"Ahem!"

My mother stood at the door way, holding a few bags of clothing and her purse, smirking. But when Sungyeol's head popped up from underneath my body, the smirk slid off her face, crashing to the floor along with all the bags she was carrying. Her face went pale. Her hands and knees began to shake. Tears formed in her eyes but, like old times, she willed them away. I looked helplessly at Sungyeol. He shrugged and blinked his wide, stunned eyes at me. We were all in shock. I had to do something.

"Mom," I hopped up from the bed and ran to her, picking up the bags and attempting to hand it to her. "Mom, I can explain. This isn't-" She cut me off with a scoff and took the bags from me violently.

"It isn't what, Myung? It isn't what it looks like? So you weren't just lying on top of a shirtless boy with your pants off?" She motioned at my boxers. I just looked at her. She was right, but why was she so angry? Before Sungyeol appeared she was actually smirking. 

"Mom, I-"

"Jesus, Min!" I furrowed my brow in confusion. Did she just call me Min? Her whole body began to shake and tears stained her eyes once more. "I have had enough of this bull!" She screamed the words with record amounts of venom. Her tearing eyes were like poison filled laser beams, fueled not by anger, but something else... Sadness? Frustration? Guilt? She was hurt, but I couldn't figure out why. "Come see me in my office." She said, swiftly turning around and stomping down the hall. I looked over at Sungyeol. He shrugged at me again, unsure of what to say. Somewhere during that conversation he'd slid his shirt back on. 

"Aishh!!" I said, ruffling my hair in frustration. I was so confused. Why was she smirking in the first place? Why was she so upset when she saw Sungyeol? Why did she call me Min??? I grabbed my pants and pulled them back on.

"I should probably go, right?" Sungyeol asked timidly. I nodded.

"I'm sorry, Yeol. I just don't know how this is gonna go." I sighed and he stood up next to me.

"Hey," he said, tenderly patting my shoulder. "Fighting!" His white rabbit teeth shone and I regained my strength. We giggled into a long kiss, and with that he walked away, leaving me to face my mother's mysteries alone once again. I shuffled awkwardly to the door of my mother’s office like an elementary school kid being called down to the principal's office after drawing on the walls. I had to muster up all my courage just to knock on the door. I heard her clear on the other side of the door before uttering a soft "Come in". I said nothing as I entered the room, quietly walking over to the chair on the other side of the desk.

"Take a seat." She said without looking at me. Her hair was a mess and her face disheveled. As I sat down, the familiar smell of whiskey and cigarettes filled my nostrils. Her office often smelled of alcohol, whether she was home or not. I looked around her desk. Among the clutter of papers and folders there was a half empty glass lying next to a bottle. We hadn't been apart for two minutes and she was already hammered. I sat there awkwardly, completely unsure of what I was supposed to say. After a moment of silence she began to speak. "You can't," she started, "You can't do that." She slammed her fist to the desk as she said the word do.

"I can't what, Mom? I did nothing wrong!" I argued. She looked up at me with eyes so wide I thought they were going to roll off of her face and land on the ground with a splat. 

"Oh my god." She whispered, her eyes darting around my face like mad. "You're just like him." She pressed her palms to her forehead and shook her head violently. "Nonononono... This can't be happening." I grabbed her hand to stop her from shaking the brains from her head.

"Like who?" I asked. She avoided my eyes. My grip tightened on her arm and she flinched. I quickly let go, afraid of my own strength. "Make me understand." I demanded. She sighed and tried to pour herself another glass of whatever alcohol was in the bottle. It was empty, but she still shook it as if, by some miracle, there would be a few drops left. When nothing came out she slammed the bottle down and reached in her drawer for another one. She poured a glass from the new bottle and chugged it. Holy , I thought, how many bottles did she have in her desk?!? Before I had the chance to say anything she blurted something out.

"Your father." Another glass. Another sigh. Her words were more slurred this time. "How come you never ask about your father anyways? You don't even know his name, do you?" She wagged her finger at me and smiled. "Tsk tsk Myung-ah, you should have asked! Then we wouldn't have to have this talk." I looked down shamefully. She was right. I never did ask about my dad, but I had my reasons. First of all she was never home, so when she was I just wanted to spend time with her, not worry about someone who wasn't even here. Second of all I didn't want to upset her, and third of all I didn't actually want to know. I knew it would just upset me so I avoided it at all costs.

"You got me!" I said, forcing a smile. "I can't run anymore. I know that now." She went to pour another glass but I stopped her, grabbing her wrist again. She fought my grip but I kept it, not hurting her this time, but definitely not loosening it. 

"He was a mistake." She finally mumbled. I let go of her wrist. "A waste of time." She finally gave up on the bottle and rested her chin in her hand. "The only thing he was good for was you, and he didn't even stick around for that." She sighed again, but not out of sadness or frustration. This was a love sick sigh. The kind of sigh a school girl does in the middle of class while staring at her dreamy teacher. "My precious Minyoung-ah. Sometimes I called him Minyoung, sometimes Min, or Minnie. He was an artist. I met him at an art show that my boyfriend at the time had invited me to. I bumped into him and we talked about the art, about life, about everything really. Little did I know that it was his show we were at, and we were actually speaking about his art the entire time!" She chuckled and nodded her head a bit. "He swept me off my feet that night." Suddenly her eyes filled with an agonizing guilt. "But my poor ex-boyfriend." She said, looking down and sniffing. "He was so nice; a student at one of the best schools in the nation, and sweet. So ing sweet. But," she said mater-of-factly, "I treated him like . I cheated on him then left him for someone who treated me like and cheated on me." Her eyes met mine and she chuckled. "Karma's a , eh?" She paused for a moment and allowed an unexpected tear to fall.

