHTEEN---
Memory is an odd thing. It can overbear you with nostalgia, hoping you could go back to a sweeter moment and place in time. It can also take you into the recesses of your mind that you want to remain unexplored, locked away so that the pain can't resurface. Hyori sat alone then, the latter form of memory taking over. Not even work could pull her out of this.
Everyone was happy, settling the problems they had with loved ones, and here she was wallowing.
"The hell am I doing? I can stay single. If I go back, I'll only look desperate."
She began talking to herself to cope, trying to reason out why she wasn't getting up and chasing after Chansung.
"He's changed though...right? ...of course he's changed, everyone seems to say so..."
She paced around her living room.
"Wait...you're better than this Hyori."
She went to the bathroom, stared at herself in the mirror, evaluating her appearance.
"See?"
She patted at her face.
"You're fine. You're...okay...he's okay. ...he'll be okay. ...we'll be okay..."
Her hands stayed on her face as tears began to well in her eyes.
"Dammit...stop crying," she murmured, wiping at what was collecting on her lashline, "...stop it."
Two more tears fell.
"...ugh," she walked away from the mirror, "and stop talking to yourself!"
Hyori walked away from the mirror, setting herself on her bed. She sat cross-legged for about two minutes before she spotted a familiar mp3 player resting on her dresser. The small device lay there collecting dust, waiting to be used. The two minutes stretched to eternity as she debated whether to pick it up or not...let memories of him bother her further.
"Screw it."
She hopped off the bed and snatched it up before she could, literally and figuratively, tell herself 'no.' Earphones were in her ears next, and the volume droned out all other sounds as it was turned up.
Chansung had an odd array of music, or maybe it was varied, she thought. Rhythm and blues and jazz encompassed most of the selections, and she found herself lost in the beats. They were sensual, but gentle, softly patting at her eardrums with their melodic shifts in tune, beat and bass. The songs were mature or saturated in history, raging from old classics to euphemistic lyrics that made her bite her lips. It wasn't helping her forget Chansung, but helping her absorb him further. He was getting to her again, like every wink of his eye or smirk at the corner of his lip did. Many of the songs were about longing and wishing for something better, and she couldn't help but want that for him, for herself; for them.
The music switched again, and as she heard the words, she began to cry. She sighed heavily, feeling almost tranced by what he'd done to her. In Young was blunt, but rarely wrong, and Chansung delivered. It wasn't just the sex, it had been him selling his soul to her, and she suddenly wanted to covet that part of him for herself; her and her alone.
"...I miss you Chan," she whispered.
Cries wracked her body as the pools in her eyes finally fell.
---
Chansung still walked around the school grounds. He then went from walks and jogs and runs around it, hoping he'd run into her; catch a glimpse of her and say sorry. Chansung would say it over and over if necessary, until she believed him and the truth he was giving her. There were no more secrets, and all he could give now was himself. He thought of running by her home, but stopped himself. He didn't want to impede on her space and sanity anymore than he already had.
---
For both of them, especially Hyori, history was repeating itself. Joon's words echoed to her:
"...you loved, and you probably still love Chan."
Finals had come and gone, and Chansung had aced everything, despite their lack of study sessions. He walked in and out of class like Joon had when she and he had a fallout.
"...you loved, and...still love Chan."
Did he even need her in class? Was he just trying to get closer to her? She felt beyond stupid, but couldn't help realizing that essentially, despite his past, he was a good man...who loved her...probably still loved her. The words kept echoing.
"...you...still love Chan."
---
Chansung was at it that evening too, running to and from his home from the administration office, then the building that held the psychology classes, then around the general campus. He finally gave up at a late hour and headed back home. He arrived outside, pacing and catching his breath before he went in. The keys were thrown on the couch, sliding toward some random corner of it as he headed to the kitchen. A bottle of water was grabbed and he tossed it back, letting the iciness of it hit the back of his throat. He emptied the last drops and tossed it in the closest bin he could find as he headed to the bathroom.
