Page 58 of When Worlds Collide
A few minutes had passed in silence, before I said the thing that had been sitting in the back of my mind, ever since he’d told me about the funeral, and the way people had terrorisedhis family. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what living under that spotlight would feel like. To go from having millions of fans supporting you, buying your records and streaming your songs, to then seeing people you didn’t even know picketing your grandmother’s house and screaming for you to die – all because of who you were and what you did.
I straightened, holding his hand tighter. “Joon, have you ever considered going to therapy?”
To my surprise, he laughed. I looked over my shoulder at him, but his face was pinched.
“The company insists on it,” he replied, leaning back, pulling out of my hold. “Every month we have to go.”
I frowned. “You never told me that.”
“Do you tell me every time you see your doctor?”
I swallowed the automatic response that I probably would have done, if I’d had cause to go during the course of our relationship. Instead, I twisted on the bed to face him, watching carefully. “Does it help?”
He blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Would it help you?” His eyes flashed to mine, and while the words were a challenge, the gleam in his eyes was a shade of vulnerability so stark in the dim light of the morning.
I bit back my knee-jerk reaction, and instead I considered my response.
“I think, maybe it might help if there were things I could learn, like, coping mechanisms, or something.” I shrugged. My knowledge of therapists stretched exactly as far as seeing them on TV shows.
Jihoon rolled his eyes, and I flinched in surprise.
“I cope just fine, Kaiya.”
I looked down, more to hide the emerging irritation I knew would show on my face than any real desire to inspect my bittenfingernails. Because what I wanted to say was, ‘clearly you don’t’. But I was trying very, very hard not to get into an argument with him right then. Even if he was being a complete ass.
I took another breath. A nice, big deep one.
“I’m sorry if it feels like I’m prying,” I said calmly, “I’m just trying to understand.”
He muttered something under his breath, and I didn’t understand because he’d said it in Korean, which meant he didn’t want me to understand it.
Breathe…
“Sorry, what was that?” I gritted my teeth.
“Nothing, just a joke.” He shuffled off the bed, and I watched him, incredulously, as he walked across the room. I felt a tic across my jaw.
“About me? Because you said it in Korean.”
He slammed the dresser door closed. “I speak Korean.”
I stood up. “And you know that I don’t.”
“Not my problem.” He turned away, walking across the room to the wardrobe.
“No,” I followed after him, “but we’re about to have a fucking problem, Baek Jihoon.”
He turned around, leaning against the wardrobe like we were having a casual conversation. I put my fists on my hips, irritated that even slouching, I still had to tilt my head up to look at him.
“What problem?”
Was he fucking kidding me right now?
“Right now, you’re looking at it. Don’t talk to me like this. Don’t talk to me like I’m an inconvenience, like I’m being a dickhead for wanting to know if my boyfriend is going to therapy to work through his obvious trauma. I’m caring, Jihoon!” I spread my arms. “This is me caring!”
“I didn’t ask you to!”
I blinked at him, my arms flagging. “Care about you?”
