Side Story 2 – Chapter 15
“Huh?”
Early in the morning, fully prepared to go out, I couldn’t take my eyes off the article on my phone. It took me a while to confirm if this was fake news. While I had made up my mind to stop playing around and slept peacefully, Mitchell had been causing trouble all night.
“Damn it, Mitchell.”
He had smashed two cameras of a bold paparazzo who was following him and punched him in the face. He had split the man’s lip and even neatly broken some teeth. When he called me yesterday, I thought he was already home, but it seems he was meeting with acquaintances.
Usually, paparazzi don’t often stick to Mitchell. Even on the rare occasions they do, Mitchell doesn’t usually react to them. Rather, he enjoyed the attention on him. Looking closely at how he controlled the media, it wasn’t Mitchell but Seimon who was the main actor.
That’s why Mitchell didn’t have serious complaints about paparazzi, so what could have happened?
The paparazzo who was badly hurt by Mitchell’s fist said he would sue Mitchell. Since it happened just last night, nothing has progressed yet, but whether it’s a lawsuit or something else, he’s sure to take a huge settlement.
I went to Mitchell’s house first. Mitchell wasn’t there, and from the lack of any trace, it seemed he hadn’t come back since the incident. I tried calling him recklessly, but he didn’t answer. I was about to call again but stopped. He must be bombarded with calls even if not from me.
I was worried because Mitchell had never been in the news for such issues before. He’s such a shameless person that he might not care, but it was something that could impact his career, whether big or small.
What could be the reason for the fight?
I just hope it wasn’t because he was drunk and causing trouble.
I was about to call his agency but put down the phone, thinking they’d be busy too. There was nothing else to do but wait for Mitchell to return home. Anyway, home is the only safe place to avoid the pestering media, so he’ll come here.
It’s not the house, it’s me. He’ll come looking for me. I strongly felt that he would want me, even if I had lost my memory.
My guess was confirmed about ten minutes later.
“Hello.”
I answered Mitchell’s call in a calm voice. There was no reason to make a fuss, nor did I need to bring up last night’s incident myself.
– Where are you?
Mitchell always asks where I am. He thought where I am is where he should go and stay.
“Your house.”
– Why are you there? Shouldn’t you be out hunting men?
“My image is really terrible. What man this early in the morning? Forget it. I came here because there’s nothing to eat at my place. Where are you? Don’t tell me you had an overnight shoot?”
When I asked pretending not to know, Mitchell evaded the question. It seemed he didn’t want to tell me about yesterday’s incident.
– Uh, well… yeah. I’m coming in now. I’m on the first floor.
It seems he called on his way into the house. If I had been at my house, he probably would have gone there.
Because Mitchell only thinks of me, whether in good situations or bad. Because he needed to see me.
“Really? That’s good. There’s a lot to eat in the fridge. Want to eat together?”
– Yeah.
“You must be tired, so I’ll prepare it.”
– Okay.
Even though he answered obediently, his voice was drooping and full of moisture. I could imagine what his expression looked like without seeing it.
I hung up and hurriedly prepared the meal. By the time I took out a few non-burdensome ingredients from the fridge, Mitchell came in.
Mitchell really looked like someone who had worked all night. His hair was disheveled, and his khaki t-shirt was stained with something, looking dirty. It looked like he had rolled on the ground. It was the most un-Mitchell-like appearance I had ever seen since I met him.
“Did you come straight here without changing out of your shooting clothes? Why is there so much dirt? Go wash up first. I’ll keep preparing.”
“…Did you see the Jeffrey incident?”
Jeffrey is a well-known celebrity in the US, a former successful actor turned CEO of a corporation.
In the early hours of last night, around the same time Mitchell was fighting, there was a shooting at Jeffrey’s mansion. It was a major incident that occurred during a drug deal at Jeffrey’s home. There were 3 deaths and 2 severely injured. It was caused by an argument with an acquaintance, and the perpetrator was Jeffrey.
