XXIV.

Sitting—no—lying, really, on a hospital bed could bring one’s mind into thinking. Get those cogs up, working and running. The view of the white ceiling, like an empty canvas waiting to be filled with written prints. It could get one’s thoughts into action. The quiet hum of the humidifier doing its job humidifying the room, the easy tick and tock of the clock on the wall. They all could cause a stir into one’s brain.

Juggle up those thoughts. Thoughts that branch to worry and lead to anxiety. Worries. Wendy’s worries. The company—her company, the business meetings that had to be rescheduled, creating an impression, getting everyone’s respect. Worries about Irene. Her relationship with one of the top CEOs of the western world—well, the whole world, actually. Her relationship with the granddaughter of Chairwoman Bae.

Of course, Wendy needed the pills. An Advil a day, keeps the pain away. Temporarily, though. Worries never disappear and she knew that. Her constant migraines were a daily reminder. The burden on her shoulder, resting there with a weight as heavy as lead, bringing her down. The burden on her life.

But lying here, being faced with a blank canvas of a ceiling, told Wendy more. A lot more.

Pills were a temporary closure from the events of the reality. It was an escape from the pain she herself put through by signing the agreement. The agreement that bound her to the walls of her office in Gangnam, holding onto the lives of countless Korean employees. Overwork was a temporary solution to ignore the life she chose, one of loneliness and constant pressure. A distraction that barely helped and did it really change anything?

And that was the thing. The white ceiling showed Wendy that. The consequences of her choices were nothing more but cowardly. She was a fugitive of her own life, running away from Irene, from the responsibility of being her lover, hiding so Irene’s grandmother could not touch her. A fear that crippled Wendy, clouded her vision from seeing positivity in a life with Irene.

In truth, Chairwoman Bae had power. Immense power. Power fuelled by money, the currency that dictates the life people lead in this Earth. What could Wendy possibly do against that? She was a speck of dust, that speckle of dirt on Chairwoman’s shoes, easily wiped, discarded, cleaned forever. Chairwoman Bae was a giant supremacy over their lives. Maybe even as adults, they still required supervision.

Silly. Pathetic.

This company—Nexon Electronics. A possibility of attaining a little bit of that power. A possibility of standing as equals, at the very least, somewhere with presence, in front of Irene. Not just a personal assistant. Not a slave of global conglomerates. No. A CEO of her own accord. Part of the crowd. Nexon Electronics was a small company yet it was growing.

Would it be enough? The white ceiling whispered:

Of course not.

Don’t worry about it, okay? My grandmother.

Grandmother.

Chairwoman Bae.

I will handle it.

Irene should know, right? Trust her words, the white ceiling reminded Wendy.

Trust her.

* * *

Seulgi spun the fork around, wrapping the noodles around it. Spaghetti. Funny. How did they end up here again? Joy and her. Together. The maybe turned into a certainty. The some other time transformed to right now.

The silence was to be expected. Seulgi knew Joy wasn’t a talker. Stiff and idle, calculated movements, precise and accurate. No more different than a machine. A fascinating machine. She said no more than what was needed. Never did once Seulgi thought she would meet someone like Joy. Seulgi’s curiosities blossomed forth, unstoppable, the questions continuously sprouting on top of one another:

Do you remember anything? Your childhood before the chairwoman? What was it like to live under her? How much do you know about her? Would you mind being someone else? Could you imagine yourself being someone else? Someone different? Someone with… emotions? Reactions? Feelings? Have you ever considered that? Do you realise the taste of this spaghetti? Not the amount of basil they put in with the tomato sauce. The taste of pleasure? Of satisfaction? Of… happiness?

But these questions never solidified into words. Words with volume. No. They were just thoughts that circled around an interest that grew and grew each passing second.

Seulgi’s good with words. Irene knew that. Her employees knew that. James, who used to work at reception knew that. Seulgi knew it herself.

However, as the spaghetti continued to twirl around her fork, round and round, words had become a mystifying concept, vocabulary all convoluted unknowns, ungraspable, unspeakable. Maybe this was what it would feel like talking to someone that was hard to understand, to comprehend. What could Seulgi possibly say to depict and unravel a mystery that remained bleak in front of her eyes?

Seulgi wanted to try, at least. To not become a pathetic display of jittery madness. Something simple. Something that started the budding of a curiosity. Something like,

“Why?”

Joy looked up from her food. Another plate of spaghetti. “Pardon?”

“Why did you agree to this?”

Why, indeed, Joy thought. She’d gathered up all possible explanations to answer that one question. She knew the meeting with Director Kim and his son would last a while. She was hungry. There was an offer. But weren’t all these just excuses?

“You didn’t seem interested,” Ms. Kang continued, unsatisfied with the silence. “There must be a reason.”

Reasons circulated everyone’s actions. Reasons filled the holes created by the question of whys. It resulted to understandings and stopped curiosities.

Why, indeed.

Why?

There were so many whys, so many variables in Joy’s life. Curiosities she hadn’t realised, until now, that she desperately wanted being answered. Holes in her life, in her memory. Holes that wanted filling in.

Why did Chairwoman Bae take her in? Why did her parents abandon her? Did she ever have parents? Children sprung from parents, right? Offsprings of two individuals that then take up the name of parents. Why was she doing what she was doing? Why was she content with being a se