A one-shot inspired from one of my favorite movies, Me Before You. Written in 2nd person (Seulgi), just because.

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Nobody really knew when their lives would come to an end.

Nobody really remembered that an end to life did not always mean death, too.

Sometimes, an end to life could mean something much more unfortunate than death.

It could mean that you were still alive, but you were somehow unable to live again.

You understood this more than anyone by now.

But of course, back then, you didn’t.

You were oblivious to the possibility of your life ending too, just like everybody else.

Life end was never a vivid thought in your head, lurking only at the back of your mind as a faraway possibility in the future that you did not have to worry now.

Because right now, you had so many big, important things going on in your life and you believed that the worst thing that could happen to you was accidentally spraining your ankle and missing a performing season with your beloved ballet corps.

Oh. You were so wrong.

One morning you were finishing your last stage as a soloist to hundreds of spectators and getting a call promoting you to be the principal dancer of your ballet company – a position you had longed for years – but the very afternoon you were slammed to the cold concrete streets flooding with rain just outside your company and you were pierced by a pain so sharp on your back, your vision turned white.

The only thing you remembered was the pale face of your lover screaming your name with horror across the street and a motorbike crashing with deafening screech right beside your immobile, aching body.

Your white vision turned black afterwards and the sharp pain on your back disappeared.

You did not know then, but you had just done your last stage not only as a soloist but also as a dancer in your lifetime.

Your life was over then, even though you somehow managed to stay alive.

You wish that you didn’t.

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Days, weeks, and months passed like a blur to you.

You sat by your apartment window every day and stared at the lives happening below your floor with a distant mix of envy and rage.

People were going about their lives, busy and purposeful like you used to, while you were trapped in your room, stuck on your wheelchair and rendered unable to do anything but watch everything in your life get taken away.

The higher-up from your company who had promoted you to be their principal dancer just a few months before, came to your apartment with an apologetic face and informed you regretfully that they could not extend your expiring contract.

You already knew this since the day you woke up in the hospital bed and shrieked over the loss of feelings in your legs, but hearing it stated so directly now made you want to scream your lungs out again and tear away at every single thing around you.

You waited until they were gone before you started ripping apart all your well-kept pointe shoes because what used to be your joy and pride, now only served as a mockery to your pathetic life.

You rolled your wheelchair to your display cabinet and slammed down all the pictures of you in your childhood and adolescent years beaming brightly while holding up trophies.

You shattered everything to pieces, because that was what you felt happening to your heart as you thought of the 20 years you had spent bearing countless bone fractures and mentally taxing, harsh training.

All for nothing.

All for a future bound to a wheelchair and a life void of dreams.

Dancing was all that you knew.

It was the fuel that burned the blood in your vessels and moved you forward in life.

It was your essence.

And now that it was ripped apart from you, you didn’t really know who you were anymore.

So, you coiled to yourself and hid in the remnants of your mind because reality was just too painstaking.

You pushed away your colleagues, your friends and even your lover Sunmi, because they too, now only reminded you of the painstaking reality.

Of your stolen music, life and laughter.

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“Seulgi, I have someone I would like you to meet.” You heard your mother say one overtly bright Sunday morning, as you screwed your eyes shut and held your breath in to contain your frustration.

You turned your electric wheelchair around from your giant window, preparing yourself to meet yet another new caretaker your mom had gotten for you because you made the previous ones quit on their first week.

Your sharp, hostile gaze fell on a rather small girl sporting half tied hair and long bangs. She somehow looked younger than you.

“Hi. Seulgi, right? Your mom told me that your name is Seulgi. I’m Irene, by the way. Bae Irene.” The girl in the blindingly bright pink sweater – with bunny prints all over it, for god’s sake – greeted you brightly and extended her hand.

Her exuberant smile dimmed a bit when she realized that you were only going to stare at her outstretched hand without ever returning it. She withdrew it awkwardly.

“Another babysitter, mother?”

Your mother gave you a slow, reprimanding look. “She is here to help you when I’m not around, Seulgi.”

“I already have Wendy to take care of all my needs, I have told you before.”

“Wendy has other patients she needs to see from time to time. Irene, on the other hand, will be working here full time to attend you.”

You gritted your teeth and shut your eyes, because apparently, on top of being physically disabled and needing a nurse like Wendy, your mother also considered you to be mentally unstable and in need of another adult watching you almost 24/7.

“I don’t need her.” You ground your words out, directing a menacing glare at the said girl.

The girl swallowed anxiously and looked up to your mother for help.

