The Temporary Girl | JJK Short Story [COMPLETED]

NINETEEN

Three days after that day, I was having lunch at my parents.

I hadn't heard from Jungkook at all, and deep down I knew what that meant. So instead of mopping around the house I had done something useful with my time and looked for another job.

I was hopeful I would find something soon, in the area that I wanted this time. In the end, his recommendation letter really had a nice weight to my résumé.

Today I had gone to an interview in a nice publishing company, for a reviser position. The salary was good, the ambience very comfy and it was something I really wanted to do.

And they said they really liked me.

Maybe things would work out their best, after all.

So I took the rest of the day to visit my mom. I had not been my best self the past days and I just needed something comforting for a day.

We were, just after lunch, hanging in the kitchen, as she washed the dishes and I dried them off.

- So, how'd your interview go?

- Pretty good, I guess. They said they would have an answer in two days. – I responded, putting another plate down. – I like it there, I hope I get it.

Silence filled the room for a moment.

- And what else is bothering you?

- Who says there's something else?

- Honey, I birthed you. I know when there's something wrong. – she mentioned, a sweet smile on her face. – What is it?

- It's nothing.

She arched an eyebrow, giving me the last spoon she had washed to dry, hip leaning against the counter.

Waiting.

- Its' just ...

And then, the barrier I had managed to keep up the last days broke, and the tears ran free.

- Nari? What's wrong, baby?

But I couldn't answer. The words didn't come, only tears.

I felt my mother embracing me and just held onto her as I never had. As if I was drowning and only she could save me.

As if I was a child again, and only her love could make it better.

She let me, mostly because she didn't know what to do in that moment. She just held me close and allowed me to let it out.

This was, in a way, pathetic.

The twenty something woman sobbing in her mother's arms, but I couldn't care less at the moment.

Minutes later, when the tears subsided, and I could properly speak, my mother smoothed my hair back and pulled me to the living room, sitting us on the sofa.

- Do you want to talk about it?

I shook my head in negative.

- Is it something I need to worry about? Health wise, perhaps?

- No, mom.

- Will you be okay, honey?

Would I?

I knew it sounded stupid, but I missed him. I missed the man from the weekend, but I also missed the authoritarian man who just wanted everything his way. I missed his deep voice when he was annoyed and the way he just ordered something through the intercom, as if the world revolved around him.

I missed the disgusted face he made when given bad coffee and I missed the look of pleasure on his face when he drank the coffee I had made for him.

I missed him.

And no amount of He's gone, get over yourself, made me miss him less.

So, as sincerely as I could, I answered.

- I don't know.

My mother looked at me with a million questions in her eyes and a measure of pity, but didn't push. She just hugged me and stroked my back, like she did when I was a child.

- You know I'm here if you need to talk. – she murmured, and I shook my head in her embrace. – But honey, whatever it is, and however difficult, do what you have to do.

I looked up at her, the remaining tears drying on the corner of my eyes, as she caressed my cheek.

- Do you know what you want?

- Yes.

- Then go get it.

How funny that it took crying like a baby in front of my mother to figure out what I had to do. And she was right.

I knew what I wanted.

I wanted him.

So right then and there, I figured I would either get him back or at least a good explanation to the last days.

And if he didn't want me anymore, he was going to have to say it to my face.

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