✓ skirt lifter | hwang hyunjin

o n e

c h a p t e r 1

One year. One more year. One. And I'm gone. Out of highschool, at least.

I could practically feel the dark aura radiating out of me. I gripped on the strap of my bag as I heaved my way through the crowded halls of hell reincarnated. You know what? Scratch that. I very much prefer this dump over the actual hell which is my home- if you can even call it that. I run my thumb over my index finger, now covered with a hello kitty band-aid.

When I awoke this morning, I was greeted by the (not) delightful sight of my mother sprawled across the living room floor with dozens of alcohol bottles, a few broken, surrounding her. I hurriedly tidied up the place and pricked myself in the process. Fortunately for me (not) the normal band-aids were all out. I did not bother with breakfast and immediately left for school.

Senior year. This should be the peak of my life. I should be out and about before I regret it in the near future. Regret how I did not make the most out of my teenage life and be left of telling knitting tips instead of my rebellious years to my grandchildren. Even if I wanted to, I could not afford to do it. Financially and metaphorically speaking.

Four years ago, with my father abandoning my mother and I, we had to survive on what little we have left. It did not help that my mother soon fell into depression, leaving me, although not physically, but mentally and emotionally. At an early age, I had no choice but to apply to every job that I come across and hoped to God they would accept me. Fortunately enough, I was able to keep a roof over our heads. With such a rough life, I found no time in making friends and having fun. However, God knows how much I wanted to have friends. Even someone I could just talk to.

It seems as if I was birthed to live a very cliche teenage movie.

My thoughts were cut short when I was climbing up the stairs when I felt the ends of my skirt being lifted. I paused and felt all the blood rushing to my head. Not from embarrassment. From anger. I felt the ends of my skirt fall back down. I spun around slowly and saw two guys who were two to three steps lower than me. The one farther from me has a ghost of a smile on his lips. He had black hair, mischievous eyes, and full cheeks. I would have found him cute if he had not seen amusement in this situation.

The one closer to me however, seemed more surprised than I was. He had long blonde hair which was tied, full lips, and a mole right under his left eye. "Jisung!" He hissed at the boy before turning to me. "I am so sorr-"

Without much thought, I punched blondie right in the jaw, sending him flying down the flight of stairs. It seemed reasonable that he was the one I punched since he was closer to me. I glared at him as he looked even more shocked than he already was. He was gripping on his jaw, mouth agape.

I turned my back against them and tried to ignore the whispers of the students, the shouts of concern for blondie, and most importantly, the laugh that came out of him. One thing I could not ignore though, was the stinging pain on my fist. Might as well just run my hand through a garbage disposal. Finally, I tried to fight back the blush creeping in as I recalled that I was wearing Pororo printed shorts underneath.