Chapter 29
September
Irubbed absently at my chest before I wrapped my fingers around the little, gold swallow hanging around my neck.
Autumn sunlight cut across my desk as I bit my lip, trying to figure out how to make the past fifteen months brief but valuable.
So much of the past year had been like wading through fog.
Grief had flattened the months into long, shapeless periods of time only given meaning by university, and freelancing. I’d learned how to turn survival into habit, and eventually that had given me a kind of purpose. A reason to wake up.
Experience
Freelance Journalist & Features Writer
June 2020 - Present
Writing and contributing to a range of digital and print publications.
Specialising in long form features and artist profiles exploring contemporary music and culture.
Skilled in research, interviewing, and editorial collaboration across international teams.
Managing an independent portfolio alongside full-time study in BA Journalism.
The sun was high in the sky, and still holding on to the memory of summer despite it now being officially Autumn.
For a moment, I took the opportunity to look out the window, enjoying the view of the verdant hills in the distance.
Sheep grazed a few fields away, dotting the landscape like earth-bound clouds.
“Ky,”
Becka’s voice cut through my reverie and I turned back to my new monitor, plugged into my laptop on my desk – the little vanity table long since having been replaced by a larger, IKEA desk.
“Did I lose you for a second there?” She smirked, and I gave my head a little shake.
“Just enjoying the view.”
“Will you miss it?”
I made a noncommittal noise, using the brief break to swallow the lump in my throat.
“I think you always miss home.”
“What about your folks? How are they dealing with it?”
I sighed.
“Mum keeps making jokes about kicking me out because I’m ‘too big to hide under her skirts’,” I rolled my eyes, making air quotes with my fingers, “but Dad is a little sad, I think.”
He’d taken to following me around the house like a puppy. He said it was a joke, in anticipation of my ‘second escape attempt’, but I kind of thought he was serious.
Becka made a non-committal noise.
“You were never gonna stay there forever,” she said lightly.
I nodded. “I know. They know. But I also stayed longer than I meant to.”
“Things changed.” Becka’s tone was soft, and I knew what she was trying to say without saying it.
“Things changed,” I agreed wryly.
“Anyway, back on topic. Are you done yet?”
“Not quite.”
I turned my attention back to the webpage where I was updating my credentials.
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“It’s been a hell of a couple of years,” Becka said wistfully.
I snorted. “To say the least.” I checked over my entry to make sure I’d not missed anything.
“LA, Seoul… Barrow-int-Furness,” she laughed, never missing the opportunity to pronounce the ‘in’ with what she considered to be a good Northern accent.
I rolled my eyes so hard it ached, only succeeding in making her laugh harder.
“Okay, first of all, we live outside of Barrow-in-Furness, and secondly your accent sucks.”
“Ouch.” Becka clutched her chest. “Anyway, are you done now?”
“Jeez, yes, done!”
“Okay, lemme look.”
I took a screen shot of the page, still in edit mode, and pasted it into our chat window. I watched as she scanned the image, her eyebrows drawing together as she focused.
“Yeah, okay, looks fine to me,” she declared, leaning back in her chair.
“Rebecca, are you actually planning on doing any work today?” A muffled voice called out, making her turn her head to look at someone off-screen.
“I run this joint, I can do what I like!” She waved the person off but flashed me a quick grin and a wink. “I better go.”
I sighed theatrically. “It must be nice to be the big boss. I wonder what Celine thinks about you taking her job.”
“Oh, she knows,” Becka said with a wicked grin.
I frowned.
“She does?”
“Ha, yes. She applied for my old job.”
“You never told me that!”
Becka looked away for a moment.
“It was months ago. You had other stuff going on. It didn’t come up.”
What she meant was that I’d been sunk so far into my black pit of despair that I hadn’t been able to see past my own darkness.
I shuffled uncomfortably in my chair.
“It’s not a big deal,” Becka waved away my obvious discomfort.