Her expression appeared taken aback as if she didn’t expect you to be so opposing of her working there.

God. She didn’t even look sturdy and dependable enough to take care of someone.

She looked so...frail and anxious.

You gave her seven days before she ran away just like everybody else.

Or maybe, faster.

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The girl, Irene, turned out to be the clumsy, anxious mess you predicted her to be.

She came barging into your apartment with her dirty, rained-on shoes all the time, leaving behind muddy trail all over your doorstep during those rainy days.

Your mood was already so much darker during downpour because it made you remember that day you lost everything, so you were absolutely not in the headspace to see someone drip water off their umbrella all over your clean floorboard.

You turned away from her because you couldn’t stand looking at another one of her bright colored fashion choices and her apologetic, sheepish grin.

“Hi, Seulgi. How are you doing today?”

Stupid question.

You pretended to not hear her and continued staring out of your watery window.

“Seulgi?” She was suddenly right beside you, bending closer because she thought you really couldn’t hear her amidst the rain. “Can you hear me?”

“I heard you fine, Miss Irene. It is my legs that are paralyzed, not my brain.” You finally turned slightly to look at her with menace. “Yet.”

The nervous look that quickly became familiar to you fleeted over her face again as she swallowed and thought of what to say to your hostile reply.

“S-Sorry, I thought you didn’t hear me because you didn’t respond –”

“You should have considered other possibility. Such as maybe, I can hear you but I don’t want to.”

Another deep swallow followed down her neck, and this time, her face appeared much paler and more anxious than before.

For once since the accident took away all your smiles and kindness, you felt faintly bad for inflicting such reaction on such a positive, happy face.

But then again, it was probably just a farce.

She was most likely talking about you – about how much of a pain in the her employer was – to her friends and family, just like your previous caretakers.

“Do you want to do something today?” She tried again, surprising you with the persistence you didn’t think she had.

“I don’t want to do anything.” You tried to sound less murderous, turning away to stare at your window again.

You hoped that would be the end of your conversation so you wouldn’t have to hurt her again, but of course she continued to invite more suffering to her way cluelessly. “But isn’t it boring to just sit around all day –”

“Sitting around all day is all I’m capable of doing nowadays, Miss Irene. In case you didn’t notice.”

You heard a sharp intake of breath and saw from the corner of your eyes the widening of her panicked eyes. “Oh my god, that wasn’t what I meant, I’m so sorry –”

“Here is the thing, Miss Irene.” Your voice strained as you tried to not snap at her and make her cry. She looked like she would. “You asked me what I want to do? I want to be left alone with my thoughts without you bothering me. So please,” You looked at her again and put out a shark smile. “Go chatter somewhere else, will you? The phone in the living room is free for your use, I won’t tell mother.”

You stared back at the rainy gray sky outside your window and never paid her a second glance.

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Your clumsy caretaker, Irene, looked like she got closer and closer to tears with every single day that she had to come back to your apartment.

Clearly, she was tortured doing this job.

So why exactly was she still coming back on her fourth week?

“Hi, I got you some flowers today.” She said anxiously while waiting for your reaction, clutching the bouquet of pink and white flowers close to her chest before offering it to you.

You glanced at it and noticed the drops of water on the soft, light petals, realizing that the same stain of water was all over her favorite pink bunny sweater.

She must have run under the rain to get you those flowers.

“I don’t like flowers.” You said honestly, trying your best to at least sound like a decent human being. “But you can put it on my desk.” You gestured at the desk beside your bed because her crestfallen face was too much even for your hardened heart.

A big, almost blinding smile bloomed on her face upon knowing that you wouldn’t throw away her gift so carelessly.

She ran over to the desk and placed down the bouquet with a vase she had somehow carried along in her sling bag too.

You quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Oh, are these your friends?” She asked upon seeing the framed pictures on your bedside desk, touching them curiously.

You swallowed and looked down at your unmoving feet resting on the footrest of your wheelchair. “Yes. They are. My colleagues, actually. Fellow ballerinas.”

Irene seemed to know that poking at those sensitive subjects was a highly risky move.

She put the pictures down immediately.

Just when you wanted to tell her that it was okay, the doorbell to your front door rang.

“It must be Wendy.” You realized that you were holding your breath, turning your electric wheelchair away to hide your teary eyes. “Can you open the door for her, please?”

Irene nodded instantly and hurried over to get the door.

But instead of Wendy, your nurse who had somehow become your only friend in the lowest year of your life, you heard voices from people you had just thought about in the photographs.