"Get it together Chan...get it together."
He splashed some water on his face and looked at his reflection, wide-eyed but weary. Sweeping his hair back from his face, he breathed out a heavy breath and hopped in the shower.
Minutes later, when he was out, drying the moisture from his hair and body, he found he would regret his recent mourning and lengthy run. Those crucial minutes later, he retrieved the message from blinking answering machine. It was a woman's voice. She stated she was a neighbor and that In Young was in the hospital. He was one of the first numbers on her phone.
Alcohol poisoning. Urgent. Please Come.
Chansung knew he had to call 'her' too; tell her the message. He didn't want to get back in touch with her like this, but Chansung was obligated. What kind of a friend was he if he didn't? He rushed to dress, dialing her number as he headed out the door and zoomed down the street toward the local hospital.
---
Her phone was buzzing. She didn't hear it at first for it had been pocketed in her purse; in the living room. Hyori dozed in the bedroom, earphones still in as they played the last bit of a song, hushing quieter and quieter and lulling her to sleep.
---
"Come on, pick up the phone. ...Hyori pick up the phone..."
She didn't pick it up, so he tried again; and again. Two calls and he didn't know whether to be depressed or angry. She didn't know what was happening to In Young, but he was almost heated again at her ignorance. As he parked he made the third and final call.
---
The song was dying and Hyori began to sleep, but she heard a beat that didn't fit with that of the music. It made her stir and she rose from her bed, unplugging the bud.
She heard it then, a faint buzz from the front room, and then another; and another. Hyori stuttered at first, wrenching the wires and the player away from her body, but she hustled to catch the phone.
---
Chansung heard no answer by the third ring, and almost hung up when he heard her breathy voice.
---
"Hello? Chansung?"
---
"Yes...Hyori! Hyori it's me...it's about In Young..."
---
This hadn't been the call she expected.
---
"Please come. Local hospital. ...she's doing bad Hyori."
---
She hung up the phone, knowing that he'd forgive her rudeness as she ran out with her keys.
---
He did.
Memory is an odd thing. It can overbear you with nostalgia, hoping you could go back to a sweeter moment and place in time. It can also take you into the recesses of your mind that you want to remain unexplored, locked away so that the pain can't resurface. Hyori sat alone then, the latter form of memory taking over. Not even work could pull her out of this.
Everyone was happy, settling the problems they had with loved ones, and here she was wallowing.
"The hell am I doing? I can stay single. If I go back, I'll only look desperate."
She began talking to herself to cope, trying to reason out why she wasn't getting up and chasing after Chansung.
"He's changed though...right? ...of course he's changed, everyone seems to say so..."
She paced around her living room.
"Wait...you're better than this Hyori."
She went to the bathroom, stared at herself in the mirror, evaluating her appearance.
"See?"
She patted at her face.
"You're fine. You're...okay...he's okay. ...he'll be okay. ...we'll be okay..."
Her hands stayed on her face as tears began to well in her eyes.
"Dammit...stop crying," she murmured, wiping at what was collecting on her lashline, "...stop it."
Two more tears fell.
"...ugh," she walked away from the mirror, "and stop talking to yourself!"
Hyori walked away from the mirror, setting herself on her bed. She sat cross-legged for about two minutes before she spotted a familiar mp3 player resting on her dresser. The small device lay there collecting dust, waiting to be used. The two minutes stretched to eternity as she debated whether to pick it up or not...let memories of him bother her further.
"Screw it."
She hopped off the bed and snatched it up before she could, literally and figuratively, tell herself 'no.' Earphones were in her ears next, and the volume droned out all other sounds as it was turned up.
Chansung had an odd array of music, or maybe it was varied, she thought. Rhythm and blues and jazz encompassed most of the selections, and she found herself lost in the beats. They were sensual, but gentle, softly patting at her eardrums with their melodic shifts in tune, beat and bass. The songs were mature or saturated in history, raging from old classics to euphemistic lyrics that made her bite her lips. It wasn't helping her forget Chansung, but helping her absorb him further. He was getting to her again, like every wink of his eye or smirk at the corner of his lip did. Many of the songs were about longing and wishing for something better, and she couldn't help but want that for him, for herself; for them.
