TAKE ME HOME.

(inspired by Jess Glynne's Take Me Home)

* * *

The room feels bitter, bare and darker than before. Joohyun walks around their home—his apartment, trudging her footsteps, almost not feeling the legs she has. She wipes a tear that isn’t there. They are all gone. Her eyes sting but it is still incomparable to the ache that her heart is suffering. She can only mouth a sob to release the thorns that grapples her soul, her whole being.

She touches the dinner table where they used to eat meals they cooked together then drags her finger along it, tracing memories that are now unrepeatable. It feels cold just like the autumn draft that brushes her arms, coming from the crevice near the window sill that he was meaning to fix.

She doesn’t bother with the light. She just sits in the corner beside the couch he insisted on getting, clutching the photo frame of the two of them, hands interlocked together and showing off the promise that clasped their ring fingers.

She hugs the frame harder, desperation manifesting closer and closer until it reaches her ears, whispers into them a reminder of the pain she is experiencing. She huddles the picture between her folded legs and chest. Protecting it. Preventing it from dissipating. But it has.

He is gone. And Joohyun is now alone.

It hurts but the darkness feels like a blanket. It wraps her, hides her and blinds her from reality. She lies down on the pine floorboard. It is unwelcoming, hurting the bone on her shoulder that wants to repel the wood. But she doesn’t care. She just wants to lie down, waiting to be swallowed. To disappear too.

Life is meaningless now. She doesn’t care that her cries hurt her parched throat. She doesn’t care that her ankles are bleeding from all the walking on the only black shoes she has been saving to use for that special date at the restaurant where she said yes to his proposal, for their first year anniversary that isn’t going to happen; but now using the shoes for his funeral. What a twist.

She closes her eyes, furiously, shutting them tightly as if doing so will bring back time and make her return to when he is there, laughing as he watches re-runs of Friends on Comedy Central; when he fills his ashtray and makes the room smell of smoke; when he hugs her at night, kissing her neck before softly saying goodnight, my dearest.

But it doesn’t help. She wants to stop the memories from visiting her thoughts. She wants to stop the wringing of her chest, of her heart. She wants to be numb.

Pills.

Pills will help. She tries to stand up, pushing against the gravity of his death and the darkness that insists her to remain still. She drags her legs to the bathroom, to the medicine cabinet. Where are they? Her hands tremble causing the plastic bottles to tap the bathroom vinyl floors. .

She sits on the floor, sort of glad that she doesn’t need to find in her the strength to support herself from the burden of her troubles. She then rummages through each one. Cough drops…Flu tablets…

The voice of desperation returns to her side, hanging on her shoulder, whispering again in her ear.

Her hands continue to tremble. Abitextrate… Platinol… Taxol… Their containers are nearly empty.

Ah. There it is. Aspirin. And Loprazolam too. She’ll take them both. Together.

She opens the bottle and lets one—no—two—no—five of the aspirin to fall on her hands and two of the Loprazolam. She would have put more of the Loprazolam but those were the only ones left in the bottle.

She struggles to get up but manages to and heads for the kitchen. The moonlight provides enough light for her to see, though vaguely, where things are. She sets the pills down on the counter then she opens the overhead cupboard, grabbing a small drinking glass with her still trembling hands. She takes the Scotch whiskey from the fridge, barely managing to open it and pours it on the glass, spilling some on the counter.

The handful of pills enter first before the sharp balminess of the whiskey coats . It burns but it feels good. She pours herself another, wanting the heat to stay in , in her body. She needs the warmth.

She fails to find the counter when she places her glass down and so it shatters much like her sanity right now. The shards cut her bare feet but she doesn’t feel it. The only pain she feels is the pain of loss and it is still mangling her insides. It screeches against her ear as it claws her and tears her stability to shreds.

More whiskey. She needed more of the warmth.

She grabs the bottle and downs the liquor, not bothering with the glass. She steps on some shards on her way to the couch and they pressed on her soles, going deeper, with each footstep. The couch is too far so she lets her back slide down the edge of the kitchen counter and she settles there as the sleep winds its way onto her, encompassing her, dragging her to somewhere she would rather be.

* * *

“Keep the change,” Wendy says as she gives the money to the cab driver. She grabs her small hand carry and rushes to the front door of the apartment block where the cab has stopped. She couldn’t wait for the lift so she heads for the stairs, two steps at a time. She sees a massive 4 on the wall and nearly slams the door against it as she opens it.

