⫣23⫦ Pretty little lies

Lian POV

I should be afraid of many things. Like my parents smelling the smoke in my hair, or see the smudges of the make-up I haven't been able to get rid off on my way home.And the way I still see double as I walk through the door.But apparently even drunk, I am a brilliant actress.

I manage to quickly rattle some lies about how fun and educational the time with the math club has been and then quickly excuse myself by saying I'm tired from staying up past my curfew.

I should be freaking out about the fact that I haven't even started learning for the biology test next week because I've been busy robbing a gas station and getting drunk. But I'm not. I only fear one thing.Only one thought that has me freaking out, and it's the sudden realization about my own feelings and how deep they run. Here I am, drunk in my bed, ready to risk anything for a boy I've just met- and the rest of BTS too. I have no idea at which point I've let it go that far, but there is no turning back now.

I feel like I have taken an express train without checking the destination and it just keeps on driving, no breaks to stop the speed it has set. I drag myself to the shower and then fall into bed like a stone. But even though my body is exhausted and the alcohol still makes my thoughts blurry, I can't fall asleep. Every time I close my eyes I see the pain in Taehyung's eyes. I wonder who did that to him- who hurt him so bad he's drowning in the memories of it. And then I quickly try to think of something else- anything else, because hate- deep and unforgiving hatred unlike I have ever felt rises up in me. I have never know it was possible to hate someone so much, but if I ever find out who hurt him so badly it left him scared for life, I cannot be held accountable for my actions.

***

I wake up the next morning more tired than when I went to sleep. At one point during the night I must have drifted off and finally gotten some much needed sleep. But not enough. Still, I drag myself out of bed, knowing it's expected of me. Despite all the changes and world-shaking discoveries about my own self, I still can't bring it over my heart not to be the daughter my parents want me to be. I get dressed quickly and head downstairs. The house is spacious and modern and around every corner, my mother hung one of her acquired artworks, like they are trophies she wants to look at every day. She is in the kitchen now, preparing what looks like omelet while whistling a tune. The sun is already up and shining through the large windows onto my mother's bleached hair. She has it twisted up artfully and fastened with a jade pin. Her blue dress is simple yet striking, hugging her slim body, that is so much like my own. The ruby my father has gifted her to one of their wedding days as always decorates her neck.

It's a monstrous thing, and I suppose my mother only wears it for my father. It really doesn't match with most of her clothes. She finally sees me approach and gifts me a bright smile, her brown eyes warm in the morning light. "Morning, my darling. You're up late." I take a seat at the kitchen counter and try my best at a happy smile. "I'm sorry for coming home late last night."

Lie. "I'll try to not make it a habit." Lie. "But I made a lot of friends and I really like them." Not a lie but a massive understatement.

My mother's expression doesn't change as she only nods and goes back to preparing the food meticulously, every motion precise yet smooth. I take out the book and do as I usually do: read in silence.And I wonder, for the first time, if I read because I actually enjoy it, or if I use it as a distraction not to talk and loose myself to stories where the characters are free and wild, leading such fantastic and exciting lives while my own feels more like a prison. The thought scares me more than it should, perhaps because I hit a softs spot. A truth I rather not see, but staring right in my face as the words keep blurring and my mind drifts off. Questions bubble up in me, but I try to shove them down, knowing my mother doesn't like me asking too many and certainly not while she's cooking. But they keep rising until I feel like I'll choke on them. "Mom, can I ask you something?" As expected, it gets me a warning look. "Honey, you know I don't like questions that early in the morning. And I'm cooking." I resist an eye roll. For one because it can hardly be described as early and the other because I know exactly what she needs to hear to give me an answer. "I know, but it's about one of the friends I made. She is the president of the math's team and really seems to like me. We talked a lot yesterday and she asked me for advice, but I didn't know how to answer. I think she would really appreciate it if I can help her out." That finally gets my mothers attention. "All right then, go on darling," she says after a moment and starts cutting some onions. "Well, she actually has boy trouble." My mother immediately looks up again, like she hadn't expected the word "boy" to even exist in my vocabulary, and certainly combined with "trouble" in one sentence, so I am quick to go on. "You see, she says she is absolutely fascinated by this boy and would do anything for him even though they've just met. And she asked me if it was wrong of her to feel like that." I never lied to my parents before BTS had come into my life. But ever since, it seems like the only thing I do. Tell lies and half-truths. I am still waiting for the shame to fill me and I have no idea what it says about me that it doesn't come. My mother looks at me for a long time, then goes back to cutting the onions and for a moment I think she is not going to answer. "It depends on the boy and whether he is good for her. She shouldn't just think about how she feels, that is childish. She needs to make sure he can offer her things. Like a safe future, secure income and a respected status. If that's the case, there is no reason she needs to worry about being willing to do anything for him. It's actually better. You see, in a relationship, you sometimes need to change yourself for your partner and make compromises. That's just how it works."

