joohwan was no stranger to trauma. much like everybody else, she carried her own around, buried deep, unwilling to stare at it straight unless her therapist forced her to do so. joohwan didn’t like it, the process of reliving whatever had caused her to be like this, even if she was able to acknowledge why it was necessary, why she had to go through it. for some unfathomable reason, joohwan still clung to the ideal of becoming better. a better person, a better sister, a better dancer and performer, a better grandkid, a better— a better girlfriend. and there was no way for her to do that if she refused to work around the good and the bad that had both shaped her to the person she had become.
already, she felt her trauma making itself known, felt the racing of her heart, her breathing that increased the more and more andy paced. she knew what was going to happen from here — joohwan didn’t recall the last time she saw andy this angry, at least not in a situation where she wasn’t angry as well. usually they fed off each other, their emotions matching, the volume of their voices matching. it happened more often when they were younger, when neither of them had the softened edges they do nowadays, for each other at least, when the only thing both of them knew how to do when faced with feelings too strong to handle was to lash out. she knew what would come next. and as much as joohwan knew it was her fault, she couldn’t help but being terrified of it.
not of andy, no. she flinched, as they threw the chair down, as they kicked and slammed their hands on the table, but hwan knew better than to assume andy would ever hurt her. no, andy’s anger was a familiar beast, one hwan didn’t dare believe would ever bare its sharp claws at her. she was terrified because she knew andy was going to leave. she knew, deep down, that there was no scenario in which andy did not leave. no matter what she said, no matter what excuses she gave, joohwan knew.
her automatic reaction was to want to keep her gaze down, to evade their eyes, but she thought they deserved better than that. so hwan held their glare, even as the fury contained within sent a shiver down her spine. “i don’t— i don’t expect an apology to fix it,” she whispered, clutching her hands in her lap, teeth worrying at her bottom lip. “it doesn’t mean i’m not sorry. i can’t change what happened but it doesn’t mean i cannot regret it. you deserve better, but what i can give you is an apology. even though i don’t expect you to take it.”
“but i don’t—,” she cut herself off, faltering, staring down at the table. god, she loved that table so much, she didn’t want to sell it. “i don’t know what else to do.”
with a head busting at the seams, registering, categorizing, understanding so many words in a row was an infinitely difficult task. straining, stretching what mental capacity wasn’t overridden by lakes over fire, they attempted anyway.
her lip would bleed if she kept that up. maybe it should. bleed, swell, keep the rotten fucking whores away from it. excess water left a glaze over her eyes; if only theirs could act as a kiln, harden hers until all they could see was andy. that wasn’t the case, though, was it? hadn’t taken much for the agreements in their relationship to be smashed to pieces. they bet that fucker enjoyed fucking them over, enjoyed using someone in a poor mental state. sick asshole.
they hadn’t even been that upset, when they woke up that day. still mildly annoyed with hwan, sure, but nothing notable. average. so why would she--
fist, fingers curled in tight, nails seeking to make four prominent crescent moons within their palm. the fist lifted, hit down. the table shook as if it might have inherited the shake in andy’s muscles. sharp, heavy, “look at me!” their jaw shook, so they clenched it. facing the petrified look in her eyes, no, they didn’t want that, but, that was it. what else was there to do?
thinking when angry, being rational, it’d all left. andy couldn’t sort through their own thoughts properly, let alone hwan’s. they were exhausted already, yet anger had its own mind, its own license on andy’s physical form.
“so what, you giving up on me? say you’re sorry, then pawn me off on some other asshole? i chose you, i was choosing you, why can’t you choose me? i haven’t ever fucking done this to you, i wouldn’t. what- fucking- who-” andy yelled, frustration boiled into wordless, pure anger. their body shifted again, reaching for the first thing they could hurt. that stupid, fucking chair. reeled back this time, their foot rammed into the bottom of the seat, sliding it across the length of the table, along the floor, til it wasn’t able to touch any of the other seven just like it. “fuck!” the toll on their vocal chords could be heard, by then, though unregistered. their hands returned to their forehead, this time fingers interlocking, and eyes covered, too, as they attempted to slow their breathing, to punch out the stutters within each breath, to release enough anger to think.