Compared to the Jeffrey incident, Mitchell’s fistfight was of a different magnitude, almost laughable. But because the protagonist was Mitchell Cronenwirth, it couldn’t completely block the media’s attention.
There was only one reason Mitchell was mentioning the Jeffrey incident now.
Had I checked my phone?
Did I know what he had done yesterday?
He seemed to think that if I knew about the Jeffrey incident, it meant I had checked my phone, and since articles about Mitchell were being posted just as actively as the Jeffrey incident, I would naturally know what had happened yesterday.
In fact, I had learned about the Jeffrey incident first, and then found out about Mitchell’s fight. Currently, the two of them were burning up all of social media, competing with each other.
“Jeffrey? I don’t know. Did something happen?”
I pretended not to know as I set a fork on the table. As I focused on preparing the meal without even looking at Mitchell, his head turned towards the living room. I also secretly glanced to check his behavior. Mitchell was looking at my phone left on the living room table.
“Is he going to shoot a movie or something? There’s always talk about him acting.”
I put bread in the toaster with my back to Mitchell. I peeled some fruit and prepared blueberry jam.
“It’s nothing. I’ll go wash up first.”
“Okay.”
A little later, I heard the sound of a door closing. I immediately turned my head to check the table. Of course, my phone was gone. Because I shouldn’t look at my phone to check on the Jeffrey incident while Mitchell was washing up.
It was just a matter of putting the phone away for a moment, and since I don’t usually turn on the TV, there’s no way I would come across the incident through the news.
I was completely certain that Mitchell didn’t want to tell me about what he had done yesterday. Now it was just a matter of going along with what he wanted.
“Hmm.”
While I was glad to see Mitchell acting like himself for once, seeing his tired face made me worry in its own way. A dispirited Mitchell? It really didn’t suit him.
After finishing meal preparations and washing the used dishes in advance, Mitchell came out of the bathroom. Dressed in comfortable clothes, he came to the dining table, shaking his slightly damp hair.
“This is the breakfast menu I usually eat.”
It’s not only the menu Mitchell eats, but also what I eat. I had habitually prepared the same menu, but fortunately, Mitchell didn’t suspect that my memory had returned.
“I guess my body remembers from eating it often.”
Mitchell sat down with a weak smile. Sitting across from him, I put a piece of toast that was still warm on Mitchell’s plate.
“How was meeting a man? Was it good?”
Mitchell suddenly asked as he was tearing off a piece of bread. He looked like he was eating because I had prepared it, even though he didn’t want to.
“Ah, the man…”
Although I thought I was paying him back equally since Mitchell started it first, things had gotten bigger. Mitchell had taken this situation more harshly than I thought, and unable to handle it, he turned his eyes outward and caused trouble.
Instead of touching me, he started breaking things around him one by one. I had momentarily forgotten that he was a person who leaned towards the extreme. I had driven such a person to the edge. He was someone who could easily destroy his own life without a second thought. Yesterday’s fight was probably the beginning of that.
Even now, Mitchell’s anxiety about probing my thoughts was clearly visible on his face. Mitchell, who had always been certain that I would be his, had lost his confidence, which was his weapon.
It was clear that I, having lost my memory, had touched his hidden anxiety. The fear that Bae Geon-woo might like a man other than Mitchell Cronenwirth.
Because he knew me best and trusted me, the anxiety that usually didn’t show much lost control due to my memory loss. Mitchell, who could no longer trust me, was slowly withering away. It had only been less than a day.
“I’m not sure if I like men, or if I just enjoyed our time in bed that time.”
At my words, Mitchell’s fidgeting fingers stopped. A faint glimmer of hope rose in his eyes directed at me.
“You’ve only met one man. Wouldn’t it be different if you met more?”
I was a bit impressed by his answer.
I thought he would tie me up tightly, covering my eyes and ears, but even in this situation, Mitchell presented me with another option. Even though I could clearly see him dying alone.
I liked how Mitchell-like his provocative response was. I had loved that fearless personality of his a lot. Of course, I still do.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