She knows the door will be locked but she also knows that there is a spare key on top of the door frame. That is typical of Joohyun. She jumps to reach it but failing so she at least attempts to brush it down and it works and it makes a noise that echoes along the hollow hallway.

Her hands struggle to make the key go into the hole. Too much adrenaline. Too much panicking. She stops and takes a breather. This time she hears it unlock, twisting the door knob before taking the key out.

The smell of whiskey and cigarettes hit her nose. She recognises the cigarettes. But not the whiskey. Joohyun’s husband likes to smoke even though Joohyun doesn’t. And that puzzles Wendy.

Why did Joohyun marry someone with a habit that she hated? Did she love him that much?

She remembers Joohyun gushing about him to her, much to her disdain. How he looks cool with the cigarettes between his fingers and how he seems carefree when he breathes out the smoke as if he is breathing out his worries, letting them diffuse into the air. Wendy considers smoking after that.

She walks along and sees the remnants of distraught scattered on the bathroom floor through the door that was left ajar. She doesn’t go there but goes somewhere else, slightly hurried footsteps, feeling shards crackling under the soles of her leather boots.

She looks down and sees blood, the panic setting in and it pushes her to follow the path to where she sees her collapsed friend, the whiskey a pool under her hair, soaking it and also her torso. Joohyun looks pale, her complexion a mimicry to the grey clouds that has concealed the sun today.

Quickly, Wendy reaches Joohyun, holds her head, cradles her alcohol-soaked body and cries out a name that goes deaf on Joohyun’s ears; she pats her cheek, trying to spring life from where it hid within depths unreachable yet she feels a chill on her hands and Wendy wonders if it was because of the liquor on Joohyun’s face or the draft that she feels from the window or a combination of both.

She lays her down gently, her hands on top of each other on Joohyun’s chest. She pushes down on it, thinking about the CPR she has learnt from her first aid training a few months back for her job, not imagining she would ever use it, that she would use it on Joohyun. She counts then she proceeds to breathe air into Joohyun, offering some of her life into her friend. The acrid taste of whiskey lingers on her lips as she pulls away and listens for breathing.

None.

She repeats the process. Frantic, tears blurring her eyes. She wipes it and it stings her eyes. Stupid whiskey.

“C’mon Joohyun,” she says—hopes—through tears that fall on her fraught hands and on Joohyun’s cheeks. “Don’t leave me. Please. Please! I have a lot of things I still need to say to you. Things I wanted us to do. Please, Joohyun!”

She leans in again, pleading as she exhales her feelings for Joohyun. But Joohyun’s lips are brittle and rough and cold. Unresponsive.

* * *

“Wan-ah, I met someone,” Joohyun said as she braided Wendy’s hair. She was wearing a navy nightie and her bare legs were cushioning Wendy who was using it as an armrest.

Wendy liked it when Joohyun called her by her nickname. It felt sweet like the feeling of cotton candy melting in , coating her teeth, making her smile.

But this time it didn’t feel that way and Wendy swallowed the lump that had formed in . “O-Oh? Who?” She tried to sound excited but it came off shaky. Scared.

“He’s this guy I met from the dance I went to two nights ago.”

Wendy could feel Joohyun’s fingers brush her scalp then they twirled her hair as well as her feelings. She breathed out, “What dance?”

“You know…the dance I invited you to but you said you couldn’t go because you had an exam the next morning.”

Oh. That dance. Wendy regretted not going. “What’s his name?” Is he nice? Does he smoke? What made you like him?

“Eric. He’s partly French.”

“Eric,” Wendy repeated, rolling it off her tongue as if inspecting each letter, trying to grasp who Eric was and how he managed to make Irene say yes.

“He’s really sweet, Wannie. He’s got a nice smile and he’s really kind. He smokes though but I don’t mind. The way he looks at me… he makes me feel special.”

Do I not make you feel special? “Ohh. That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

* * *

It was the beginning of the semester. Wendy put her bags down. She could see that her roommate, who seemed to be out somewhere, had already settled in. She could see a pastel pink rectangular alarm clock on the bedside desk and a picture frame of a family. Her roommate was still a child in the photo.

The door opened.

“Aigoo! You gave me a shock!” Her roommate said. She held her chest and looked really offended.

