My whole body hurt. My chest felt uncomfortable and tight despite my distance from Minghao. My legs felt numb and I struggled to use them properly. There was a fire burning in my left forearm that lit up at the slightest touch. My right hand stung where cuts had appeared after I broke glass. 

I needed help. So what did I do? I ignored everything and just drove. I got into my car then got the away from my town, from my problems, from ing Minghao. I griped the steering wheel with my right hand and ignored how much everything hurt. I didn’t give a about the blood dripping onto my clothes and probably all over the car. I didn’t even notice my tears until the road became too blurry to see. 

After about an hour, I pulled over to the side of an empty road and let myself break down in peace. I finally let everything go. I screamed, I sobbed, I punched random things. I begged for my dad to come home. I begged for my mom to come and keep me safe. I cursed out Lisa and Jennie and Jisoo and Rose for not being able to help me right now. I let loose a waterfall of tears and cried about how unfair it was for everyone to die in that alley way like that when somehow I had survived. I punched the car over and over again imagining it was Minghao I was punching and that he was getting so much more than what he did to me. 

My tantrum lasted a good half hour before the numbness came. I sat quietly and stared into the distance, not thinking of anything in particular. Every now and then I’d hiccup and try to swallow, though my mouth felt incredibly dry. Eventually, I started driving back. 

I didn’t go home immediately. Instead, I stopped at Jennie’s house. 

Jennie went to university in Seoul, but often came home to spend time with her grandmother. Normally, I wouldn’t encroach on their grandmother-granddaughter bonding time, but tonight I just prayed that Jennie was around. 

As the first of luck I’d received all month, she opened the door. She took one look at me and, without asking any questions, ushered me into her bathroom and sat me down on her toilet. 

“What’s the worst of it?” She asked and I raised both my hands. She nodded and got to work. 

Jennie was a boxing queen. She joined a summer program when she was seven that introduced her to the sport and had promptly fallen in love. By age 10, she was winning competitions. Growing up, she had taught all four of us how to properly punch someone and defend ourselves and she also to