I blink, sitting there like a moron. Absolutely everything about her advice basically screams that I am wrong to feel what I feel.

BTS definitely doesn't promise me a save future- quite the opposite. And they never asked me, nor would they ever want me to make any compromises on my character, nor hold back from doing the things I want to do. They just wanted me to be myself.

I speak before I can think better of it. "Is that the reason you married dad? Because he gave you a future and helped you earn respect?" My mother looks up sharply at my accusatory tone, and I quickly put on an innocent face, like I really am just curious. She sighs disappointed but to my surprise, actually answers. "Look at our life, Lian. Isn't it perfect? We have everything we want and it's all thanks to your dad. Does it matter why I married him? Love came eventually and we are happy now. And we have made such a beautiful, perfect daughter together. How could marrying your father not have been the best thing I did?" I have to look away from her. I'm not a deep romantic by any means. All those book talking about true love, prince Charming riding to your safety on a white horse before taking you with him to the happy ever after as you ride in the sunset is a load of bullshit in my eyes. And yet, the way my mother talks about her relationship with my father sounds....cold. Calculated. Like getting together with my dad was nothing but tactics and planning- their marriage an advantage and profitable rather than done out of desire to be together. "Ah, my beautiful daughter is awake."I jump, getting ripped out of my thoughts as the voice booms behind me and I turn to see my father descent the stairs into the living room and adjoining open kitchen. He is dressed in a blue linen shirt and beige suite pants, not a wrinkle to be detected on his perfectly pressed clothes. People always tell me I look like him, but apart from the eyes, I don't see it.

He always manages to inspire respect and admiration whenever he enters a room and a charming smile rests constantly on his face. Every step he takes, every conversation he hold carries with it his aura of power and authority like no other I have ever seen. Perhaps it's the reason I always looked up to him.

So strong and unmovable that father of mine. Sure of himself in every aspect of his life- the exact opposite of how I felt all those years. He immediately goes to give my mother a sweet kiss on her cheeks while she stops her cutting to smile at him lovingly. Then he turns to me. "You look a little tired today, Lian. Better not make breaking curfew a habit, all right?" He turns to make coffee but I can't hold myself back from saying: "I wasn't breaking curfew. That would entail that you hadn't allowed it- which you did." He turns and smiles widely. "Such a smart young woman. You're right. But seeing how exhausted you look, I simply wanted to advice against staying up so late in the future." Usually I would have smiled at the compliment and immediately agreed. But I only go back to pretending to read, staying silent. When my mother is nearly done, I start setting the table and we all sit. It's a family rule: breakfast and dinner together whenever it's possible. They sit side by side in front of me at the modern, black glass table, so large that even if both sides reach out their hand, we wouldn't touch.

The space between us always seemed normal, a sight and feeling I was used to. But now... My father is studying the newspaper and my mother skips through an art magazine. I stare down at my plate, inspecting the perfectly folded omelette and the precisely cut vegetables and immediately think of the burger and fries I ate with the boys only yesterday. "Are you not hungry, my dear?" my mother suddenly interrupts my memory and I look up, realizing I must have drifted off. "I used organic eggs- the one you like so much." I look down again and wonder when I ever said that. Is there even a difference in taste between organic and normal eggs? And do I even like omelette? I never questioned it before. Slowly, I pick up the cutlery. "No, mom. I am hungry. Thank you." My father glances up from behind the newspaper and then sets it down, shooting me a worried glance. "Is everything all right with you, Lian? You've been a little off these past days. We've barley seen you and when we do you look tense and tired. Is everything all right in school?" Okay, maybe I'm no that good an actress. I already start shaking my head when a wave of nausea hits me and the words just tumble out by themselves. "What if I don't want to become doctor any more, dad?" Now he looks truly worried, but it's my mom who answers."But honey, you always wanted to become a doctor."Ah, no I didn't? But I don't say that. "And what if I told you I changed my mind and no longer want that?"It's perhaps a desperate attempt to make Hwasa's words ring false. But I kept dreaming about it last night- as she told me my parents never asked my what I wanted or cared about. My mother's expression tightens and she opens her mouth to speak but my dad is faster. "And what would you want to do instead?" I look at him for a long time. I have absolutely no idea. I never really thought about what I wanted before. What am I good at? What interests me- really interests me, except spending time with BTS? My father smiles, the worried expression gone. "See? You're just a little shaken by the move and the new environment, darling. You'll get used to it soon and you'll see we know you better than you know yourself. Becoming a doctor is perfect for you. You always like to help people, caring and sweet as you are. You'll see. We know best, so just trust us." I search for something to say in response, but can't find anything. So I just nod and finally start eating. I try not to make a face. I most definitely do not like omelette, organic eggs or not.