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The early morning colors barely stretch across the horizon. Is it true what the sailors say about the upcoming day, when dawn arrives, dressed in crimson? That it’s a warning to whoever travels that day that the weather is going to turn bad?

It sure feels like it’s true. The dawn sky was red the day, two weeks ago, I arrived in Korea. My flights had been fine, and I’d had no reason to mistrust that fiery dawn. Until I had made my way down to Busan, where my halmeoni lives on the outskirts, and my life turned upside down. Because what I’d been told by my mother was completely untrue—my adored grandmother wasn’t dying.

No. My grandmother was that day and is now just as fit as when I left ten years ago to go to the States.

I’d been summoned back to Korea from the place I now called home for a lie. That had been obvious the moment I laid eyes on my halmeoni. What enraged me was that no one here was willing to explain why I had been told to come back. Not my father, and certainly not my mother. My sister offered to come with me to our grandmother’s, but I told her not to, since she is finishing her final round of classes before she starts her clinical rotations in February.

You can say that I’ve been in a perpetual bad mood since I arrived and it would be true. But can you blame me? I came here based on a lie. But I keep my anger locked down for my grandmother.

When I called my father out about the ruse, he side-stepped my accusation and spouted out some nonsense that family honor requires sacrificing my nursing job in the States to take care of my grandmother here until she dies. Then he tried to add a second layer of guilt by throwing a verbal jab at me about my past singing career. It wasn’t my idea to be a singer. He was the one who thrust me into that limelight and now, after all these years, he throws it back in my face like it was my fault my singing career ended when I got caught kissing a boy.

Then to top it off, he said that supporting me had been a waste of his time—time he should have spent focused on others who truly wanted a K-pop singing career. But even to this day, he doesn’t see that it was never my choice. It was his.

I groaned in frustration as I dragged myself out of bed and to the bathroom, taking my phone with me.

Unfortunately, there was no escaping the memory of that first day arriving here. I had hung up on my father and then tried calling my mother, who got back to me with a text message. She echoed what my father said about doing something honorable for my family, since I had ruined our good name when I got caught kissing a boy and the video had spread like wildfire across Korean social media.

What could I say to that? It was the truth. My singing career was tanked the second someone videotaped me kissing a guy I had a crush on. I was only sixteen at the time, driven by hormones, and with no sense of self-protection. I never found out who threw me to the media wolves, but I told myself it didn’t really matter because the result would have been the same. I also never found out what favors my father called in—or promised—to get me a Green Card and Lawful Permanent Resident status, but he pretty much disowned me and packed me off to the States to live with my aunt—who turned out to not be a relative at all, but was actually a friend of my father’s.

In the end, it was ironically, the best decision my father had ever made for me. Though I would never admit that out loud to anyone, especially to that man. Because I hate him for what he did. And now, I despise my parents even more for lying to me.

I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and try to breathe through the rising anxiety. I’d grown to believe that I was free from under his thumb… Or so I had thought, I realize as I stand in this bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror, contemplating my life choices.

Ga! Why am I really here? Because it isn’t for Halmeoni. She is hitting ninety in two months, that’s true, but the way she moves about and cooking all the time? She acts like she is twenty years old.

As I see it, my grandmother is far from dying. And I am glad to be here, to see my grandmother alive and well. But heck, she might outlive me, with the way I’ve been feeling since I left Warrior Black. And Rafe.

A buzz from my cell phone distracts me from wayward feelings. My heart lurches, not wanting to look at the screen. My sister already messaged me this morning, therefore it probably isn’t her. My father rarely texts me, and I haven’t heard from my best friend, Eun, in months and he’s likely still in bed. So there’re only four other people it could be—five including Dante. And there’s only one reason why the members of the band would be texting me. For Rafe.

He would have asked them to try when he couldn’t get reach me. Because the moment I stepped into the plane in Nevada, I blocked his number.

I release a calming breath and glance at the screen, and instantly my body relaxes, seeing it’s my sister texting me again.

I don’t know how she does it. She’s up so early and doesn’t go to bed until late. How do I know this? In our downtime, we text each other to see how we are doing. She’s the only one, besides my grandmother, who has kept in touch throughout the years. Yet, I never mentioned Rafe to her, or that I work—worked, for the band I’ve been secretly enamored with since I first saw them years ago.

As I hear the pitter patter of raindrops on the clay-tiled roof, my thoughts go to Rafe and the rainy night he caught me coming out of the band’s bus, where it was parked outside of one of the venues Warrior Black was playing. We’d been circling each other for weeks by that point, so I was more than willing when he started kissing me. And when he started to jack our dicks off at the same time, I didn’t protest, even though Dante and the rest of the band were inside the bus and the concertgoers were already lining up at the front of the place.

“Stop it,” I mutter to myself as I glance through the bathroom window and see that the warning was true. All the beautiful oranges and reds were short-lived. The colors have fled from the sky, chased away by the dark-gray storm clouds and gusty winds that are making the branches of the birch trees on the front end of the property sway like pale, rhythmic dancers.

I turn back to the mirror and pause at the image I see reflected. Dark circles are stamped under my tired eyes, and not from smeared eyeliner this morning. My skin appears paler, and splotchy. And in the short time I’ve been here, I have gained a couple of pounds from all the food my grandmother has been feeding me. It shows in my puffy cheeks. I only notice those things in passing, though, because what holds my attention in the mirror is not my face.

What I’m most focused on is the Warrior Black concert t-shirt I’ve been sleeping in every night since I arrived and still have on. I run my hand down the soft material, over the band’s logo, and think of Rafe. He’s all I’ve been thinking of. Including his talented dick.

Gah. Why didn’t I just say goodbye to him? Because you are a coward.

I guess I am. Heaving a big sigh, I force my eyes back to my reflected face. If Rafe could only see me now. Would he still be interested? I touch my cheeks with both hands. I look dreadful. “God, I miss my skin regimen.”

When I got the urgent message from my mother, telling me that my grandmother in Korea was dying, I stuffed what I had on the tour bus in Black Rock into my backpack and left without a word to anyone. I caught a lucky break and literally bumped into someone headed to the airport. I didn’t take the time to go back home to Denver to pack properly. No. I needed to try to get to my grandmother before it was too late, so I didn’t think twice before hopping on a one-way flight to Seoul.

I arrived in Korea with only what I’d had on the bus: four day’s-worth of clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, my hair brush and my toiletries. Or what was left of them. Because storage space on the bus was minimal, I had only brought travel-sized bottles of my skin care products to Black Rock, and I’d used up what was left of them last week. All of my full-size skin care products, along with other vital things that help me make it through my day, like nice clothes, are still back at my condo in Denver.

Between rushing to get here and worrying about my grandmother the whole way, learning of my parents’ deceit, and having virtually nothing of my own with me, it’s not surprising that my anxiety has been in high gear ever since.

Even though my grandmother is spritely for her age, I still worry for her. I tell her several times a day to slow down, but all she does is wave me off and say that she’s old and when it’s time, it’s time.

It is just like her to be so nonchalant about death. Me, on the other hand? I think about it all the time. It’s going on week three now, and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I got here.

“Yeong.” My grandmother knocks on the bathroom door. I cringe at my given name. Yeong Ho Kim. It’s not because I’m ashamed of it. No. It’s because that name is associated with my past. A past I want to forget.