To Our Pure Little Beauty

Chapter 15

After we finished eating dinner, Sehun suggested that we hang around at that unlucky restaurant to drink the instant milk tea which we could have unlimited refills of. He originally suggested drinking the instant coffee that similarly had unlimited refills, but I thought that this act was very shameless, and furthermore, was shameless in a very bourgeois way, so we changed to drinking milk tea.

However, after the fifth time that we got the waiter to help us refill our milk tea, we both didn’t dare to drink it, for we kept on suspecting that that waiter who looked very sour-faced had spat saliva into it.

I watched the sky outside the window darkening slowly, felt for my mobile phone in my pocket, and interrupted Sehun who was vividly describing just how fresh, tender and succulent the lamb chops in New Zealand were. “I think you must be tired, you had better go back home and get over your jet lag.”

He cast a glance at me. “I’ve returned for a week, what jet lag is there to get over?”

I spoke again, “Didn’t you say that you hadn’t yet acclimatised and had diarrhoea? This proves that though you think you have gotten over the jet lag, the jet lag is not letting you off.”

Sehun snorted. “You want to go and deliver food right, I’ll go together with you, I can conveniently go to the hospital for a return checkup at the same time.”

This person sure was shameless, he had the nerve to go for a return checkup for diarrhoea, this type of illness that had never seen the world, he truly was wasting our homeland’s medical resources. 

I swept at my hair, held up the milk tea and drank one mouthful, then recalled how this milk tea possibly had been spat at with saliva, immediately I felt incomparably indignant. “Who said I was going to deliver food! Do I not have dignity*, do I!” 
He nodded his head, and expressed appeasement, “If you’re not delivering, then don’t deliver, what are you getting so stirred up for? He won’t die by not eating one meal.”

A hundred claws were scratching at my heart as I watched the sky darken little by little. One moment I was fantasising about Jungkook getting a stomach haemorrhage and collapsing on the operating table; the next I fantasised about him getting so hungry till he gnawed on his own fingernails to satiate his hunger; then I fantasised about his stomach being so painful till he turned mad, and used the surgical knife to cut open his own stomach……

In my brain dwelt a horror movie director, I was suitable to dwell in a mental hospital.

I gazed at Sehun sitting opposite me who was unperturbedly and calmly watching me be brassy and restless, and suddenly came to a realisation. If I were to be looked at like a laughing stock, this old woman would also reserve (herself) for Jungkook to look at, staying on here to amuse this chap who was now being sold domestically despite being initially produced for exports, just how severely ill was I exactly? 
Hence I slapped the table and shouted, “Waiter!”

The waiter feebly strolled over, he was even clutching a glass pot of milk tea in his hands. With waning enthusiasm, he asked me, “Refill the milk tea, right?”

“One seafood baked rice, one chicken soup, takeaway.” I glared at Sehun as I spoke.

He whistled loud and clear, and teasingly said, “You are still able to eat?”

I watched as he lifted that cup of milk tea that was plausibly spat at with saliva and drank a mouthful. I said, beaming, “I’m delivering food to go and give to Jungkook.”

He put down the cup and smiled. “That’s more like it, all who make life difficult for themselves are fools.”

His smile inexplicably caused me to sense a trace of sorrow, it was as if he had experienced the impermanence of time.