Mortal Masks

Chapter Twenty Three

With the teke teke- or what's left of her- now suspended in the spirit realm, the wolves have had to get their hands- well, claws- dirty. Even more so than before.

Over his right shoulder, Jaemin glances to Renjun's empty seat. He wishes for his heart to be filled with disgust, for the violent clutches of anger to take hold of him once more, for him to be as seething as he was that night in the forest when Renjun looked at him, so nonchalantly...

Only he was met with nothing. He feels nothing.

Ever since that night, he's felt like a shell of himself, like his soul has been severed in half, like he was wandering around with half a heart. He felt so empty.

With his mother, his grief was debilitating. It was a constant storm of pain, and tears, and questioning every second he spent with her in those final moments- if he had said everything he wanted to say, if he had listened to all her lessons, wondering if he would ever smile again.

He thought this would be the same. He had braced himself for it to be the same.

But it wasn't.

He assumed all grief would present itself in the same way, he presumed that since he had fought and made it through the other side once before, he could do it again.

But where his first battle was a bloody one, full of fear and searing pain.

Here, now... He was stumbling through fog.

There was no unrelenting wave of anger and confusion to distract him from the deep pit in his heart that losing Donghyuck had left.

Instead, he's just left with self-pity and guilt.

"So, with all that said, our creative writing class today is going to be a bit different. We're going to take a break from all the wonderful work we've been doing on creating characters, and instead, I've got a little exercise for you to do."

Jaemin flipped open his notebook- images and scribblings of the teke teke causing his hands to slowly curl into fists.

"For today's class, I want you to write what you feel, to explore your emotions and unpick thoughts and feelings in an environment where you feel safe and supported. I often say..."

Jaemin stares at the blank page before him, the empty lines mocking him.

Write what you feel, he repeats to himself, repositioning his pen in his hand, only, what do you write when you feel nothing... when every stroke of the pen feels wrong?

Grief, loss, regret... none of them spark a want to write.

Every inked letter feels out of place, it feels obvious and stupid. The strokes make up words that people want to hear, that people expect... But Jaemin doesn't resonate with any of it.

Write what you feel.

Right now he feels frustrated.

Annoyed because writing has always come naturally to him, words were always flowing from his pen and onto paper, they always sounded right to him.

But what felt right to him now?

He couldn't write about his grief, about Donghyuck, because not only did he not know how to pen such feelings, to write about them... that would make them real.

These past three weeks haven't felt real. It's been like he's been stumbling through a haze, some twisted dream, a dream because this couldn't be real- he can't have lost such a dear friend.

"Jaemin?"

At the calling of his name, he looks up to face his teacher, their eyes so full of sorrow, "Are you having trouble getting started?"