The Haze

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37 (Part Two)

In The Dark

...

The rain is still hammering down, the city positively soaked under these dark grey clouds, making everything seem much darker than it is. My damp hair sits discarded in a messy bun on top of my head, my skin still cold to the touch as I pad through my apartment in sweats, stuffing things I need into a backpack.

Since seeing her face on the TV screen twenty minutes ago, everything here reminds me of her. I look to my bed and see her lying in hospital, I look to the kitchen and smell the cafeteria we'd sit in, I look to the couch and see her in her wheelchair. Her face is plastered across my mind, and it's driving me mad.

So I've decided to leave.

Me: Can I stay with you for a few days?

I don't have to wait very long for an answer, my eyes plastered on my phone screen.

Jinseo: Yes definitely, everything okay?

Me: Thank you. I'll tell you when I get there, leaving now.

Putting on my raincoat and grabbing my backpack, I don't look back as I step outside and shut the door, my eyes closed in worry that her face will be waiting for me out here too.

Sighing, I open my eyes to the rain, everything a hazy blur.

Everything including the black car still parked on the road.

Why is he still here?

I focus on the steps as I make my way down, trying not to notice the car door opening and shutting, the sounds of footsteps rushing over. Once I reach the bottom, the rain above me suddenly halts, a figure standing in my way.

Blinking up at him, I notice the ghost of a worried expression in his otherwise blank eyes. His gaze flickers over my backpack, "Where are you going?"

I swallow the lump in my throat, avoiding his eyes that are coldly searching mine, "Jinseo."

He looks to the ground, shifting his grip on the umbrella before taking my hand. I slowly look up in confusion, but before I can say anything, he's leading me to the car and opening the door, "Get in."

I'm trying to suss out his intentions, trying to read his face. He doesn't look me in the eye as he closes my door, when he gets in, or when he starts driving.

I start to feel pathetic. What must he think of me at this point? A murderer who fled from her country, a lier who fooled everyone she's met, a manipulative bitch who used his feelings for her to get what she wanted.

My heart convulses at the thought of him hating me. But I can't deny that I lied. And even though it would break me, if he wanted me gone, I wouldn't blame him.

The journey is quiet, save for the deep resonating hum of rain falling on the moving car. I watch the windshield wiper blade slide from side to side, my eyes set on how smooth the glass looks just for a millisecond, before it all becomes blurred again.

I don't pay attention to where we are, not until the car turns into an underground car park, the rain above now gone, allowing the screech of the tyres on the slick floor to be heard. Well lit with white and blue tones, clean enough to see the light bouncing off of the walls, the large room almost reminds me of an operating theatre, a few expensive shiny cars here and there.