Standing in line to board the flight, you check your ticket. A part of you believed someone was pulling a very elaborate joke until you signed the contracts, until Jimin stopped you in the hallway to ask how your interview went, butterflies fluttering at the memory.
The line begins moving. Entering the plane, the flight attendants greet you with wide, toothy smiles as you make your way to your seat in the business class section. The seats are arranged in pairs, finding yours next to the window. The screen on the back of the chair in front of you is larger than the small square in coach, and the seats are made with extra padding and more room at your feet. There are tall panels around the two chairs, providing some privacy.
You feel out of place, but try your best to act like you belong. Stretching out, you open the window to let the late afternoon light in and feel your phone vibrate.
Nikki
how did the interview go?
Jasmine
really well…
they offered me the job!!!
Nikki
AHHHH
I KNEW IT
see you didn’t have anything to worry about!
now what?
Jasmine
I’m flying back to Memphis to pack and give my 2 weeks notice at the hospital
but Nikki
I signed an NDA
Nikki
oh shit
Jasmine
I know
so you CAN’T TELL ANYONE
and I mean ANYONE
not even your mom
I think I could get sued or something if Big Hit finds out I’m telling you anything
definitely fired
Nikki
I SWEAR I won’t tell anyone
you have my word
Jasmine
I know you won’t
they’re flying me out to the New York show on 10/6!!
Nikki
WHAT
Jasmine
I guess this is my life now??
oh hey I gotta go
my flight’s leaving
Nikki
okay def talk soon!
You switch your phone to airplane mode as the flight taxis to the runway, wrapping the airline-provided blanket around you. Exhausted, you drift off to sleep.
• • •
You open the door to the apartment with your suitcase in tow, rolling it into your bedroom. Sitting on the bed, the one bedroom apartment feels smaller than it did before, the walls feeling more like a cage.
The two weeks notice royally pissed your manager off, but there wasn’t much to say in the email you sent when you landed. Even for a multi-million dollar corporation that could afford to pay you to stay, they won’t. You always knew you were expendable.
You’re leaving one corporation for another but getting actual benefits working for Big Hit. The pay is…generous. It’s almost double what you make working in the ICU and more than enough to be comfortable on the road.
As you get up to unpack your clothes, anxiety whirls with giddiness in your stomach. You remember Chin-Hwa mentioned physical assessments as part of your job description, and a deep blush spreads across your cheeks.
If I’m going to work with BTS, I have to get over them. Fast.
You pour your clothes into the washing machine, start it, and make your way over to sit on the couch. Taking out your phone, you look at a picture of BTS. Sparks of star-struck excitement flare, and you press down against them, snuffing out the visceral reaction until only embers of the feeling remain. Pleased with yourself, you feel a glimmer of hope that you won’t completely make a fool of yourself working with them.
You decide to test yourself with a picture of Jungkook.
Heat tears through your whole body, your heart pounding against your ribs. You try shoving the feeling down as the same eyes that lingered on you earlier that day stare back at you, his soft, styled hair framing his face. A fiery coil unfurls in your chest, snaking to your abdomen and stopping between your legs.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Throwing your phone at the couch, the foreboding returns like a weighted blanket draped around you.
I’m so fucked.
• • •
You open the door to see your mom dressed in her usual trendy attire. You both embrace, exchanging pleasantries. Pine and sage scents fill the air from the candle you lit before her arrival, and a bottle of wine sits unopened on your kitchen counter with a pair of matching glasses. “How’ve you been? I know last time we talked, you didn’t seem too happy,” your mom says, taking a seat at your modest dining table.
You twist the end of the wine opener into the cork. “Things have gotten a lot better,” you say, a smile pulling at your lips. The cork makes a pop leaving the bottle. “That’s the reason I invited you over, actually.” You fill the two glasses with the red, spicy wine and bring them to the dining table, handing one to your mom. “I got a new job.” Your smile grows. “I can’t say too much about it, though. I signed an NDA.”
Her brow furrows. “What nursing job requires you to sign an NDA?” she asks, sipping her wine.
“All I can say is that I’m on the medical staff for a musician and joining their tour the first week of October,” you say, beaming. “Honestly, I probably shouldn’t even tell you that much.” The more you speak it, the more real it becomes.
Your mom’s expression hardens, and your smile slips. “I should know who’s whisking my child away to God knows where.”
Guilt sears your chest, and you take a drink from your glass to buy yourself some time. “I’m sorry, but if I tell you anything else, I can get fired, sued, or I don’t even know. Please trust me when I say that I’m really happy for the first time in a very long time. I promise I’ll be safe and keep you updated. This is the chance of a lifetime.” You hold her gaze, hoping she senses the sincerity.
She waves a hand. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. You should be focused on getting married and planning for kids.”
You choke on your wine, anger brewing in your stomach. “I’m 25.”
She sits back in her chair, holding her glass. “Your twenties are the best time to fall in love and start a family. If you wait too long, it’s hard on your body.”
“I don’t want kids. I’ve already told you that.”
“How can you say that? You’re 25. You’ll change your mind. Besides, your family is here. You’re really going to leave? Family is there for you when no one else is. I’m sure it can get lonely on the road. And think of all the skills you’ll lose working out of the hospital. It’ll be hard to go back.”
Anxiety squeezes your chest and throat, making you air hungry. “I think I know myself enough to know what I want. And you don’t seem to have my back right now.”
“Of course I do. I know you better than anyone! I’m your mother.”
