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kangjaehee · 2 years

Text

may.

alright bitches and bros lets fucking go. mystictober day 1 - favorite character.

title: may.

character(s): jaehee kang

rating: general

word count: 1848

tags: angst, grief, guilt, parental death tw, character study, inspired by she used to be mine from the waitress musical.

Jaehee set her espresso down on the table, opened her work planner, clicked her pen out. The time of the month had come once again where she looked at her life for the next month, the ever-changing, ever-approaching deadlines, the projects and trips and cancellations and meetings, and put them all in a neat, visually recognizable square calendar, and then in dedicated pages on a daily planner.

She also pulled out her tabs, which she used for a color-coordinated task system: purple for personal appointments, blue for company affairs, red for Mr. Han’s personal affairs, and yellow for events, of which there were few. There also used to be orange, for RFA matters, but that color went unused ever since Rika’s sudden leave.

Her planning system was complex and meticulous, something she’d developed and perfected over the years, and that she was quite proud of. She attributed whatever sanity she had to it; it was the reason why she wasn’t overwhelmed to the point of dysfunction by the quick pace of her environment.

She wanted to laugh. When she’d first started as Han Jumin’s assistant, knowing what that entailed, she was worried she would not be able to live up to it. Yes, she was a top student of a top five university, an early graduate of their business school, and some even named her a prodigy– but this was Han Jumin of C&R.

In the end, of course, she managed to do it, managed to pull through, like she always did. Her time management was still not flawless– she still barely had time for healthy, substantial meals, exercise, journaling, and other self-care activities that were necessary for both her physical and mental well-being– but it worked for her priority, which was her job. At least that always got done perfectly on time. And she was immensely glad for it.

Taking out a few highlighters, and opening her monthly planner (which was ZEN themed, of course, a collection of his greatest postcards from musicals and modeling shoots, each pic more majestic than the last; not very professional but it provided a necessary boost of serotonin), she got to work to get this next month sorted out.

May. Hell Note month– she should rewatch that when she has the time. The tail-end of spring, where the mid-year review had to begin its preparation to be presented in the first two weeks of June. There were a couple of office birthdays for which she had to buy gifts, a trip Mr. Han had to take to Italy, and another one to Houston.

May. It’s crazy how the year has flown by so fast. The winter was slow. Mr. Han’s ridiculous cat clothing line project had made her suffer for two weeks before being canceled abruptly once he changed his mind, some sort of grace of the heavens blessing her for once. Rika’s death anniversary came and went with a quiet chatroom. And then Zen’s new show came out, and then it was spring, and then they were here. That had been quick. She hoped the rest of the year would be the same, or at least not too heavy… not like last year, with the meerkat thing… Oh God, she was going to be 25 this year. She decided not to think about that.

May was also a month she was never exactly looking forward to. It was the month of her mother’s birthday and her father’s death. However much she tried, she couldn’t help but feel a little sad every time May rolled around.

She usually kept busy enough to distract herself, with school finals and internship paperwork, trying to not get distracted by her resurfacing grief, which was a weak spot. She could not afford the paralyzing, stifling sadness– not then, not now, not ever. She’d put it on a little chest when she was seventeen and top of her class, to keep it out of the way. But this time… it looked like it was going to be difficult.

Both dates fell on weekends. Which Saturdays weren’t exactly a day off for her– she still had to show up to the office for half the hours, but almost always wound up staying full time or more if there wasn’t another activity. Sundays, though, were completely blank. She didn’t come to the office unless it was an extreme situation, preferring to reset in whatever way she could, or get started on new projects. She wouldn’t have anything to distract her from the memory of her mother, or at least it wouldn’t be the same as being there, in the middle of activity. No amount of paperwork or emails or even musicals would be enough for her to hide.

She sighs. She knows she shouldn’t do this. She raced against her feelings and lost bitterly every time, crying at her desk late at night not knowing what to do. She always pushed through though, got over it and stood up and kept going, just like her mother had taught her to do. And she would this time too. She’d find something to cope with, find some way to let this near paralyzing grief not sedate her. She couldn’t afford that.

Briefly she sat back and wondered what her parents would think if they saw her now. Not allowing herself to feel or to even breathe lest she let her guard down. Would they even recognize her now, buried in paperwork, short hair and glasses and all? What would they think if they saw her like this, living day by day, living for the little things, focusing on what’s right in front of her to distract herself from the fact that there’s really nothing much beyond that? Would they look at her and recognize the girl they knew?

