Chapter 29; Broken shards

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That evening, I was walking down the garden path with earphones in, ready to go straight to bed and shut out the world. I noticed my dad standing in the living room window, the TV glowing behind him.

"Where were you this weekend?" He said when I walked in through the door. I slipped the bag off my back and dumped it on the floor.

"Um...the writers' retreat, Dad?"
"Funny, because I was chatting with Haknyeon's mother earlier today and she didn't know anything about any writer's retreat."

A nervous heat rising inside me.
"Haknyeon didn't come. She's not into this stuff. Changmin was busy-"
I made a move for the stairs, but Dad was standing in the way.

"That would be convincing if it wasn't for the fact that I contacted the head about it, and he said the school had never run a writer's retreat in Dom. Not this year... not ever."

I had no answer to this. I tried not to breathe and dad finally broke.
"Where the hell have you been all this time?"

"I...Dad..." There wasn't time to make anything up. Perhaps, though, I could get away with telling him the truth... just not the whole truth.

"I was with a group- a band."
Dad stared back at me. He looked confused at first, then the confusion turned into anger.

"A group? A band?"
"Just some people who used to go to my high school They asked me to go on a tour with them and take photos. It's no big deal."

He grabbed me by my wrist, and it stung.
"Believe me, this is a very big deal. It's inappropriate for a girl your age, and it's dangerous, and I won't allow it. Do you understand?" I didn't reply.

"Where were you?"
"I already told you. Doms."
"Jesus, Yoona. Anything could have happened." Dad's shirt quivered with his uneasy breathing.

"First the curfew, then the message through the door, now this. What's happened to you? We can't go on this way."

I was losing the fight, and it was fraying my temper. I knew I'd regret whatever come out of my mouth next.
"What're you going to do then, Dad? Ground me?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do." I glared back at him. He has never disciplined me before, not like this.
"What?"

"Go to your room. This conversation is over."
"Fine! I couldn't care less anyway," I said, snatching my back from the floor, showing past him, and walking up the stairs.

"If you want to be treated like an adult," he called after me. "you'll need to start behaving like one," I called back over my shoulder.

"Well done, Dad. That one was right out of The idiots' Guide to Parenting."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing!" I yelled back, slamming the bedroom door behind me.

Downstairs, a kitchen drawer clinked angrily, and I heard the cork popping from a wine bottle. I crossed over to my drawer, took out the photograph of my parents, and stared into it as if trying to peer backward through time.

My head was filled with noise: the hateful messages on my phone, lines from Juyeon's songs, the letter to my brother, my father's secrets, my mother's words to Yep, the roaring of an engine, man in the dark on the cliffside.

The noises filled my ears until my brain began to scream, my eyes wet with tears, a hammering pain in my rib cage.

I bent down and pulled the sheets around me, fists clutched to my chest, tears coating my cheeks.

I ached for someone to hold me, to tell me everything would be alright, to dry my eyes and stroke my hair and say 'sweet dreams' and swing me to sleep. I missed her. I missed my mom more than ever in 18 years.

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