“Obviously, we told her to go kick rocks. Imagine having the audacity to apply for a job at the company that fired you. Big yikes!” She giggled, and then looked away, calling, “I’m coming!
” She looked back at the screen. “I’ll send you that article about you know who’s lawsuit. Gotta go, babes. Have fun packing!”
And she was gone before I could even utter a goodbye.
I didn’t need her to clarify who she meant by you know who.
Trevor Kyle had been formally accused of sexual assault by an up-and-coming singer, and there were rumblings that more would be coming his way, but there wasn’t much more information in the public sphere. Yet.
A few minutes later, Becka made good on her promise, and a notification popped up on my screen. I clicked on it with trepidation.
The headline was about as subtle as a brick to the face. I could see why Becka liked it.
LA’s ‘Magic-Touch’ producer accused of offering his ‘Magic Touch’ for career favors.
I cringed. ‘Magic touch’ was a bit on the nose for my taste. I read on.
A Los Angeles police investigation has been opened into well-known music producer Trevor Kyle, following a criminal complaint filed in the summer by an unnamed solo artist. The singer – then aged 21 – alleges that Kyle inappropriately touched her and suggested exchanging sexual favors for career advancement.
The complaint has been escalated into a county criminal case by investigators at the Los Angeles Police Department.
Kyle – formally of industry-giant, ‘Pisces’ – known for producing commercially successful records and mentoring up-and-coming talent, was arrested on Friday evening at his Los Angeles home after the Los Angeles County District Attorney obtained a warrant, following a police investigation.
Kyle has since posted bail. He is now legally required to appear before a judge, with hearing and trial dates expected to be confirmed later in the year or in early 2022 due to ongoing pandemic-related court backlogs.
This publication has received reports that additional plaintiffs are preparing to file a joint civil action against Mr. Kyle in Los Angeles, citing alleged historical incidents of coercion and abuse of influence that mirror the pattern described in the criminal complaint.
Although unconnected to the legal proceedings, the civil action is likely to paint the disgraced producer in an even more damning light.
I read the rest of the article with growing disgust. While we’d all known he was a slimeball, and I knew from experience why he’d earned his moniker of ‘grabby hands’, the depth of his depravity was something I took no joy in confirming.
Sighing, I pressed ‘confirm’ on the page where I had been updating my credentials, before looking at my other monitor, where an open Google document was waiting, the blinking cursor reminding me of work I had to do.
I’d admitted to Becka that I didn’t want to write this one, but my editor had insisted I was the only one on the team that he wanted to tackle it, because of my previous employment at ENT.
Because I was now a salaried writer for The Loop, I didn’t get as much freedom in my choice of articles.
So, when James had come to me and asked me to cover the military enlistment schedule of GVibes, I couldn’t say no.
While I was strictly following the mandate, I had chosen to centre the article about military enlistment as to how it affects K-Pop performers in general, using GVibes as the springboard into a broader conversation.
I’d reached out to the PR team at ENT, but they’d refused – as I’d expected – to provide me their enlistment dates, so I could only provide general dates around the potential periods they’d be enlisted.
I’d worked to the brief, including just enough GVibes specific information to bait Vibers to our page, but keeping it general enough for my own peace.
I was healed enough to admit that I wasn’t healed enough for a deep dive.
What I hadn’t known though, was that the group had decided to enlist together. While not unheard of, it was unusual enough to be a big deal. Most groups staggered their enlistments to allow for the individual group members to do solo projects out from the shadow of the group.
Even though I had tried to stay away from much information about them over the past ten months, it was hard not to be at least peripherally aware of their activities.
I knew, for instance, that Woojin had collaborated with several US rappers, and that Ace had acted in a K-Drama. Minjae and Sungmin had released a mini album.
I knew that his album had been an enormous success since its release in January, and it was only because I’d faked a bout of covid that I’d managed to get out of writing a biographical on him – K-Pop’s golden boy.
