Owning You - A Na Jaemin Fanfic

43. Lavendar

I am in my room.

The walls breathe around me, the steady tick of the digital clock a faint pulse. The whole room is in shadow, a blur of shades.

I have taken a shower, and changed into a night dress. It is new; I have never worn it before, it is a gift from my mother. I suspect her secretary bought it. It is virginal white, sheer and delicate, like gossamer.

An hour has passed since he shut me out of his room.

My hair is damp, but I am too tired to blow-dry it. It doesn't matter, anyway. Jaemin's not going to see it. Jaemin's not going to see me.

I crawl around the bed to a dark corner, on the farthest side.

I huddle on the floor, my knees drawn up to my chest. All I can do is breathe, inhaling and exhaling in harsh, heavy gulps. I am a child again, alone with my pain, rocking back and forth, back and forth; the motion is soothing.

I am swollen with booze and tears. The front of my night dress is a soggy wad.

The door opens.

He stands there, wavering like a flame.

"I can't sleep when you are crying like this," he says crossly.

I look up dully.

I can imagine what a sight I am; my face red and splotchy, my eyes puffy.

"Stop crying," he says, sounding annoyed.

I hiccup.

"Sorry," I say. "I'll stop right now. Please, don't send me away."

He is glaring at me.

"Stop snivelling. Stop apologising."

"I'm sorry - "

"Stop. Saying. Sorry," he grits.

"Okay," I sniffle. Please, don't send me away. I think - or did I say it?

"Go to sleep. I won't send you away tonight."

My lips quiver with gratitude.

"I'll wait till tomorrow morning."

It takes me a second to catch up.

I stare at him. Wedged in my dark corner, his words jumbling, tumble-drying in my brain.

"Tomorrow morning," I hear myself repeat, stupidly.

No.

And the misery bulges toward me, swelling, rushing; it slams me with such force, walloping my gut, that I fold. I keel back into my crouch. The hot tears burn, scour my cheeks. Roll down my face, soak into my night dress.

Something ripples beside my legs, a sudden draught, a movement.

And then my feet are in the air, dangling uselessly.

He hoists me up, carries me to the bed.

"Oh - " I gasp. But this time he doesn't toss me. Instead, he sets me on the edge of my bed.

He touches my bare feet.

"Your feet are freezing," he says angrily.

Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes my face carefully. Fresh tears swell. I catch his handkerchief when he is about to put it back into his pocket. I bring it to my nose, making a show of it.

I inhale. Lavendar. He watches me, his eyes on mine.

"I lav lovender." Try again. "I love lavender."