Wendy laughed. “I’m sorry and hi, my name is Wendy and you will be stuck with me for the rest of the year unless you decide to evict me or you end up moving out because I am unbearable. Though I highly doubt the second option will happen.” She smiled and extended her hand.

Her roommate laughed as she took the hand, shaking it delicately as if Wendy’s hands were going to break if she gripped too hard then she said, “I’m Joohyun. Are you an exchange student?”

“Because my name is not Korean?” Wendy shook her head. “I just grew up in Canada so my parents gave me an English name. My Korean name is Seungwan.”

Irene snorted as she laughed. “Isn’t that a boy’s name?”

“Are you making fun of me now?”

“No! No. I’m sorry,” Joohyun’s brows furrowed contrasting the smile she had on. “I find it cool, honestly.”

“This is why I go by Wendy.”

“No. No. Seriously! Your name is cool. You can be my oppa. Wan-oppa.”

Wendy liked that.

* * *

“She needs help and we’re here to give her that,” the doctor says. There is a framed certificate that hangs on the wall. PhD in Psychiatry.

“I know but she doesn’t want help! She—she knows she’s not okay but she doesn’t want help! I-I don’t know what to do anymore.” Wendy is shocked by the loudness of her voice but the doctor is okay. She deals with this on a daily basis.

“You’re the only one listed as her guardian. It’s your choice. I’m just saying the option is there.”

* * *

Eric was not rich. He was not from the film club. And he was not Korean. He smoked. A lot. Joohyun hated it. She said it would kill him (funny how that came true three years later). He compensated by reducing his cigarettes from a packet a day to only two a day. He liked to sing even though he was tone-deaf. He had the same smile as James Franco, wrinkly yet nice to look at. He majored in architecture and damn, was he good at it.

Wendy had seen the way Eric looked at Joohyun. She knew it was real because that was how she looked at her. The same loving gaze.

Wendy knew she couldn’t compete. So she lied to Joohyun.

A month. Internship in New York. You understand right?

But who’s going to be my bridesmaid at my wedding? It can only be you.

I’m sorry, Hyunnie. Once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s my dream. You got yours, can I get mine?

A month and you’ll come back?

But Wendy didn’t come back. She returned to Canada, back in her hometown, to return to her life before Joohyun.

It was selfish of her. She realised that now.

* * *

Joohyun remains still, quite lethargic, fear clinging onto her as it murmurs in her mind when Wendy undresses her. She starts with Joohyun’s black blazer then s her whiskey-soaked black blouse. She s her pencil skirt and takes off the rest, letting it all fall on the floor.

Joohyun shivers as the cold air touches her but it doesn’t last long as Wendy holds her close, turning on the shower then setting it to the right temperature.

Wendy’s voice is gentle, soothing, when she says, “Go in, Hyun.”

Joohyun struggles, the loss too big an encumbrance, the pangs of ‘what-ifs’ tempting, scraping a peace that is temporary and unsure. She stumbles on her own foot, a step aching even with all the bandaging, but Wendy is there, arm around her shoulders, guiding her. Supporting her.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Wendy assures her.

The water pricks Joohyun and she winces. Wendy sits Joohyun on her lap, the denim rough on Joohyun’s bare skin but it is okay as the soles of her feet hang in the air and not needing to support her weight. She is surprised to feel things. She is surprised to be alive still. And she is surprised that Wendy is here.

Wendy massages her hair with shampoo and it feels good. Relaxing. Her touch was careful against Joohyun’s scalp much like everything else that is Wendy. A bundle of tenderness. Her voice, her eyes, and the way she smiles. The way she talks and Joohyun isn’t talking about Wendy’s voice here but the way Wendy delivers her words. The clarity of her words and its genuineness comes bold and obvious and it makes Joohyun feel safe. She feels safe with Wendy here.

But she hates being brought back to nothing but of a barren, lifeless life. A home that isn’t a home. A vacant expanse filled with nothing but traps of memories filled with him, like vines with spikes that clings onto her skin and rips it. She bleeds her pain but it doesn’t clot and she is left to succumb to the darkness that comforts her and conceals the reminiscences that replays in her visions.

The tears trickle down her cheeks and Joohyun is relieved that the shower is on. But the sobbing starts and that, the shower cannot hide.

“Are you crying, Hyunnie?”

Joohyun doesn’t need to answer because Wendy proceeds to hug her, under the falling water, a pretence of a rain that washes her thoughts, her fears, and her memories. She crumbles from the hug and allows herself to bury her body deeper into Wendy’s hold.

