It smelled like vodka.

That was the first thing that awoke me from my slumber; the burn of alcohol in my nostrils. And then I heard the clink of ice in a crystal glass and I groaned internally. I knew who was in my room.

“Mother,” I murmured and cracked my eyes open. And there my mother was, standing in front of my closet, appraising my clothing. A clear tumbler sat in her hand, filled with ice and vodka. I didn’t even know why she bothered with a glass anymore.

“Jiyeon-ah,” my mother responded slowly, tipping her glass toward me as if in acknowledgment.

“What are you doing?” I pulled myself into a sitting position.

“Shopping.” And she gave a cackle. I winced. “There’s a party tonight, last minute sort of thing. Didn’t have time to go shopping.”

Ah, yes, my mother with her endless string of social engagements and her penchant for dressing younger than her age. She was 38, after all.

She picked up a hanger that held a sparkly silver top, regarded it, and then tossed it to the ground. She did the same to a purple sweater, a green dress and a black skirt.

“Honestly, Jiyeon-ah, where are all your nice clothes? What about the things I bought you?” she asked lazy; her default way of talking when 40% of her body weight was comprised of alcohol.

When have you ever bought me anything? I wanted to ask. When have you ever given me anything aside from nine months in your body? But I didn’t. Because she was my mother and I’d been taught respect, at all costs.

“I don’t know, Mother,” I answered softly. She only grunted in response, throwing more of my wardrobe to the cream carpet below her feet. I watched as they landed in heaps.

A print mini-dress, a floor length summer affair, a floral romper, a silver halter-top, a black pair of dress pants, a silk button up. And then suddenly I didn’t hear the rhythmic dropping of fabric and my eyes snapped up. My mother was standing in front of the full-length mirror, holding up a cocktail dress to her frame.

Emerald green, one long-sleeve, strapless on the other side. It was tight and sat mid-thigh with gold and jewel decorations on its one shoulder. Her face looked pleased.

“Mother,” I stated quickly and almost flew to the closet. “What about this one?” I held out a cream colored piece of fabric.

“No,” she didn’t even look at it.

“Well, then what about this? It’s pretty, right?” a red shirt hung from my hands.

“I like this one,” my mother murmured back, half lost in thought.

No. She couldn’t have that one.

“But, Mother…”

“But what, Jiyeon-ah? I want to wear this dress.” Her stare was so cold.

“You can’t.” It was almost a whisper, really. I knew where disagreeing with her would lead.

“And why is that?” she challenged. I could see it in her eyes. She was angry; she so rarely heard no. But I knew there was only one way to keep that dress in my room.

“It won’t fit you.”

“Excuse me?” I had just entered dangerous territory.

“It’s too small. I’m much thinner than you are, Mother.”

I felt it before I saw it, really.

A heavy pressure to my cheekbone, followed by excruciating pain that gave me the sensation my eye would explode. My mother always knew how to hit me. But the sound was really terrible, the crack of her palm on my skin. Before I knew it I was on the ground, supporting my weight on my arms and breathing deeply; just to get through the pain.

“Keep your ing dress. It makes you look like the you are, after all,” Mother said and threw the ball of fabric at me.

One of the jewels scraped at my cheek where she had hit me and I winced. Then I felt a shower of liquid and the scent of vodka surrounded me, invaded all of my senses. I looked up to see her holding her glass, now empty. And then she threw it at me, hard, and I fell completely to the ground as it made direct contact with my eye. That would leave a lovely mark.

She stalked out of my room and I lay still on the ground, hugging the now drenched dress to my body as tears fell from my sore eyes onto my throbbing skin. Sitting up, I rocked back and forth and let out a small whimper, burying my face into the fabric.

It had been a gift from Taemin.

------------------------------------------------------------

Heyyyy! So I told you guys I would have the next part up Wednesday night Japan time... and I did! 

Hope you like it... I mentioned in the past that Jiyeon's mother has a drinking problem so I hope this wasn't too out of left field.

Comments, questions, concerns??  Let me know!

One person actually mentioned wanting to know Taemin/Shinee's POV and that was a really interesting suggestion. I may do something with that in the future... >_>   ^_^

Thanks for reading!