“Seulgi, hey.”

You blinked when you saw Sunmi walk in with her familiar, rose-tinted smile, jet black hair still as silky as those days when you ran your fingers lazily through them while laying on floor and laughing together after a tiring ballet practice.

“Sunmi.” Your voice came out scratchy from the back of your throat, because standing there and looking absolutely stunning, she must have thought of your unkempt long hair and thin, atrophying body as a pitiful sight.

This was why you didn’t want to meet her or anyone from your old life.

“What are you doing here?” You managed to at least sound welcoming.

“Just dropping by because it’s been a while.” She smiled, somehow apologetically, while gesturing at the door behind her. “I bring Amber too.”

You looked behind her and found your best friend Amber hanging around the doorstep of your bedroom awkwardly. “Hi, Seulgi.”

You tried to smile and took turns looking at them because something felt off. Amber was never awkward around you before.

“Something’s up?” You asked right away, because the way they both stood together – and closely – in front of you like guilty offenders was way too unsettling.

Sunmi cleared and stared at your floorboard for a few seconds before conjuring enough courage to look at you.

“We are actually here to tell you something.” She flicked a glance at Amber, reaching out for her hand and cradling it in hers.

Your eyes widened at the sight because she cradled her hand in the way she used to cradle your hand.

“What?” Your voice sounded wary even to yourself.

Sunmi swallowed deeply before stabbing your heart with pain you thought you could no longer feel. “We are getting engaged by the end of this month, Seulgi. We are dropping by to tell you because we feel like you deserve to know.”

Amber stiffened intensely beside her, and even Irene who stood by the door behind all of you looked horrified as she registered what was happening.

Shame, anger, betrayal, and shock flooded you at once.

Your face turned beet-red.

“Well.” You managed after eerily quiet ten seconds, swallowing thorns in your throat and forcing out an unimpressed smile to mask your breaking soul inside. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

Sunmi, who had been in a relationship with you for two years before your breakup last year, of course saw right through your façade and noticed the angry bitterness in your voice.

“I’m so sorry, Seulgi. We should have told you sooner…it’s just that…we didn’t know how to tell you – it all happened so fast. Neither of us knew it would happen. I was heartbroken after our breakup and Amber was a big support for me –”

“Of course, she was. How big of her.”

The said girl, who used to be your own best friend, shrank under your dripping, withering sarcasm.

“Seulgi, please.” Sunmi pleaded you, her face sad and tired. “We just…we just want to make peace with you and be your friends again.”

You wanted to laugh at the sheer audacity of her request.

“I think you two need to get the hell out of my apartment now.” You cut them short, hurling your barely contained angry gaze at Irene. “Show them the way out, will you, Irene? Even though they don’t need it because they used to hang here all the time when they were still my friends.”

Sunmi heaved a tired sigh and her heels, Amber’s hand still tightly clenched in hers. “Let’s go, Amber. We have done what we need to.”

Irene scurried in front of them to lead them out of your room, and the second you got to be alone again, you rounded your bed with your wheelchair and headed for the desk beside your bed straight away.

With one furious arm sweep, you smacked everything out of their places and sent them toppling to your floor.

Shards of glass from the broken photo frames and vase shattered all around your wheels.

Irene came barging into your room immediately with an alarmed look.

Her first instinct was to rake her gaze all over you to check whether you were injured or not, before assessing the wreckage under your feet.

The wreckage included the fresh flowers and vase she had just gotten for you earlier.

“Don’t move.” She lifted a warning finger at you, and though her voice was shaky, it also held a surprising firmness in it unlike her usual, sheepish voice. “I’m going to get a broom.”

“Leave it alone!” You yelled at her, because it was the only thing you could do to channel your hurt and she was the closest person to receive the brunt of it. “Leave it alone and screw off!”

Irene lowered her hand and balled it into a fist, looking shaken with some kind of anger for the first time since you ever knew her.

Maybe, she had finally had it.

Maybe, she would storm out of your apartment and leave you too.

“I’m not leaving you.” She said instead.

“Why?” You croaked, your voice taunting and daring her sincere one as your eyes glinted with spiteful tears. “Why pretend to care when you probably can’t wait to finish your job and run home to complain about me to your friends? Why stick around here when you clearly hate me?”

“Well, because I don’t." She half shouted back, her voice almost as loud as yours before she blinked back to her usual meek self and lowered her voice. “I don’t gossip about you with my friends and I don’t hate you either, my god. I never hate anyone.” She added slowly afterwards.

