My name is Jin. And 3 days ago, an incident happened that had maybe, probably, tainted my reputation, which was ridiculous, because in all 24 years that I’d been living, I never had a reputation to put on the line in the first place. But I wasn’t that daft. I knew the actual reason behind everyone’s outrage. I knew whose image I was actually ruining.

I couldn’t help but give out a slight pout at the predicament I was in at the moment. Food-wise actually.  I looked over at mother’s plate. She ordered the salad, as all ladies who were trying to watch their weight tend to do. I didn’t see why though. She looked nice enough.

My eyes shifted to father’s plate. He ordered his usual sirloin steak, which he would always request be drenched in a pool of gravy. It was almost disturbing how much gravy was on his plate every single time. But I never bothered in asking about his health. I never thought it was my place to address his problems.

And as for me? Well, it was clear that I wasn’t going to enjoy any meal from this restaurant today. Or any time soon for that matter. To them, taking away my privilege of being able to fine dine is as big of a punishment a child could receive.

“You didn’t do anything wrong?” father repeated my previous claim, “Jin, it’s on the news for crying out loud!”

Really? Huh. How did I not know this.

“And what have you been doing to defend yourself? Our family’s name? Locking yourself away in your room all day and night?”

Oh right.

“That’s not fair,” I started, “They shouldn’t just put out news about me without even contacting me firs--”

“Oh, don’t be such a fool,” mother interrupted, which caught me by surprise, because she was usually the understanding one among the two.

She wouldn’t look me in the eyes.

Father merely scoffed upon hearing what I had to say.

“You, of all people,” mother said, wiggling her fork in my direction, “should know that the media will do anything and everything to see us suffer.”

I let out a heavy sigh. It was one thing to piss off father, but upsetting mother was not something I was used to.

“I’m sorry.”

Father looked at me with what I could only describe as utter disappointment, and said, “The public will take whatever they can get. And you, boy, just gave them tabloid material that could last for years.”

I remained silent. All these words, what good would come out of them? What was I to do with their cold stares, their harsh words? Absolutely nothing. And they knew that as much as I did.

I waited until they finished eating before excusing myself from the table.

That went well.

                                                                                                ***

“Ah, it’s freezing…”

The cold air was ruthless; the people I saw walking around the park and along the sidewalks earlier had already retreated into their warm homes. But home was the last place I wanted to be at right now.

I was smart enough to remember to wear extra layers today, so I d