Eyes Full Of Stars || Park Sunghoon

9 ¦ Fear

The next day I feel a little better, but my father's attack has not passed me by without leaving a trace.

Two large dark blue spots adorn my ribs, which pull slightly when I breathe in too deeply. My cheekbone is also discolored bluish.

A soft knock sounds at my door. "Just a minute!", I call out. Since I'm standing there dressed only in my underwear, I grab my robe and tie it around me.

Thereupon I run to the door, which I open and immediately draw in a startled breath as I look into my father's face. He examines me briefly, his gaze lingering on my face.

"Mr. Park will pick you up this afternoon to take you to look for a wedding dress," the middle-aged man informs me before pointing his index finger at my cheekbone, which has turned blue because of him. "Cover that up," he sternly instructs me. "Even in my presence."

Apparently my father can't even look at what he's done to me himself, because he avoids looking at my face for any longer than necessary.

"Okay," I whisper in a strained voice. Only now do I realize how tense I'm standing there, my fingers clawing into the thin fabric of my robe. I don't even dare think about contradicting my father.

"I expect you to behave appropriately. You will not contradict Mr. Park and do as he says. Do you understand?"

My father's voice has such an intimidating effect on me that I am unable to say anything. Instead, I lower my gaze, nodding, and chew my lower lip nervously. My heart hammers against my throbbing ribs as I wait for him to leave. I have lost all respect for this man. Besides the fear I've had for him since yesterday, dislike and hatred are all I have left for him.

"We'll be having lunch in a few minutes, I'll expect you back downstairs at the table today," the man with the mottled gray hair informs me before turning and leaving.

I immediately sit down at my makeup table and grab my concealer, of which I apply a thick layer below my left eye, blending it with a sponge. After two coats, I look like nothing ever happened. But unlike the fissure on my face, what it did to me psychologically can't be covered up so easily.

It costs me a lot of effort when, a good quarter of an hour later, I enter the dining room, dressed and made up, where my mother and father are already sitting at the table, silently eating the soup that Teresa has cooked.

I glance at my mother and for a moment I think I see a worried expression, but before I can really interpret it, she turns her gaze away from me and instead directs it to her plate. My mother seems to suspect that something must have happened, but as usual she remains silent.

With shaky knees, I sit down at the table opposite my father and nervously smooth out the embroidered dark fabric of my summer dress before I swallow hard and reach with shaky fingers for the ladle to pour the soup onto the plate Teresa has set for me.

"You should eat enough," my father says. The mere sound of his voice makes me freeze and I clutch the ladle tightly with my fingers. "It's going to be a long, tiring day."

Although my stomach turns at his mere presence and I feel no appetite at all, I nod and fill my plate with another ladleful.

At the same time, I don't dignify my father with a glance and silently begin to eat the soup. Actually, I choke it down much more. I have never liked Teresa's soup, which I have always enjoyed, less than I did today.

"Mr. Rey," Teresa, who has just entered the dining room, calls my father's attention. "A call from the company for you." With her eyes downcast, she holds the phone out to him. With an annoyed sigh, he snatches it from her hand.

"Yes?" he blathers into the receiver. "Okay. Yes. No. No, absolutely not... what? You've got to be kidding me!" Angrily, he scrapes his chair across the expensive hardwood floor to rise from his seat.

"Are you really getting absolutely NOTHING done on your own?!" With the phone to his ear, he walks out of the dining room so that my mother and I are now alone.

For a moment, my mom and I gaze after my dad in silence before she leans forward slightly and looks at me with wide eyes. "You're wearing concealer today," she notes, to which I merely nod. "You don't usually wear much makeup."

Should I tell her what happened last night? On the one hand, I'd love to talk to someone about it, but on the other hand, it won't undo what happened either.

"I felt like it," so I reply, shrugging my shoulders. "Dolores I-," my mother starts, but before she can finish her sentence, my still visibly annoyed father enters the dining room and slams the phone down next to his plate, making both me and my mother cringe in shock. He then sits back down at the table with us.

Immediately, my mother falls silent and pretends she never said anything. That she should be afraid to speak in her own home is not right.

"That manager is the first employee I'm going to fire immediately when things start looking up for the company next month," my father sighs, massaging his obviously throbbing temples.

He says it so casually. While I'm off somewhere in Korea next month with a strange man in a marriage I never wanted to enter into, he's talking about firing a single man with three kids because the problems fabricated by my father are causing more problems that even the best manager can't fix with a snap of his fingers.

I would love to tell him what an ignorant asshole he is, but I hold back for fear of the consequences. But one day, and I am convinced of this, he will reap the fruits of the ruin he himself has sown.

I long for the day when I will rise from my shambles and be stronger than ever before. That will be the day when I will single-handedly destroy his dream world built by intrigue and selfishness.

I will enjoy watching him go down. Just as he enjoys watching mine. But what my father doesn't know is that he is digging his own grave.

A/N: And his karma will come