* * *

It hurts.

It hurts Wendy when she wakes up in the middle of the night hearing Joohyun sobbing, shoulders shaking, like tremors in a still sea.

It hurts Wendy when Joohyun doesn’t eat. When she tries to feed her but brushes her hand away. When she insists but Joohyun insists harder, pursing her lips so the food won’t enter .

It hurts Wendy when she leaves to buy groceries and returns to see Joohyun collapsed in the bathroom, Joohyun’s little friends strewn beside her.

It hurts Wendy when she sees Joohyun being alive but having no life. No soul. When Wendy talks and it doesn’t reach Joohyun. Like Joohyun is a ghost. A shadow.

It hurts Wendy that she left Joohyun into the care of a bastard, who abandoned Joohyun just like how she abandoned her.

It hurts Wendy that she loves Joohyun and that Joohyun doesn’t love her back.

* * *

Joohyun grips the beddings furiously. Wendy’s beddings.

Wendy insisted.

It’s better if you live with me for now. The space will make it better. Time will make you heal.

Wendy didn’t mention that she returned to Korea two months ago. That she was just a train away from where Joohyun lived. That she had purposely cut Joohyun off and the reason still being a mystery.

She trembles from the sobs and the sheets get soaked. The darkness gets closer to her. She feels it hanging on her shoulder and then it whispers to her, its voice raspy and ominous. Its words drag as if to emphasise its point.

Wendy...haaaates…youuuuu.

She’s oooonly…here…because…youuuuu…registered heeer…as your…guaaaaardian.

It laughs at her then continues to mock her.

Even Eeeeeric…he left youuuu…because you…naaaaagged…him…eeeeendlessly.

Reeeemember wheeeen…he stoooormed ooout…the daaaay…before heeee…died.

Iiiit…was…aaaaaall because of…youuuu.

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”

Joohyun covers her ears then gets up.

The pills. Where are her pills?

She searches the medicine cabinet but finding nothing. She searches the cupboards and having no luck with them either. She searches Wendy’s drawers but just finding Wendy’s things, Wendy’s clothes.

Wheeere…are…you…gooooing?

The darkness follows her. It is attached to her like a leech her life dry but no matter how hard she tries to get it off, it loiters, becoming a part of her. Becoming her shadow.

She goes for the kitchen. Something sharp. Something shiny. It will make it go away.

She halts and feels a grip on her hand, warm and something of life. She has forgotten that Wendy sleeps on the couch because the bed isn’t big enough for the two of them.

“Hyun-ah, what are you doing?” Wendy is understanding. Her tone doesn’t press for answers but it waits for it, like a gentleman. It is soft and warm like the lips that touched hers a few days ago.

She hears herself croak. “I-I’m..I-I…I’m scared.”

Wendy hugs her with firmness yet still not failing to be gentle. It covers her from the threats, from the voices. It acts as her shield and she feels the darkness disintegrate, her shoulders feeling lighter.

“I’m here,” Wendy says softly, almost a whisper. Her breath tickles Joohyun’s ears but even that she finds comforting.

Wendy pulls away but Joohyun wraps her arms around Wendy’s waist, afraid to let Wendy go, afraid that if she does, the darkness will come back.

* * *

It has become a habit for Wendy to hug Joohyun at night in the tiny single bed her apartment has as Joohyun sleeps. There was hardly any space between them; so close that Wendy is scared that Joohyun will be able to hear the erratic beating of her crazy heart. Joohyun’s calm breathing against her neck tickles Wendy and she feels herself warm up.

There are times when Joohyun would shift and Wendy finds herself facing the back of Joohyun. Joohyun is in dire need for touch, for the warmth, desperate for human contact and she would drag Wendy’s arm as she moves so that it lays on her waist. She would tug it as if it is a blanket, demanding for Wendy to move closer…and closer…until Wendy feels Joohyun on her lap.

Wendy tries to think but she can’t. She wonders if this is right. But she doesn’t dwell on it. Instead she dwells on the feeling of ecstasy she is having right now so she nuzzles her nose on Joohyun’s nape and waits for the stubborn sleep to come.

* * *

It has been a month now since the funeral. A month of living with Wendy, of listening to her stories and her laughter that resembled wind chimes being blown by the summer breeze; of seeing her pout whenever Joohyun would refuse to eat; of feeling Wendy’s finger poking her cheek repeatedly as they sat on the couch whenever she would be trapped in a daze and start seeing visions.

