Dance to This [kth]

f i f t e e n

ミ★
fifteen
❝bubbling conflict❞
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When I leave Jungkook's room, the fresh feeling of the unscathed air settles into my lungs like an energizer. I find myself somewhat at a loss of coherence for several moments at a time as I walk back to my dorm; I am fighting the urge to giggle at every small thought I have. It should bother me that I allowed myself to be influenced by drugs without much of even an ounce of protest— I wanted it. I wanted to feel the effects marijuana again. . . and I did it.

My fits of giggling is not a downside. The only downside at the moment is probably how wandering my mind truly is. I'm jittery and anxious to see Professor outside of school hours again. My thoughts escape to obscure circumstances of what might happen. The last time, he took me to his artistic revival version of a lair. I can only imagine what his devilish mind has planned now.

The fear that once resided in my gut when thinking about Professor has transformed into pure thrill.

I suddenly feel an urge to panic when I swipe into my room. I wasn't prepared for our last date, but now that I have time to prepare, I am afraid that Professor might expect more from me. It seems that I'm always expected to know more, or do more, than I currently do. Professor tells me that I shouldn't do what I don't want to do, but that isn't my problem when it comes to him. My problem isn't that I don't want to do things. . . It is that I want to— it is very not me.

Jungkook tells me that it is me, but I am circling around with these questions of who I am. As I sit down at my desk and decide to do my makeup, the reflection I am struck with is definitely not me.  I don't look like myself. I am not speaking metaphorically— the drugs have truly affected my appearance. My face is flush and my eyes are dragging with every movement I make. I feel nauseous from how many chips I ate with him before I left.

"I can't go out like this," I mumble to myself at my small cosmetic mirror.

I'm startled by the sound of the door being rustled. I freeze for a moment with my hand applying moisturizer to my face, holding my breath in anticipation for someone to walk in. The person struggles for a moment to swipe the card before opening the door.

Hana stumbles into the room. Plastic bags fall to the ground and she groans. I'm on edge waiting to see if she begins to vomit and cry on the floor.

"Hey," I greet her hesitantly. I stand from my chair to see if she is alright. The last time we spoke, she definitely wasn't. It is an image that will never leave my mind.