No, she realizes with a pang to her chest. They wouldn’t. The woman she was now was barely a shadow of the girl her mother knew, and only embers remained of the girl her father knew.

(She’s not too sure she remembers her well either, beyond the calm happiness she felt. It’s been twenty years).

Hell, she’s not sure she would even recognize herself. It’s been a lifetime since she was thirteen. Back then she was ambitious, driven towards great goals that she now can’t remember, oh my God she can’t remember. And now, she still has that same energy, that same capacity to endure, but it’s being applied towards simply keeping herself alive, and it’s a tragedy. It feels a little bit like a tragedy.

That girl, bright-eyed, whip-smart, and intrepid, is not here anymore. The girl that stares back in the mirror is burnt out, dissatisfied, and so very afraid.

Perhaps her mother wasn’t the only one who died in that car crash that fateful day. Whoever she used to be died too.

And it’s not an easy truth to recognize, nor something that fills her with pride. She’s angry, actually, it’s that kind of anger that claws at your stomach and makes it bleed, because this is not who her mother taught her to be. She didn’t raise Jaehee to give herself away like this. Jaehee never would’ve imagined herself giving herself away like this. But circumstances change for the worse.

And it’s true, she’s never been attention’s sweet center, never felt like the protagonist of her own life, always like a neglected side character trying with all her might to be noticed and make do. The world never had a place for people like her. She’s had to assimilate, fight for her own. And with that, came sacrifice. But, even then, she still remembers that girl, with her bright eyes, sharp wit, and kind smile.

Imperfect, but hardworking. When something didn’t work out the first time, she tried again, turning her poisonous frustration into deadly retaliation. A polar opposite to now, where she can’t afford to fall back. She was hard on herself– always has been, that’s perhaps the only constant of her entire existence, always feeling like she didn’t measure up, that she’d be knocked down and sent reeling if she didn’t sit safely at the top or near it, and never, ever allowing herself to be dragged down by her feelings. No, she had to be strong, for her mother. For herself.

(She was filled with so much fear, and so much guilt. For being so goddamn needy, so sad, so not the strong girl her mom needed her to be. She always felt so stupid for wanting love she knew she wouldn’t be able to get. And then, when she was on her own, sucked it up, because she knew no one would be able to give it.)

She never asked for help; no. Even when she needed it most, she’d figure it out on her own. She still does, although sometimes she wishes so badly to tear down her walls, reach her hand out of this wild ocean for anyone who sees it to grab it. Say hey, I am lost and don’t know for how much longer I can do this, I feel like I’m falling into an abyss I won’t be able to come out of. I am mourning my old self more than I’ve mourned anyone. (I think I haven’t felt safe enough to be vulnerable in fifteen years.)

Because, all in all, she was a mess of contradictions: messy in the way teenagers are, yet kind; ambitious yet bad at planning-, guilty yet selfish, lonesome yet craving connection however much she denied it. All of that, mixed up and baked into a beautiful, unique cake. And now, she was just someone who had grown into a tall child, unable to recognize herself past what others needed her to be.

There was a time when she belonged to herself. That time was gone. Mom, I am sorry, I would’ve let you down, you’d never let me go this far, but I had no choice. I had no choice. I hope you can forgive me.

She’d do anything to get herself back… if she could, if it wouldn’t kill her to do so. If she had the chance, how she’d go back and change the ending, not let that girl die and her dreams be lost, not let her become this, whatever it was. Because now, there was nothing else to be done.

Silently, she prayed, and she apologized. To her mother, to her father, to herself. She prayed for a light, perhaps, something to reignite that fire in her eyes that used to belong to her.

She looked at the mint highlighter on her left, didn’t take her eyes off it, and focused all her concentration on not crying.

Oh my God, she was not about to cry over some silly, random, utterly uncalled for bout of sadness. She could not afford to waste this much time sulking in her feelings. There was a month to plan. Get it the fuck together, Jaehee.

So she chugged her coffee, swallowing her burdens deep inside her stomach, and picked up her pen.

#MM_mystictober2022 #mystictober 2022 #my stuff #my writing #kang jaehee #jaehee kang #jaehee mystic messenger #mysme jaehee #jaehee mysme #mm jaehee #mysme angst #idk how to fuckin tag this honestly #tbh a Lot of this is based on my astro hc for her #which is that she's a virgo moon #lowkey this took a Direction i was a bit shocked by... lol #anyway enjoy :)

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