There was that unfailing sincerity again peeking behind her anxious gaze and you figured that if she was lying, then she was a very good actress.

“I never hate anyone, okay? And I don’t hate you.” She reinstated. “I will never understand how you feel fully but I can see where you are coming from. I just –” She paused a bit, probably considering a more polite way to phrase her sentence. “I just wish that you stop making everything so much harder for yourself, and for me, to be honest.”

She looked down at the ruined flowers and shattered vase she got for you this morning and frowned.

“I will get the broom to sweep off this mess. Be right back, okay? Don’t move an inch because I don’t know what to do if you pop your tires.”

She looked up at you again before whirling around and flitting out of your room to get the things she needed to clean your mess.

And your rage had no choice but to die down slowly as the image of her clean, genuine eyes took over your other bothering thoughts.

You wondered if you really deserved people leaving you all alone because you had truly become such a horrible person that even your past self would have hated.

You broke into a silent cry because despite the strong, prideful front that you put forward for everyone to see, inside, you were scared of rotting away alone for the rest of your life.

Unable to reach your dreams and unable to keep people around you.

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You didn’t know why you felt a sense of relief when you saw Irene walk into your apartment the very next morning.

Maybe, you were expecting her to quit after all the ugliness you had shown her yesterday.

She walked into your apartment like nothing happened however, her pink bunny sweater snug on her small frame and a new plastic vase full of pink and white flowers held tightly in her arm.

She looked up to you after shutting the door with a warm, bright smile.

“Good morning, Seulgi.” Her voice sounded more confident somehow, as if she knew that you had decided to be less of a horse to her today.

Of course, she didn’t know, but indeed, you had vowed so.

You had mulled over it on your bed the night before and decided that you couldn’t be mourning about people leaving you if you were the one constantly pushing them away.

And, after all this time, you started to feel that maybe, Irene was just a simple, earnest girl – albeit rather clumsy and weirdly fashioned – trying her best on all her job.

There seemed to be not a bad bone in her body.

“I bought you new flowers.” She held up the vase proudly, walking over to your bedside table to place it down. “And oh, a new vase, of course. A plastic one this time just in case you –” She paused and gestured at the air between you vaguely.

“Just in case I have another temper tantrum and make your life more difficult?”

“Well, I was going to say just in case you have another temper tantrum and hurt yourself.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and tilted her head slightly to taunt you with a smile. “But hey, if the shoe fits, then feel free to wear it.”

You wondered where that playfulness and boldness came from, but you supposed, after standing up for herself for the first time yesterday, she had understood that you only acted like you hated her because you thought she hated you.

Which she didn’t. So, naturally, you didn’t too.

You scoffed to pretend that you did anyway. “Very funny, you. Now, would you please remember to dry your rained-on shoes before entering my apartment next time, so you don’t leave muddy trail all over the doorstep and make me make your life more difficult?”

Irene threw a glance at her dirty shoes on the doorstep and smiled widely at you. “That I can do. See, it’s much easier if you just tell me what you need. No mysterious angry glare thrown at me which I can’t perceive.”

She flitted out of your room and cleaned up the mess she left behind.

“What do you want for breakfast?” You heard her shout from the kitchenette, as you rolled your wheelchair out of your bedroom to your spacious living room. “Pancakes? With maple syrup and extra cream and chocolate chips?”

You frowned slightly at her. “Are we going to have diabetic coma for breakfast?”

“Hah.” She pointed her spatula at you, proceeding to make the excessively sugared meal anyway. “Learning how to joke too now, I see.”

“I’ve always known how to joke.” You said defensively, directing your wheelchair closer to observe the mess she had made in your kitchen.

Your face must have contorted with worry because she laughed pointedly upon looking at you. “Relax, ma’am, a little sugar won’t hurt you.”

“I was a ballerina before, eating this much sugar in one breakfast would have hurt me. But I suppose it’s no longer a problem because I’m no longer a ballerina.”

Her gaze softened then, as she carried the finished pancakes over to you. She passed one plate to you and flopped on the couch next to your wheelchair with her own plate on her lap. “Eat them. They make you feel better and happier to start the day, trust me.”

You looked at the overly syrupy dish on your plate and hesitantly poked it with your fork.

Once the sugary treat got into your mouth however, you felt your taste buds burst with sweetness and your nerve fibers prickled to life.

You stabbed into another piece.

The corner of Irene’s lips curled up as if she knew that she was right.

You forced yourself to put your fork down and chewed with dignity. “It’s alright, I guess.”

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