3

"Are you going to stay in here all day?"
 

Irene doesn't move. Maybe it's her imagination, but the bed is really comfy all of a sudden. It's like, lying on a marshmallow. No matter how much she tussles with the blankets and pillows, she sinks further into them like quicksand pulling her in. Irene ponders over the sudden revelation of this moment, considering that she has been sleeping on the same bed for the past few months.
 

Then again, she doesn't usually spend her weekends lying on the bed all day.
 

"I didn't think you're one to be overdramatic." Seulgi remarks from her side of the room.
 

Irene grunts a wordless reply, covering her eyes with an arm.
 

The morning after the party, Irene woke up with the mother of all headaches. It was a feeling like no other and if she were to describe it, it'll be like someone placed her brain in a pot and knocked endlessly on said pot, driving her crazy.
 

Briefly, she was grateful that the party was on a Friday night, or she wouldn't have bothered to get up from bed and head to class. But once the events of the party popped right back into her memory, with or without a crushing headache, she would still rather lay buried underneath her blanket and refuse to face the world after the embarrassment she brought upon herself.
 

Though her friend has assured her that very, very few people recognised her at the party, thus having little cause for concern, it doesn't set Irene's mind at ease. No, she has no care for whether any of her classmates are there.
 

But it's Wendy that Irene is thinking a whole lot about. Never mind that she felt like an alien making contact with mankind for the first time, especially considering her hermit nature. And after that rather disastrous first party experience, similar to the crustacean, Irene retreated back deeper into her shell, determined to stay inside her room and to only come out for her classes. She's so sure that when Wendy answered her question - rather impromptu question - it is more of being polite than enthusiastic. No way would the girl ever want to see again the drunk cabbage who practically eyed her legs just to inform her of the holes in her jeans.
 

No. Alcohol and Irene definitely do not mix. It's a concoction for disaster.
 

She didn't go out for the whole of Saturday and, on Sunday, is content to carry on her self-exile until the alarm clock rings tomorrow morning.
 

"Oh for crying out loud," Seulgi admonishes, "It wasn't that bad. On the bright side, you actually talked to someone."
 

Maybe it's her imagination, but Irene feels a tiny glimmer of hope, peeking out from the edges of her melancholic mind.
 

"Except that, well, you didn't get her number or anything so I don't know if you actually did make a friend."
 

And the feeling plummets as quickly as it soared. Burnt into nothingness like a rock in space floating too close to the sun. Poof.
 

"It's not as if I'll meet her again." Irene laments, letting her arm slip down to her side.
 

"Ever the optimist. Didn't she say you might?" Seulgi says, eyes focusing on her phone.
 

"I think she's just being nice."
 

"I think she's serious."
 

"I was drunk in front of someone I didn't know."
 

"So were ten other people at the party." Seulgi retorts. Irene hears her bed creak and suddenly, Seulgi is towering over her, hands on her hips. "Honestly, you take things too seriously."
 

"I'm being realistic." Irene points out, when her stomach lets loose an almighty growl.
 

Her face burns as Seulgi laughs out loud. "Well then, realistically, staying in the room won't do you any favours."
 

"Being cocky won't do you any favours."
 

"I should have just let you suffer in all your lonesome hangover yesterday."
 

If it were not for her roommate, Irene would most likely be rolling around in despair and on the verge of starvation, thanks to the damn headache and her crushed self-esteem. Though as much as she is grateful, Seulgi was still the one to land her in said state in the first place.
 

When Seulgi shuffles away to the door, Irene turns onto her stomach, propping an elbow and placing her chin in her hand. "Are you going somewhere?"
 

"I'm going to eat dinner." Seulgi replies as she tugs on her Nikes.
 

Irene brightens instantly, "Are you buying some for me?"
 

Seulgi snorts, "You wanna be realistic, right? Well face reality and go get your own food."
 

"...You're cruel."
 

Seulgi pokes her tongue out in response, "Anyway, I'm eating with my friends. I would drag you along but seeing how you're in this..." She gestures wildly to the mess of pillows and blankets on Irene's bed,"...exile mode, I think I'll leave you to it."
 

Irene sulks, "I still think you're wrong."
 

"Happy starving!" Seulgi laughs once more and quickly bolts out of the room before Irene could throw the pillow lying next to her.
 

Irene sighs, placing the pillow down. She catches sight of her reflection in the wall mirror and cringes at her wild bed-hair defying gravity, sticking out in all directions. She does her best to smooth them down. Yawning, she gets up and stretches her legs.
 

Her assignments are already completed and there's nothing else to do. Sure, she usually doesn't have any plans on weekends, but she does go out, contrary to what Seulgi says.
 

Just by herself mostly.
 

And now that her roommate has knocked some sense into her, Irene admits that staying in her room until the end of the school term isn't exactly going to be beneficial for her state of mind. Nor her stomach, for that matter.
 

(Irene won't verbally admit that the whole thing was stupid in the first place. She isn't going to give Seulgi her glorious moment.)
 

Her stomach signals its distress again and Irene gives in. Damn food and all of its temptations.
 

Then again, what else could happen that hasn't embarrassed her half to death?
 

Dressed in a pair of old pyjamas pants, and an oversized purple shirt, Irene heads down and out of the dorm, breathing in the fresh air after being holed up in the room for almost forty-five hours. Her wallet isn’t exactly b with money, thus there are limited options when it comes to dinner-time. But Irene is fine with eating instant ramyun from the convenience store nearby tonight. Beggars can’t be choosey after all.
 

She walks close to the lampposts that illuminate the path leading to the convenience store. Along the way, she had to walk across a small car-park that’s wedged in between. Sometimes, Irene wishes that she has a car, but seeing how she much of a klutz she is, and her lack of imagination, she doubts there would be anywhere she would want to go with a car. Most likely, the car would gather dust and rot in the corner of the car-park dismally.
 

At this timing, there wouldn't be many cars around, except for the ones belonging to the people staying in the dorm and the teachers in the school. It isn't a long walk; there are 15 lampposts along the way and she's already halfway through. She raises her eyebrows at a silver blue convertible in the middle of the car-park. It's hard not to notice it in the dim light since it sticks out like a sore thumb among the less classy sedans and SUVs. Probably a teacher drives it. Can’t be a student, can it?
 

While she walks past the eighth lamppost, pondering over the owner of said car, a sudden loud thump against the side of a white van jolts her out of her thoughts. Irene stops dead in her tracks, eyes staring widely at the van shaking from the impact.
 

Irene isn’t the sort for superstitions or ghostly beings that lingers in old buildings. That said, she does get easily scared of any sound that goes bump in the night. One would think that growing up in the countryside like Irene did, she should be used to such things since the area is full of unpredictable things. Of course, once the logical side of her brain finds the reason for the noise, the fear fades away as sudden as it appears. And she’ll be able to function just fine.
 

The uncertainty is killing her. Irene glances around and bites her lip, realising she’s alone.
 

Her stomach grumbles again and Irene almost drops to her knees in desperation. Why, WHY of all timings, WHY MUST YOU TORTURE ME LIKE THIS? She wonders, not for the first time, what has she done to land herself such bad luck.
 

Slowly, she counts in her head, trying to calm herself. Irene shakes her head at her ridiculousness. She is a student of logic, of facts! Not of fairy-tales and make-believe! Whatever or whoever that awaits, she will face it head-on. There’s always a reason for everything!
 

(In retrospect, Irene could only laugh at how stupid she must have looked, as if she was preparing to enter a war and expecting to charge down the enemy at first sight.)