Chapter 18: Resurface of the trauma
I was at my mother's house, peacefully sleeping like a retired panda after a buffet, when someone decided to blast a war siren directly into my soul.
A loudspeaker.
Near my ear.
I screamed like I'd just been possessed by a banshee.
WHO ELSE—
WHO ELSE HAS THE AUDACITY—
Other than my demon spawn of a sister?
I came to my mother's house this morning because—surprise, surprise—she stole my blazer again.
To give it to Princess Maya, of course.
AGAIN.
The same blazer I was going to wear for my interview tomorrow.
Interview, as in, chance to re-beg for the job I got fired from because apparently…
"Mr. Jeon isn't a charity sponsor."
Yeah, thanks for that Ted Talk, Mr. Jeon.
So inspiring.
Just as I finished plotting my revenge in my dream, Her Royal Brattiness stood in front of me like she was about to throw me into the dungeon.
"Why are you here?" she asked, her nose so high up it was sniffing the ozone layer.
The attitude—
EXCUSE ME?!
Who does she think she is?!
Queen Elizabeth the Second Coming?
Even the Queen didn't serve this much sass with her tea.
"Why should I tell you?" I scoffed, and with zero hesitation, ninja-kicked her butt as I sprang off the bed like Jackie Chan's long-lost niece.
Mira-chan.
She yelped like a squirrel on fire and stumbled forward.
"You—! This is my house, you jobless monkey!!"
And then—
SHE. GRABBED. MY. HAIR.
I gasped.
The audacity again—
Jobless WHAT now?!
I'M THE ONE PAYING HER TUITION FEES!!!
"This is my MOTHER'S HOUSE, YOU PRICK! I'LL COME HERE WHENEVER I WANT!" I practically barked it, full exorcism mode activated.
And then—
My phone rang.
Both of us froze like it was the Hunger Games countdown.
No. No. NO—
She drop-kicked me like she was in the Olympics and lunged for the phone.
I reached out in slow motion like I was trying to catch a falling baby or the last French fry.
Too late.
She gasped dramatically.
Held up the screen like she'd just uncovered a government secret.
I squinted.
MR. JEON?!
OH GOD, NO.
IF THIS LITTLE GREMLIN PICKS UP—
"Mr. Jeon?" she asked with a devilish grin.
"IT'S MY BOSS!!" I shrieked, flying toward her like a raging tornado.
"Didn't he fire you?" she blinked innocently.
"Maya—"
"Are you having an affair with him?"
What in the chaebol K-drama nonsense—
WHAT. THE. HELL?!
"MUMMY!!! MIMI HAS A BOYFRIENNNNDDDDDDD!!" she screamed like a broken amplifier, shaking the tectonic plates of the house.
MY TYMPANUM IS IN SHAMBLES.
I teleported and rugby-tackled her off the bed, snatched my phone like it was the last lifeline in a game show.
WHY IS SHE LIKE THIS?!
AND WHY IS HER BRAIN FILLED WITH SO MANY UNNECESSARY ROMANCE TROPES?!
ME?
HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH MY BOSS?!
THE MAN WHO FIRED ME WITH A POWERPOINT SLIDE?!
If my mom hears this, I'm dead.
Buried.
Cancelled.
Because even though she claims she wants to see me get married, the woman only approves arranged marriages with some guy she finds on her neighborhood auntie WhatsApp group.
And guess what?
She walked in.
Holding a spatula like she was about to stir-fry the drama.
"What's going on here?" she interrogated with the eyes of a retired KGB agent.
"MOM!! MIMI—"
I slammed my hand over Maya's mouth so fast I almost choked her by accident.
"She has piles, that's all."
I smiled sweetly.
My mom stared like we both needed psychiatric help. Then walked away, leaving the door wide open because she only knows how to open doors—never close them.
I grabbed a pillow and began Operation: Sister Suffocation.
"Die, you ugly bish."
She retaliated by yanking my hair like she was harvesting weeds from a garden.
I screamed.
WW3 erupted.
Phone rang.
Again.
Mr. Jeon.
I gasped and disengaged like a peace treaty was suddenly signed.
Held up a finger.
"Let me please pick up this call, madam, or I swear I'll be jobless forever 🙏🏻" I begged
She rolled her eyes and waved her hand like a Roman empress giving me permission to breathe.
This daughter of a—
Calm down, Mira.
Securing employment is more important than murder.
I inhaled peace.
Exhaled karma.
Picked up the call. Walked to the balcony—
The only place in the house where drama goes to die.
"Hello?" I answered, fake smile activated.
Silence.
"1 missed call. 3 rings. 50 seconds. Do you not want this job?"
Sir, please.
Not now. Not today.
"No no sir! I was… in the bathroom!"
I said, lying like a criminal.
"N-nature's call!"
Even I cringed at that.
I could hear him mentally vomiting.
Then the voice returned.
"Be there sharp at 9 AM tomorrow. Or else you're cooking in jail."
CUT.
...hello?
What the—
YOU CALLED ME AT THIS TIME TO DELIVER A THREAT?!
Is this a job interview or Squid Game?
I stared at my phone.
I wanted to jump through the screen, grab him by his expensive hair, and pluck each strand out like I was threading eyebrows for vengeance.
Lord, give me strength.
As I stood on the balcony plotting how to keep Mr. Jeon as a chicken forever (for the sake of humanity, obviously), my sister yeeted the door open like a storm warning.
"I PATCHED UP WITH JIHUN!!" my sister screamed as she burst onto the balcony like she just won an Oscar for Best Clown in a Romantic Tragedy.
She looked so proud, as if reconciling with her toxic ex was a Nobel Peace Prize-worthy achievement.
And before I could even blink or scream "CALL THE EXORCIST!", she darted back inside like she'd committed emotional tax fraud.
I stood frozen.
My eye twitched.
My soul evaporated.
My blood pressure said, "Time to break records."
WHAT THE ACTUAL FROG?!
I stormed after her like a one-woman SWAT team and tackled her onto the sofa again.
"ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?! YOU SWORE—NO, YOU BLOOD-OATHED—THAT YOU'D NEVER PATCH UP WITH THAT HOBBIT!!"
"So did you" she said casually, fluffing her hair like a celebrity at a press conference. "but you patched up with your crusty ex like, what—ten times?"
My internal organs cringed in sync.
My liver folded itself.
My kidneys booed.
Why is she bringing THAT up?!
"That was YEARS ago!" I screeched. "I was a CHILD!"
"You were 19."
"My brain was a fetus!!"
"It still is" she muttered with the energy of a bored receptionist.
"Go choke on your organic kale smoothie" I snapped.
"At least I didn't cry on the kitchen floor because my ex left me on read" she said, looking bored, like this was just another Tuesday in Keeping Up With the Kims: Toxic Sister Edition.
I groaned.
I could feel it.
My past—
The ghosts of exes and text messages and "I miss you's are rising from the dead.
I REFUSE TO LET THAT ERA RESURFACE.
Don't think about the "u up?" texts.
Don't remember the time I made cupcakes for a man who said "I have diabetes"— and ate chocolates in front of me right after.
DON'T THINK ABOUT THE TIME I BOUGHT MATCHING BRACELETS.
NO—
"You're gonna regret this" I muttered, glaring at her with the intensity of a rejected K-drama villain.
"This is my first trial" she said with a smug grin.
First trial.
Oh. Oh, she thinks this is a trial?
This isn't a game show, sweetheart.
This is Ex-Boyfriend Survivor: The Island of Regret.
And she just voted common sense off the island.