the 1 | chaennie

56. Dress

She still bristled at some of the things they said about her, but it no longer got in her head. The distance she'd put between herself and Instagram and Twitter had helped, and although she missed the silly, frivolous posts of parties with her friends or funny anecdotes, the closeness with fans that she otherwise would never interact with, it was a necessary precaution. Now, it was little more than a means to promote her work and the occasional event or subtle hint that it took months for her fans to cotton on to. She had breathing room again, and some semblance of a private life that stayed private. It had taken some pruning of certain friends and employees to assure that.

"Instead, I settled for getting my shit together. Now that wasn't easy."

-

It was miraculous what a few weeks could do. That morning after Jennie had stayed the night, Rosie woke feeling as if something had shifted inside her. Tired, yet burning with determination, she cooked up waffles and eggs for breakfast, her plate heaped with more food than she'd eaten in a while. She and Jennie sat at the dining room table, but Rosie didn't say much, pensive as she lost herself in her thoughts. Sensing her brooding air, Jennie left quickly after breakfast, the distracted answers tossed her way pointing towards Rosie's preoccupation.

Rosie didn't speak to her much over the following six weeks, holing herself up in her home as she poured out all her alcohol and emptied the pills into the trash, as she had Irene arrange for a meditation teacher to come by every morning, a chef to personally cook her meals and healthy drinks with whey protein and vitamins. With an inclination for staying up through the night to watch the sunrise on her balcony or through the windows, restless and exhausted, Rosie rectified that and quickly found herself rising with the sun, before journaling in the study and reading poetry for an hour as she drank tea.

She tried everything; hot baths with salts and oils, a massage therapist to come and work the kinks out of her muscles in the comfort of her rented home, ordered a weighted blanket and incense to burn for a soothing aroma drifting through the house. Copious amounts of tea and strictly no coffee, baking sugary desserts that helped make up for lost calories and the gnawing hunger in her slender frame.

In six weeks, the change was startling. The hollow exhaustion and weary slump to her shoulders from a worn-out body and defeated soul had perked up, her cheekbones less angular and eyes less sunken, the bruises fading to faint smudges as her brown eyes shone like polished jade. She had her hair done and garnered a faint tan from the hours spent on the balcony each morning, making her seem less washed out and sickly, her regular meals and better nights of sleep adding a few pounds. It was a start, at the very least.

And then she called a business meeting to inform her team and the record label that her album would be somewhat delayed. It didn't go over that well with Park Chanyeol, but there were looks of relief and pride in her team's eyes, Irene and Hyeri seeming to deflate slightly at the idea, at her newfound spark that wasn't born from snark and frustration. Citing a need for some time to look after herself, to work on her best work and remove herself from the public for a while, even Chanyeol finally relented, understanding the need to not jeopardise his biggest artist and income in his label.

Rosie actually felt okay again, somewhat alert and present, a rare serenity taking hold inside her as she completed simple tasks around her home, calling friends and family she'd neglected for weeks, if not months. Clare, she spoke to regularly, but even after a month, there was a liveliness to Rosie that her mother could see, a physical change, like a switch had been turned on. And Rosie could see that her mother was doing okay too, sounding pleased over Facetime as they talked for an hour one morning as Rosie enjoyed her shakshuka and a green smoothie, the chef having just left.