I guess it's time.
I sat my fourth glass of wine on my home-desk on a coaster placed far enough away from my laptop for comfort and stared down at the file.
Do I really want to open this?
Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
I opened the file with closed eyes took a deep breath before opening them.
Mariana Holland?
Even her name is pretty.
Graduate student at Berkeley studying for her Computer Programming MFA, a 4.0, and three internships under her belt?
I'm gonna need something stronger than just wine.
I stood up out of my seat and walked over to my kitchen, opening the alcohol cabinet and seeking out whatever I had with the highest percentage. I pulled out my strongest vodka and with zero hesitation, chugged about 1/4th of it before taking it with me back to my desk.
Stumbling as I went, I made it back and sat down abruptly, setting the vodka down and groaning loudly before continuing to read her file.
This girl is so boring, what could Minho possibly see in her?
I began searching up her name on all social media sites, including Anaïs.
This girl really has no idea what privacy is, huh? It's like she's never seen a horror movie. Or the news, for that matter.
She wants to be seen and I'd hate to think it's by you, Minho.
Alameda, born and raised. An older sister named Deirdre and a younger brother named Valerian.
Parents split when she was 14, mom dropped out of the picture.
Graduated from UCLA and then onto Berkeley to pursue her dreams of making video games.
How cute.
Now she still programs, but barely. Too busy living her life as "her most authentic self." How ridiculous is that?
Minho, I know that this girl is absolutely not your type. You want something deep, and real. You want meaningful, you don't want something sordid and used. This isn't you.
The next thing her social media gave me was her address.
55 Vandewater Street.
Affordable living, huh?
As the alcohol truly began kicking in as I scrolled and scrolled through her socials, the rage inside of me was burning like a wildfire. Her self-aggrandizement and willingness to show herself off for you to see makes me feel ill.
You don't want this, Minho. You don't want some caricature of an LA-stereotype. You want me.
I began shaking with an unfamiliar feeling of jealousy, replaying the image in my mind of seeing her standing in front of him with her hair twirled in her fingers like she wanted him to bend her over and fuck her in front of the entire 25th floor.
I haven't even been properly introduced and I hate her more than I've hated anyone else.
"FUCK!"
I slammed the bottle of vodka against my wall and began ripping up her file and application like my life depended on it. I threw my glass of wine against the wall and shut my laptop, knowing I'd had enough. I stumbled to my bedroom and threw my shirt off, laying back on my bed and staring at my ceiling.
Minho, what if she's using you? What if she's dangerous? What does she want from you?
I have to find out.