Joohyun has only asked Wendy to hold her hand and to watch her as she sleeps. But Wendy has given something more than she asked for.

She would slouch in Wendy’s bedroom in the dark when Wendy isn’t home. Wendy has a life that she put on hold for Joohyun and it has crept onto them, bursting the bubble of happiness that they have built around themselves.

“I won’t be long, Hyunnie,” Wendy says.

But Joohyun finds herself scared.

Doubtful.

That Wendy may not come back.

And the darkness starts to creep onto her, slowly easing its way to tempt her, to separate her from reality, but then Joohyun feels a weight slouching down next to her and it would speak, voice as delicate as velvet that it pacifies her trepidations.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic jam,” Wendy says.

Joohyun lets her head fall on Wendy’s shoulders. “I missed you,” she says. Is she being too clingy?

Wendy reassures her she isn’t. “I missed you too.”

* * *

Wendy will sometimes wonder if this—whatever it is that is going on between them—is okay. She plays with Joohyun’s hair whose head is on her lap as she lies on the couch watching Disney films. Joohyun has developed a fondness for them as it helps her feel that the world isn’t as cruel as she thinks it is.

Joohyun is getting better, slowly, and Wendy can see that. She has stopped looking for the pills and she has been eating more lately. But Wendy feels that Joohyun doesn’t really love her. That Wendy is just a temporary foothold for Joohyun to use until she can manage to stand up on her own.

“Wan-ah, are you watching?” she hears Joohyun ask.

Wendy hesitates. Should she bring it up? What if it breaks Joohyun?

“Wannie?”

Wendy sees the ring on Joohyun’s finger. “Yes, I’m watching.”

* * *

Joohyun sits on the edge of Wendy’s bed—their bed. She smiles. Wendy is at work and she is alone. Wendy has said to turn on the lights when she’s away, to not sit in the dark so she won’t be afraid.

She lies on the bed and then burrows her nose into the pillow, smelling Wendy’s shampoo, a mix of wisteria and something sweet. She feels the bliss and forgets her fears but then stops when she sees the silver on her finger that glinted from the light coming from the bedside lamp.

She touches her chest and feels the rapid heartbeat, a feeling she hasn’t felt for a long time.

No.

At all.

This feeling differed from her first love—or so she thought.

But the guilt is still there and it eats her up, ravishing her blossoming feelings until its petals are ruined and damaged. Joohyun finds it unfair.

This…thing.

This feeling.

Wendy.

They all feel right. As if the world makes sense again. Joohyun recognises the things in the room, in the apartment, and the apartment recognises her. The bed—Wendy’s bed—welcomes her, like lying on puffed up clouds of pleasure.

She remembers Wendy’s touch: pleasant yet electrifying. Then Wendy’s smile: contagious and bright and heart-warming. The way Wendy stares at her, admiring her like she is something exquisite and one-of-a-kind.

She remembers the feeling of being cared for and then caring back. She has forgotten how much Wendy means to her. How much they have in common. How much their laughs harmonise with one another and how Wendy understands her as if she knows what Joohyun thinks and feels.

She remembers how Wendy’s lips felt against hers, melting like a sundae; how it tastes: sweet and minty; fresh like the spring air despite the whiskey that coated Joohyun’s lips. She misses it. Craves for it.

Wendy’s hugs fitted her exactly, like she was the piece Joohyun has lost. Has been missing.

Wendy feels like home.

She belongs here now. Is it bad for her to belong again? To start a new love? A love possibly better than the first? To be taken home?

She hears the front door unlock, the keys being placed on the table, and the crinkling of plastic bags. She removes the ring on her finger and throws it outside the window into the snow that has built up on the streets of a wintery Seoul.

She rushes to meet Wendy, to greet her and then ask her, “Will you take me home?”

* * *

A/N: Hi guys! As I've said before, this is a re-publish, so if any of you have read this before and are thinking 'WAIT--' then do not worry, it is the same story, just that it is on its own now. FREE AS A BIRD! I hope I've managed to deliver the emotions I wanted this fic to depict. I am an amateur writer so please take it easy on me D: And I also hope that I have managed to make the whole thing feel real. Especially Eric. Upvote and comment if you guys enjoyed :)