The music switched again, and as she heard the words, she began to cry. She sighed heavily, feeling almost tranced by what he'd done to her. In Young was blunt, but rarely wrong, and Chansung delivered. It wasn't just the sex, it had been him selling his soul to her, and she suddenly wanted to covet that part of him for herself; her and her alone.
"...I miss you Chan," she whispered.
Cries wracked her body as the pools in her eyes finally fell.
---
Chansung still walked around the school grounds. He then went from walks and jogs and runs around it, hoping he'd run into her; catch a glimpse of her and say sorry. Chansung would say it over and over if necessary, until she believed him and the truth he was giving her. There were no more secrets, and all he could give now was himself. He thought of running by her home, but stopped himself. He didn't want to impede on her space and sanity anymore than he already had.
---
For both of them, especially Hyori, history was repeating itself. Joon's words echoed to her:
"...you loved, and you probably still love Chan."
Finals had come and gone, and Chansung had aced everything, despite their lack of study sessions. He walked in and out of class like Joon had when she and he had a fallout.
"...you loved, and...still love Chan."
Did he even need her in class? Was he just trying to get closer to her? She felt beyond stupid, but couldn't help realizing that essentially, despite his past, he was a good man...who loved her...probably still loved her. The words kept echoing.
"...you...still love Chan."
---
Chansung was at it that evening too, running to and from his home from the administration office, then the building that held the psychology classes, then around the general campus. He finally gave up at a late hour and headed back home. He arrived outside, pacing and catching his breath before he went in. The keys were thrown on the couch, sliding toward some random corner of it as he headed to the kitchen. A bottle of water was grabbed and he tossed it back, letting the iciness of it hit the back of his throat. He emptied the last drops and tossed it in the closest bin he could find as he headed to the bathroom.
"Get it together Chan...get it together."
He splashed some water on his face and looked at his reflection, wide-eyed but weary. Sweeping his hair back from his face, he breathed out a heavy breath and hopped in the shower.
Minutes later, when he was out, drying the moisture from his hair and body, he found he would regret his recent mourning and lengthy run. Those crucial minutes later, he retrieved the message from blinking answering machine. It was a woman's voice. She stated she was a neighbor and that In Young was in the hospital. He was one of the first numbers on her phone.
Alcohol poisoning. Urgent. Please Come.
Chansung knew he had to call 'her' too; tell her the message. He didn't want to get back in touch with her like this, but Chansung was obligated. What kind of a friend was he if he didn't? He rushed to dress, dialing her number as he headed out the door and zoomed down the street toward the local hospital.
---
Her phone was buzzing. She didn't hear it at first for it had been pocketed in her purse; in the living room. Hyori dozed in the bedroom, earphones still in as they played the last bit of a song, hushing quieter and quieter and lulling her to sleep.
---
"Come on, pick up the phone. ...Hyori pick up the phone..."
She didn't pick it up, so he tried again; and again. Two calls and he didn't know whether to be depressed or angry. She didn't know what was happening to In Young, but he was almost heated again at her ignorance. As he parked he made the third and final call.
---
The song was dying and Hyori began to sleep, but she heard a beat that didn't fit with that of the music. It made her stir and she rose from her bed, unplugging the bud.
She heard it then, a faint buzz from the front room, and then another; and another. Hyori stuttered at first, wrenching the wires and the player away from her body, but she hustled to catch the phone.
---
Chansung heard no answer by the third ring, and almost hung up when he heard her breathy voice.
---
"Hello? Chansung?"
---
"Yes...Hyori! Hyori it's me...it's about In Young..."
---
This hadn't been the call she expected.
---
"Please come. Local hospital. ...she's doing bad Hyori."
---
She hung up the phone, knowing that he'd forgive her rudeness as she ran out with her keys.
---
He did.