1.1 | constellations of you and me ✓

10 | gemini

MIXTURES OF SUNSHINE AND RAIN ARE ALWAYS THE PRETTIEST. A constant reminder that even the sun cries in her own glossy mirror, even when the weather appears to be perfect. And maybe it's like love notes written in cursive or maps submerged under amber whiskey, but there's a simplicity about it that's uncontrollable—undeniable. Nearly through the month of August, Eloise leans against her apartment balcony attached to the left of her kitchen and lets the humidity blow back an unruly set of curls. A steaming mug of iced tea sits in her right hand as her gaze lingers on darkened streets, flickering fairy lights, and soaked laundry, and she's inevitably lost in this floral stillness.

Her mother would've loved this, Eloise thinks faintly as half an hour easily passes, fingers twisting across the white ceramic handle. There's a bitter irony that's constantly associated with her life: she lives in a city with millions of people, and somehow, she feels alone.

Checking her watch, she instinctively grabs her keys and heads out of the complex after locking up. Her car is parked right in front, and she slides in before smoothly starting the engine.

If space is the backdrop for the universe, her body is the backdrop for a battlefield. Eloise has spent too many of her night spilling crimson-tinted tears to unwilling moonlight, silver soul quietly slipping into cracked nail beds. She's still all bronze and venom bites; reckless dawns and violet thorns, embedding themselves in her sides underneath smooth skin. Night coats her back like a layer of blackened mystery, and Eloise is so, so lost—lost in her thoughts, lost in the lavender look outside, lost in the enigma of the way she used to be. Time slows down before her, and suddenly she isn't looking at the Californian azure, but rather at her past.

***

"No," Matthew Park emphasizes harshly. Under their kitchen lights, his dark eyes look dead to her as he shoots an exasperated glare her way. There's a faint smell of cheap beer and expired milk lingering in the air between them. Settling deep in her bones underneath callouses of regret and uneasiness.

Eloise blows out a breath of hot air and sends a tense look right back. "It's not your decision to make." Tone defiant. Chin tilted upwards.

"There's no way in hell I'm having my daughter move half-way across this damn country without my permission."

She leans against the counter and relishes in the feeling of the tops of her nails digging into the flesh of her palm. Eloise has always been patient—something she proudly inherited from her mother—but right now, she's desperate to lose all control. Emotion pressurizes inside of her chest, inflating and inflating until she can't breathe properly anymore.

"That's why," she says smartly, "I'm telling you. I'm not asking for your damn permission."

Her Korean manners and rules are so far-out the fucking window.

Matthew slams a stack of utility bills down with all of his strength mustered in his right hand, a fiery look in his eye that's mirrored in his daughter's. Eloise hopes he can see her hatred staring back, that he can smell the sweet decay of her spirit and the metallic blood drying on the inside of her bottom lip. But he never notices.

Running a hand across his jaw, he closes his bloodshot eyes for a few seconds. "This isn't up for discussion, Eloise. I meant what I said."

If there's one thing Eloise Park is, it's a fighter: and she's certainly not done yet. "Is this about money? Is that it?" Her volume goes up a notch, sound waves shortening their wavelengths. "I got a full scholarship to UCLA. With my money saved up along with my inheritance, there isn't a single thing you have to pay."