SUHO: Chapter 9 (1/1)

*Kim Junmyeon’s Perspective (we haven’t had one of these in forever XD)*     When I was twelve, my parents got into a serious fight. I remember coming home from school and finding the house a total wreck: vases shattered, tables overturned, and our family picture ripped and crumpled.      “And you think I have it easy?” I heard my father roar.     “That’s not what I said,” my mother’s quiet yet strong voice followed after. I knew full well which room they were arguing in, and I decided it best to just go to my own room. Fights were common in this household, and I knew they would end up resolving things soon enough.     But I was wrong. For the next few weeks, there was a chill in the air at home, and my parents didn’t say a word to each other. The only time they were seen together was when they greeted me at dinner time. Our ruined family picture was never replaced. A fear slowly grew in my heart that I’d soon come face to face with papers filing for a divorce.       “You know we can’t separate,” I heard my mother say one day after another good week had passed. I walked over to the slightly opened door, only to find my parents standing with red, huffed faces. It looked as though the screaming part of their fight had come to an end, and it was clear that they were both just tired at the whole situation.      “Why, because you don’t want to be opted out as a chairman’s wife?” my father said, his tone mocking.     “You think this is about me?” my mother shot back.     “Isn’t it? Isn’t the only reason you’re keeping this marriage because you don’t want to lose all the luxuries you have?” my father crossed his arms.     “No,” my mother glared at him.     “Don’t tell me then that the reason is because you actually love m--”     “It’s because of Junmyeon!” my mother barked, cutting my father off. I flinched at my name.     “If it weren’t for Junmyeon, I would have ended this marriage years ago,” my mother continued, her tone biting. She looked at my silent father and continued, “There’s no way Junmyeon is going to succeed as your heir without the both of us supporting him.”     “...” my father remained silent but soon slowly nodded in agreement. Was it that moment that a huge lump of burden began to grow in the pit of my stomach? My parents were fighting, clearly from a reason that developed over the years, and they decided to stay together because they wanted me as the next chairman. They chose to be miserable and stay with each other for me.       All throughout high school, my parents pushed me. They would constantly talk about our company or about business whenever I was around. My father would spend hours on lecturing to me about shareholders, ignoring my constant yawns, and my mother kept showing me brochures of prestigious, foreign schools I knew she wanted me to go to. I never chose the “chairman’s heir life,” but it sure chose me.       I didn’t know that what I had during those times was depression. I had absolutely no motivation to do anything; I had no motivation to live. I hated my parents putting on fake smiles whenever I entered the room, and I hated the load of burden I was carrying as the chairman's heir. Business and politics never interested me, but now, nothing really did.       I barely managed to finish high school, and I knew my grades weren’t good enough to get me into the schools my mother had thrown in my face. But that didn’t stop her from planning my entire future without my consent.      “That’s okay, Junmyeon. You can attend a university here for now, and we’ll arrange for you to go abroad for grad school,” she said with a tight smile.     I wanted to cry. I had no space to breathe. Why was she being so difficult? I wanted to shout at her to stop taking over my life, but her words replayed in my head: If it weren’t for Junmyeon, I would have ended this marriage years ago.       I did what my mother said. I went to the university she told me to go to. I got the grades she wanted me to get and I met the people she told me to have connections with. I was now living a life not for myself, but for her. For him. For them. That is, until my father passed away from a heart attack in my second year of college. I remember my mother’s solemn face at the funeral; she didn’t shed a single tear. I was shocked at that, but what broke me even more was the sight of her bold figure taking over my father’s place as chairman. I didn’t want to be a part of this loveless family anymore. Was the only thing they really cared about keeping the company up and running? Was I merely just a puppet being used?    Maybe I ought to thank my mother. If it weren’t for her, I probably never would have come across the most extreme thought I ever had: the thought of killing myself. And if I hadn’t gone up to the roof of my four story house that day, I never would have met my baby girl. I had thought that by dying, perhaps my mother would finally come to her senses. At this point, she was living a life for me, and I was living a life for her. We had a fragile relationship, but it was full of dishonesty and burdens. I wanted at least her to stop living for me and live for herself. I remember taking deep breaths at each step I took as I headed towards the roof.  I don’t remember how long I was standing on the edge of my flat roof, inches away from falling. But what I do remember is that standing on the roof, my entire street came into view. And on that street, a small figure came down along the street, riding on her bike. I had never seen her before, but I squinted to read the text on the basket sitting on the handles.  (y/n)’s Bakery  I knew the lady that ran that bakery; she made frequent deliveries to my neighborhood, and my mother was fond of her tarts. But who was that girl? I had never seen her before. Her hair whipping against the wind as she raised her head with a bright smile definitely caught my attention. And I don’t know how many minutes passed before she looked up, her eyes meeting mine for the first time.   Was it curiosity? Or confusion? Or just utter shock? Whatever was going through her mind, her eyes said it all. Her bike screeched to a halt, her eyes not leaving mine. She quickly hopped off, grabbed a box of pastries from her basket, and ran towards my house. I guess she was making a delivery.   Once she was out of sight, I faced the horizon again and took deep breaths. A million different emotions whipped through me, and the greatest one was sorrow. I felt bad for myself, for mother and father, and for the rest of the world who has to go on suffering. But another thought that came hammering into me was: would anything even change if I died? What if nothing changed and all I did was add onto my mother’s hardships? I shook my head. No, this was the right thing to do. I raised my head higher, ignoring the tears traveling down my cheeks, and was prepared to take a step forward when I heard the door to the roof burst open. “Stop!” I heard a high pitched shriek. Before I could even turn around to see who it was, a pair of arms grabbed my waist from the back, pulling me away from the edge. As I found myself on the ground, the pair of arms around me didn’t let go. I heard sobbing and when I turned to see who it was, my eyes enlarged at her face. It was the girl on the bike. How did she even get up here? And why was she crying so hard?  “Hey miss, are you alright?” I managed to get out of her grasp, but she remained on the ground. I put out my hand to help her up. But she refused, shaking her head fiercely as tears trailed down her face.  “Promise me you’re not going to do it,” she cried out. I was confused for a brief moment, until I realized that she knew what I was about to do. That’s why she rushed up here.  I remember telling her that it wasn’t for her to decide what I do, but her puffy eyes told me otherwise. Maybe it was her sincerity, or her tears, or her soft features, or her tight embrace. Or maybe all of that put together. Something about this girl, and her promise to show me that there was more to the life I was living made me stop. Just when I felt like dying was the right answer and there was no hope left for me, this girl reached out and helped me up. And all she offered was a hand.   The day I came down from my roof, things changed. And surprisingly or not, it was because of that girl. The following day, she appeared at my door and grabbed my arm, pulling me outside. We spent that day together, and for some reason, I didn’t mind. Her constant chatter and giggles, along with her guide-like spirit taking me to places I’ve never been to made me smile. For the first time in years. And I remember her ending the day with a tight embrace as she whispered into my ear that I was special and important. I looked into her eyes, and I knew she meant it. Hearing something like that from a girl I barely even knew instead of my own parents felt weird. But it was so warm. I went to bed with a smile that night. Also for the first time in years.       The girl came back every week, taking me to new places. Whether it was the nearest seashore or the farthest bookstore, each place had its own surprises. I don’t know how it happened, but I was slowly beginning to let this girl into my heart.   I learned that her name was (y/n) and that she was in highschool. Being an only child like me, she loved helping her mother out at their bakery. I began to grow fond of all her features: her soothing voice, her deep eyes, her lively expressions. She reminded me of how to smile and laugh again. The more time I spent with her, the more I forgot about the burdens I had. Was she an angel sent from above? She became my pain reliever, my antidote. And before I knew it, I found myself waiting for her to appear at my doorstep with excitement, wondering where she would take me to this time. College work became less stressful, and mother’s nagging became less burdensome. Life was beginning to look a lot better, all because of one girl.   And I will make it blunt: I fell for her. Hard.       “Why don’t you ever talk about your dad?” I had asked her one day. My tone was cautious, afraid it was a touchy subject. But I was curious. (y/n) talked about her mother a lot, but I never heard anything about her father.      “He passed away when I was little. I don’t have any memories of him,” she said without hesitation. I stared at her. She didn’t seem to look sad at this fact, but her voice lost energy as she went on, “I used to not care about the fact that I didn’t have a dad. I mean, my mom’s amazing and she went through so much raising me alone. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of my friends who tell stories about their dads.”     “Me too,” I said half laughing. She turned to face me.      “Did your dad pass away when you were little too?” she asked, her eyes large.     “No, he passed away in my second year of college,” I said bluntly.     “Then you probably have enough memories of him not to be jealous like me,” she said, turning away with a slight smile.     “No, I actually envy friends who have fun stories of their dads as much as you probably do,” I responded with a sigh. Her gaze came back on me. “My father and I never had the ideal relationship. All the memories of him have to do with either lecturing or yelling.”     “There wasn’t even one moment where you guys bonded?” she looks at me shocked.      “If there was, I wouldn’t be this bitter,” I said, laughing. She nodded understandingly as she sighed, “At least you had one.”     “Oh no, I didn’t mean to--” I started to shake my head, afraid that she misunderstood me. I didn’t want to sound like one of those ungrateful jerks who rub what they had to other people’s faces. I just really didn’t feel like I had the ideal father. But then again, neither one of us worked towards having a better relationship.      “No, that’s okay,” she smiled, cutting me off. It was that moment where I realized it was me that had the chance to comfort her. All this time, she alone had worked to make me feel better. I wanted to do the same, especially after seeing her gloomy eyes. I’d never seen her sad before, and it pained me more than anything.      “I’ll be that person,” I blurted as I looked at her. She faced me with a puzzled look. “I’ll be your daddy,” I repeated.       “Whoa, I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing,” she said with raised eyebrows as she leaned away from me.      “No,” I almost laughed when I realized what she meant. “I meant, I’ll be someone you can depend on. Someone just like the dad you lost. Someone to look after you, listen to you….and love you.”       I admit, that was the most awkwardest confession I could give but I meant every word I said. And the nice girl (y/n) was just laughed and nodded.        “Okay daddy,” she giggled. I remember my heart beating so fast I was scared it was going to burst out of my chest the first time I heard her say that. She then grabbed my hand and squeezed it. And looking into my eyes, she whispered, “Thank you.”        I haven’t forgotten a single memory with my baby; from the moments we spent at my house after I moved out of my mother’s home, to the very moment I asked her if I could even call her ‘baby,’ I remember everything. Each memory is so cherishable, and maybe that’s why I’m a bit distressed at the fact that (y/n) can’t remember them like me. After confessing to her and committing to look after her, I finally found myself wanting to live for not just someone else or even for myself. The ‘her’ and ‘me’ I lived for turned into ‘us.’ I wanted to live for us, and our future. I was motivated to become a chairman for us.         Ever since I got back and found her clueless about our relationship, I did all I could to make her remember again. But I don’t think anything I’ve done is working. I dyed my hair black again, since most of the time we were dating I had that hair color, and I tried to say certain things to bring up memories.   She still hasn’t called me ‘daddy’ yet.        But on one hand, it’s not as bad as I’m making this out to be. Starting over was frustrating at first, but I’m slowly beginning to realize that (y/n) is still (y/n). I want her to remember everything, but if there’s nothing I can do that hasn’t been done, then I might as well accept this situation. And besides, we’re making more memories even now.     The night we came back from the beach and shared our first real kiss since I’ve been back (which I had been longing for years), I decided to have hope. Even if my baby can’t remember our past, at least she’s still mine. And she wants me back. I had to use every muscle and will in my body not to go all the way with her that night, but it made me smile as I climbed into bed. The desire to have her next to me had to be suppressed...at least until she joins me here herself. I don’t want to force anything. I ended up hugging my pillow to sleep.   The following morning I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. It was Chanyeol.  “Hello?” “Good morning sir. Sorry to call you so early in the morning.” “That’s okay; what is it?” I struggled to sit up. “It’s about that car accident you wanted me to look into. We...found the car,” his low voice reached my ears, drilling into my brain. “And..?” I gulped as I waited to hear his response. “It’s been confirmed that the car belongs to Lee Junseok.”   It took me a few seconds to register the name.  My heart sank.  Then it ached.    A mixing pot of emotions stirred within me. Shock, anger, confusion, denial, rage--the list went on. I bit my lip and tried to stop myself from shaking so much.    I couldn’t understand why that car would belong to Lee Junseok.       Because Lee Junseok is mother’s personal driver.   *** Author's Notes:           I want to apologize for this gif-less, funless chapter (the gif above is me scurrying off to write the last chapter of Suho, promising my dear readers that I will come back with a monster chapter)!!!There's so much drama and conflict in this story--I did NOT think it was going to be this messed up hahaha so please bear with me^^I had to come up with Mr. Kim's back story somehow, and I honesly don't know if what I've written even makes sense, but our Mr. Kim had a pretty tough life... (sorry Junmyeonah)So THANK YOU to all my readers for saving the poor man:-)Like I mentiond above, this week we're going to finish up our time as Mr. Kim's secretary/baby XDDDAND it's going to be quite long... Thank you so much for reading, and I will see you all soon with the final chapter of KIM SUHO!Much love <3 <3 <3