The grip on your glass tightens as you resist the urge to throw it in her face. “I have a chance to be happy. What about that do you not understand?” you ask, a knot forming in your throat that you swallow down.
“You need to tell dad,” your mom says after taking a sip. “He deserves to know what his daughter is doing.”
You scoff. “So he has a right to know where I am, but he can dip in and out whenever he wants?”
“I’m not arguing with you. Call him.”
Feeling like you have a gun to your head, you pick up the phone and call him.
“Hey, Jasmine!” your dad answers on speaker. You’re unsure what time zone he’s in, but you hear voices and music in the background.
“Hey. I need to talk to you about something. Mom’s here.” A thin layer of sweat forms on your skin as your heart pounds in your ears, reminding you of so many other moments like this one.
“Okay,” he says.
You explain you’re touring with a musician and signed an NDA, reassuring him that you’ll be safe.
“Absolutely not.”
You taste bile as your hands shake, an all-too-familiar rage boiling beneath your skin. “Look,” you say to both of them, “I’ve already signed the contract and turned in my notice at work. I have one week left. I’m going.”
“Tell me who hired you. Now. I have a lawyer who can look into this contract,” your dad says.
“You need to tell us, Jasmine,” your mom says, leaning forward and touching your forearm. You yank it away.
Panic rises to grip your heart as tears burn your eyes, feeling like a cornered animal. “No.”
“Tell–”
You end the call. Your mom’s eyes widen across the table from you, her glass empty.
“You need to leave,” you say, hot tears falling.
She stands. “You’ll regret this when you’re on the road alone.”
As soon as the door closes, you lock it, but it doesn’t seem enough to keep you safe. Barbarous rage rips and burns your flesh. Sobbing with weak legs, you find your bed and curl into it, wrapping the blankets around you. You desperately search for a hint of yourself within, a crushing heaviness finding its place in your chest. Burying your sobs into the pillow, you let them heave until they slow enough for you to catch your breath.
Wiping your wet face, emptiness fills you. In spite of yourself, you hear their voices repeat their arguments, and you wonder if you’ve made a huge mistake.
The numbness and wine-induced warmth coalesce and lull you to sleep.
• • •
Vision fuzzy, you hear a voice screaming over and over as terror hot as hellfire blazes through you. You don’t know where you are or how you got there as you struggle to recognize anything.
Someone’s here. They broke in. They’re going to kill me. I’m not safe I’m not safe I’m not safe I’m not safe I’m–
Heart leaping from your chest, you blink, and you’re sitting straight up in your bed.
The screaming stops. Your throat feels dry and strained.
Another night terror.
Shaken, you glance around the apartment to make certain you’re alone and lie back in bed. A feral part of you urges you to lay eyes on every square inch, so you get up and look in the other rooms and closets. The impulse quiets.
Checking your phone for the time, you see a Weverse notification of Jungkook live streaming. You open the notification and pour yourself more wine. Being tipsy is better than horrible emptiness.
When you join the live, he’s in a hotel room laughing at something you didn’t catch, causing a gentle warmth to swirl in your stomach. Parting his hair, he displays the bruise to the camera. It’s lightened to a lavender splotch easily concealed by his hair. “It’s much better now,” he says, inspecting the area. “It could’ve been a lot worse. I’m so grateful to the people who were there that day.” You freeze with the glass halfway to your lips as he looks down thoughtfully, a corner of his mouth pulled upward. Electricity courses through you, shocking you out of apathy. He looks into the camera and smiles, arranging his hair back into place. “So, as you can see, there’s no reason to worry.”
Face heating, the emptiness you previously felt washes away replaced by a deep, calm knowing.
Of course this isn’t a mistake.
• • •
You push the doors to the hospital open, the morning sun singeing your dark-adapted eyes. The sunrise after your last shift in the ICU paints the sky with pink and orange gradients on wispy clouds. Heavy lidded, you open the card your confused but kind coworkers gave you.
GOOD-@#%&*-BYE
You smile, hoping you don’t easily forget their good sense of humor, and stow the card in your work bag.
• • •
Collecting your luggage at the LaGuardia Airport baggage claim, you see through streams of people a woman wearing a black suit with a matching flat cap holding a sign with your name on it just as Chin-Hwa said there would be in his texts. You take a deep breath and approach her.
“Jasmine Law?” she asks.
“That’s me.”
“Can I see some identification?” You oblige, showing her your driver’s license. “Thank you,” she says, smiling. “Welcome to New York. Right this way.”
She leads you through a labyrinth of signs and people until she stops outside the airport in a loading zone by a black SUV with heavily tinted windows. Your heart skips a beat as she loads your luggage into the trunk and opens the door for you. Thanking her, you enter the car. It’s immaculately clean and smells of expensive leather which makes you hesitant to touch anything.
As the car weaves the streets from the airport to Citi Field in Queens, you soak in the sights of a place you’ve never been, a quiet awe spreading over you.
You see the imposing building of Citi Field, its tall, slender arches encasing the stadium. You feel as if you’ll wake up from this dream in your apartment living the same life you always have, created by adhering to someone else’s rules.
But you’re here. This is real.
A tear slides down your cheek that you wipe away.
Pulling up to a nondescript entrance in the back of the stadium, the driver opens the door to let you out and unloads your luggage.
“Thank you so much,” you say, handing her a tip.
She smiles and thanks you before getting in the car and driving away.
“You’ll have to change into uniform,” Eunji says, handing you a black shirt that says MEDICAL STAFF in white letters.
“Welcome back.”