O N E     

               Things don't happen without reasoning.

               Whether good or bad, it's irrelevant; there is always a reason for things that happen.

               A water bottle leaks because it has a hole in it, or because it wasn't capped correctly.

               The pages of a book gets worn out at the bottom, and eventually torn, because they were turned too roughly.

               People get more motivated and competitive when there is a competition because they want to win.

               Bread left out in an open space becomes staler by the hour because of the air around it causes it to dry and harden.

               Parents become proud of their child(ren) when they get good grades from school because it makes everyone look good.

               Whether good or bad, there is always a reason for things that happen.

—

               I remember. It was so clear; everything that had happened that one fateful night.

               It was Christmas, a day where everyone was cheerful or in happy spirits. There were six men in total who were wearing formal suits. They were specialists that my father hired as bodyguards. There were a total of three black cars, each with two out of those six men in the driver's and passenger's seat. My parents rode in the first car, a second car after them with just two of those men, and the last with me in the backseat with the last pair of the bodyguards.

               There was a harsh, wintry storm going on, and it was snowing hard. The temperatures dropped heavily that night. Even the drivers took precaution and drove about 10 miles per hour.

               Then there was that scary, long and narrow bridge. I don't know what happened. The next thing I knew was that the car with my parents became perpendicular to the bridge, half of it tilting back and forth with the head of the car threatening to fall down at least 15 meters down. The two other cars ultimately stopped; men from each of them rapidly ran out.

               "Jennie, stay here!"

               I was told by one of the men. And so I did, only to watch from a distance as the men struggled to drag my father out. The car was about to fall –

               I stepped out of the car; I ran towards them.

               "I'm really sorry about this sir!" The guard tugging my father out shouted in the cold. He took out his pocket knife from his suit and used it to cut the seatbelt restraining him.

               My father, still reaching out holding my mother's arm, was forcefully tugged out of the car. His hand slipped and he let her go.

               The car tilted forward again, but this time, it went down all the way, and so did the two men in suits who sat at the driver's and passenger's seat — along with my mother.

               "MOOOOM!!!"

               The cringy, loud crunch of metal rang and echoed through my ears as it was a sign that the car fell all the way at the bottom of the cold, hard icy ground within mere seconds of it disappearing from my line of sight —

               Jennie jerks her eyes open and sits up in cold sweat, panting. She looks around in her room and sees herself in bed with her blankets over her legs. She brings a hand to rub her face and forehead, then runs it through her hair and looks off to the side to her digital alarm clock.

               5:21 AM

               Yet another nightmare, she thinks to herself, the same scene just keeps on repeating itself over and over again.

               She would never forget how her mother had passed away. It was such a tragic sight, and she did not know how it came to be, or how the car nearly flipped and skidded around with its head bursting out the wall of the bridge.

               Too many missing details made the memory incomplete.

               1. Wake up.

               2. Get out of bed.

               3. Brush teeth.

               4. Wash face.

               5. Get changed.

               6. Go downstairs.

               7. Eat breakfast alone prepared by the butler.

               The sounds of footsteps are starting to approach louder and louder by the second. Jennie does not look up from her plate of food — a simple breakfast with bacon, sausages, two sunny side up eggs, and hashbrown. Another figure seats herself directly across from Jennie, and shortly, a maid sets a different breakfast course — french toast with maple syrup, an omelette with fresh herbs and a pinch of pepper just slightly spread apart across the surface, and fruit pudding — on the table right in front of the figure.

               "Thank you," she politely nods and grins at the maid.

               "Of course, Miss Roseanne," the maid answers quietly.

               "Rosé... Is good enough."

               "Roseanne," the maid insists softly, "This isn't the first time I've said this, but I'll tell you again. I cannot call you so casually by your name; your mother would not permit that." The maid excuses herself with a bow and starts walking away.

               Rosé simply lets out a sigh.

               The atmosphere is quiet as usual just as if nothing were out of place. After all, the tense, awkward atmosphere became normal over the years. But Jennie subtly quickens her eating pace, and once she finishes, she grabs all of her belongings, ready for an ordinary day of school.

               The chauffuer waits for them right outside in a regular, compact car (to attract less attention) of the color maroon, (it's not black because Jennie typically avoids black cars).

               "Good morning, Roseanne," the driver bows nearly 90 degrees at her, "And... Good morning... Jennie," he quietly adds, only tipping his head slightly forward while at it. He opens the door for both girls at both sides of the car, with Jennie sitting at the right and Roseanne taking her seat at the left. The two do not exchange looks whatsoever, and they do not speak a word. The driver enters the car in the seat of the steering wheel and starts the car.

               This was how it was, every morning. The used-to-be quiet, tense atmosphere was awkward and uncomfortable before, but the driver got used to it as it was consistent. 

               The anomaly became the norm.

               "Shut off that music," Jennie mutters, with her head leaning on her arm against the car door, "It's annoyingly happy and all that."

               The driver looks into the rear-view mirror to spare a glance at the girl; his facial expression shows a slight disappointment, but the latter wasn't looking back at him. Just as his hand extends towards the radio, Rosé intercepts.

               "No, don't turn it off. It's quite alright, I like the sound of it."

               The driver looks into the mirror again and makes eye contact with Rosé. He blinks a few times before nodding slightly and looks back onto the road, with both his hands back on the steering wheel, grinning pretty widely.

               "Hey. Didn't you hear me?" The tone in the rhetorical question is thick in acerbity, "I said: Turn. It. Off."

               The change in the driver's facial expression was rather quick, "But Miss Roseanne wants to listen to this tune, too."

               "Too?" Jennie turns her head and glares at the back of the driver's head, then scoffs at the reply she received, "Turn it off."

               The driver doesn't give a response and continues to drive.

               "Turn it off!" She raises her voice, "I said turn it off!"

               The driver purses his lips into a straight line and remains silent.

               Jennie leans back into her seat and rolls her eyes upward while letting out a sigh of frustration. And just when the driver thinks she's given up and stopped, her next sentence catches him off guard.

               "Stop the car."

               "W-What?"

               "Jennie — " Rose speaks up this time, but the sound of her voice only infuriates the other girl more.

               "You shut up," Jennie says, then she turns to the driver, "Stop the damn car already!"

               "Driver Choi, please just turn off the radio."

               "No! — "              "As you wish, ma'am."

               Both Jennie's and the driver's voices overlaps each other. Mr. Choi turns off the radio, but that doesn't calm Jennie at all.

               "Jennie, we still have a mile until we reach the school. You might be late if you start walking now!" The driver tries to persuade her.

               "You'd better stop the car right here and right now before I get all of us into an accident," Jennie threatens, "And if you make it out alive, Driver Choi, you know you're going t