It had made me laugh, even as I’d cried – just a little – at just who they had unknowingly asked to write the piece.
I was finding my peace, day by day. Even if some of those days were spent purposefully avoiding his name.
When he’d released his album, finally titled – Be:Coming – it had been hard. My social media algorithm was so trained to highlight news like that, that even without the constant promotion, I would have known.
And I was so, fucking proud of him. Even then. Even now, because it was everything he’d worked towards, despite the constant push backs, and the self-doubt. So, while it hurt – and my God had it hurt – I was happy for him, because he deserved it.
Not long after he’d released his album, I’d published an in-depth series on my blog about my life before the pandemic.
Starting with my move to LA, documenting how it had been to live with my best friend in the City of Angels, and rubbing shoulders with Grammy winners in the hallways of one of the world’s most well-known recording studios.
I’d carefully gone over my NDA to make sure nothing I had described constituted as a breach.
I’d even had a conversation with Becka in an official capacity, but she was happy that anything I wrote would only be good publicity for the studio.
It went without saying that I wouldn’t write anything about Trevor Kyle, even if only because legally, things were progressing there that I didn’t want to wade into.
It seemed so obvious to me – looking back through the photos – when he had come into my life. It was like the pictures in my reel suddenly had colour in them, but maybe that was just down to the subjects of the photos.
Ferris wheels, sunsets, gardens with pools.
Halloween street parties.
There was such light, and joy in those photos that for the first time in months, I could think back and smile.
Once I’d finished documenting my life as an underpaid intern, I’d debated about writing about my time in Seoul.
In the end, it had been Mum that persuaded me to do it.
To use the experience as a sort of catharsis.
And, of course, she had been right, because while I still felt…
erased, putting my experiences into words – even heavily edited – felt like validating my existence, because I had been there.
I had worked for what I wanted, and even though what I’d worked for had been him, I’d had experiences in Korea that I didn’t want to forget.
I didn’t want to forget that part of my life, because I think… I think it made my life better. Bigger, somehow. I didn’t want to forget it just because it hurt.
I didn’t want to erase myself.
When it was done – when I’d described my last flight out of the country – I’d felt freer than I’d ever felt. Like I’d released the lingering ghosts of secrecy, and self-doubt, and turned the narrative into an experience, instead of a memory. It felt like a gift I’d given myself permission to have.
The series had given my social media presence an unexpected boon. My intention had been only to put words down as something for myself, but it’d had the unintended effect of gaining me thousands of new followers, which in turn converted to readers on the articles I wrote for The Loop.
That series was probably the reason why I’d been offered a permanent contract.
I even had my photograph in the bylines – something I still wasn’t used to.
LA and Korea had directly contributed to me becoming a feature writer, and it was that knowledge that gave me a sense of peace that it had all been worth it.
It had also been the final push I’d needed to make the decision to move back to London.
The city was where the publication offices were. I was a staffer at The Loop, but I now had ambitions for other, larger, print and global publications and it no longer made sense to hide in Cumbria. I needed to be in motion to move on.
Sighing, I pushed away from my desk and swivelled around in my chair.
Packing boxes were scattered and stacked haphazardly all around my room. Boxes full of clothes, books, and other assorted clutter. It wasn’t even that much. I’d purged a great deal of my personal possessions when I’d moved from London to LA, but my room was small, and my life was getting bigger.
I reached for the little, white box on my desk, pulling the lid off carefully and staring at the shiny, new phone inside.
I was surrendering my phone number. It would be disconnected by the time I left for London in a couple days.
It hadn’t been necessary, but it felt like something I needed to do in order to fully lean into the new life I was carving out for myself.
I’d been honest with myself. I could no longer bear the thought that he still had my number, but chose not to use it.
Maybe it would be easier to live in a world where my phone didn’t ring because he didn’t have my number anymore.
September 26th
ENT Officially Confirms GVibes Members Have All Entered Military Training Today
-Good luck, boys!