"Then what happened?" I asked curiously.

"We were in love but he refused to marry me. Spat some bull about not believing in marriage. I ate it up, of course. I loved him so much that everything he said I believed. He was reason. He was law. If he slept with another woman he'd tell me it was for work. 'They're only my muses' he'd say. He didn't want to be with them, but he had to. 'In the name of art'." She scoffed. "Art my ..." She took a swig directly from the bottle. "He got me pregnant. I was going to have his child. He'd be perfect, I thought. When I found out I came straight home from the doctors to tell him the good news but he was busy. I witnessed something I never thought I'd have to see." Her eyes glazed over and she traced her finger around the edge of the glass bottle. "A man." She whispered. "Two of them. In our bed. Two men." She said the words as if she still couldn't quite comprehend the situation. She sniffed and allowed a few more tears to fall. "And you." She said, angrily pointing her finger at me.

"What about me?"

"You're. Just. Like him. Hell, you even look like hime too!" She took another swig from the bottle and slammed it down on the desk. "You know what he said to me when I found him? Do you know?" I avoided her eyes. "Do you?!?"

"No." I mumbled. 

"BULL!" She slammed the bottle down on the wood again, this time hard enough to break the glass. The yellowish liquid spread like a virus, staining every paper on the desk top until finally reaching the carpet where it left its final mark. My mother didn't even flinch and continued to yell. "YOU KNOW WHAT HE SAID, BECAUSE YOU SAID IT RIGHT TO ME, YOU SMUG LITTLE BASTARD." She stomped her foot. "WORD FOR ING WORD!!" I sat there in silence, unable to meet my mother’s face. "Do you know how much that hurt? To play that scene all over again. But this time was worse, much worse. You're not my lover, you're not my boyfriend, I'm not having your child. You are my child." She paused a moment to let a few sobs escape her lips. "When I kicked him out I promised myself one thing: that my son would be a better man. That he would treat women with love and respect. That I would never have to be put in that situation again." She was beyond sobbing now, she began to weep. "I failed! I couldn't even do that one thing! I failed!" I could barely make out her words she was crying so hard. My mother was utterly miserable and it was all my fault, as usual.

"I'm sorry." I said softly. A tear slid slowly down my cheek, then another, then another. A few muffled sobs escaped my mouth as whimpers. I sounded like a crying puppy being scolded for peeing on the floor. She took a deep breath and stood up from her chair. While wiping the tears from her face, she came to the other side of the desk and kneeled down by the chair where I was seated. She looked up at my face. Her breath reeked of alcohol and her eyes were completely glazed over, reminding me exactly how drunk she was. She held my hands in her face and looked at my eyes handsomely.

"You know what?" She said, almost cheerfully, "It's alright. You didn't know, it's okay. I forgive you." She said the words as if she were relaying a message from God himself, as if she were some magical being granting me second birth. "But, Kim Myungsoo," she continued harshly, "if I ever so much as see you think of acting like that with a boy again, I'll kick you out. Just like I did you're good-for-nothing father." There was more silence. I didn't nod. I didn't agree. I didn't move. I just stared at her. She was too drunk to catch my hint, so she just smiled and pet my head. "That’s my Myungie. That's the good little boy I raised." She tried to wrap her arms around me but I didn't move. "I love you." She whispered in my ear as she backed away. Again I said nothing.

"Now," she said, standing up and dusting off her knees, "I'll give you some money to go out and find yourself a nice girl to have coffee with." She stumbled over and rooted through her desk drawers until she found a wad of cash. "There are plenty of nice, pretty girls that go to your school. I hear that you’re pretty popular too. It should be easy for you to snag one up, right?" She looked at me hopefully as she handed me the money. I stared at it. There must have been two to three hundred dollars in that wad. Why did she have this just lying around? "I'm going back to work for a bit, but if you need to go out or something don't hesitate and don't wait up for me." I got up and walked away. She wasn't going to work. She'd get fired if she went into work this drunk, and she knew that. She was going somewhere else, and I didn't give a flying where. She wasn't my mother right now; she was a damaged, delusional teenager whose heart was crushed by some artsy . It was pathetic. "Oh and one other thing," I stopped at the door but never turned to look at her, I couldn't. "That boy is banned from this house, do you hear me? And that goes for all your other faggy friends too!" 

"Yes ma'am." I muttered. And with that I returned to my room where I took a few extra sleeping pills and collapsed onto my bed, still fully clothed.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]

Hey y'all! Hope you had a wonderful holiday and enjoyed this chapter as well ^^

What will happen next who knows???? teheheh dont forget to comment and blahblahblah love yah!! 

<3