To formally begin this, I would like to say that BIGBANG was the first K-pop band that made me want to venture and explore K-pop. Along with B2ST, most of my first few fics were centred around them, especially around Taeyang. During his Solar era, Wedding Dress was quite a popular song and it was the first one that got me into dancing and I can proudly say that Taeyang was the first K-pop idol to ever inspire me enough to join dance classes. Lol.

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I: Follow the Rabbit Hole

Fear ran through my very core, striking a lance of terror into me like the way a spear would rip through the fragile body of a fish. Outside, the screams of agony echoed like the deathly bells of the Gates of Hell, a horrifying warning that signaled the beginning of doom. I wondered if I would make it out of here alive, if we could escape. There seemed to be no way out, no refuge in this mad world. Death and insanity ran rampant—left and right—faces of friends, families, all dead, visages set in terrified screams.

Warm arms grasped me—tight and unyielding. My body instinct, seeking shelter, warmth and security; seeking safety and sanity. I tried holding back the whimper, the fear in my voice. I had fought past men gone mad, against friends turned enemies in this damned world, yet my voice had never wavered, never broke. Not until now, now that I was safe.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He whispered softly, his arms tightening around me, pulling me against his body. He smelled of blood, sweat and death. I knew I smelled no better. We had the stench of pestilence around us but I did not care, burrowing my face into his neck, stilling the tears and holding back the desperation.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I muttered, not even knowing why I was sorry. Maybe it was for the wound that marred his beautiful face. Maybe it was for the blood-soaked hands that held me oh so tenderly. Maybe it was for the weight of the gun in my hand, for the number of lives I had killed.

He seemed to understand. He always did. Perhaps that was the reason why I haven’t pulled the trigger on myself, to end this Hell on Earth. He was my anchor in this dreadful place. He had been the one to pull me back when he found me so many months ago—ready to jump off the edge of the building where I had hidden. He had been the one to push me away as a knife aimed at me came slicing through the air.

“Stop it, baby. Stop it, please.” There were tears in his voice, and it all the more brought the guilt to the surface. He shouldn’t have to risk his life for me. He shouldn’t have betrayed them for me, so that he could protect me. He shouldn’t have to run like a thief in the night, to starve and lose sleep in the fear that our assailants were standing behind us. He shouldn’t have to do all those things because he loved me, because he wanted to be with me.

I knew that I should let go of his hand, to let go of this embrace. I knew that, with every passing second, I was bringing him closer to his death. I knew it. Yet I was selfish, because I loved him, because I wanted to be with him.

Lips, soft and searing with heat, touched mine as he locked me in an iron embrace. It was getting hard to breathe but it did not matter. What mattered was that we were alive, that we were safe, and that we could escape. His hands tightened and the handle of the knife that he held pressed deeper into my back, a reminder that we had to survive, to live. I tightened my hold on the gun, pressing it against his shoulder blades—a reminder, a promise, that I’d always watch his back.

Screams of terror and agony echoed in the night sky, a reverberating clang of the madness that dwelt. The echo of death rolled over the skies and the land, coming ever closer. Yet, in one short moment, none of it mattered.

We were safe. We fell into the rabbit hole, fell into the madness.

We were safe.

---

II: Get It Right

The wind was cold that day when I found Youngbae and Dara, his arm around her waist, planting a kiss on her lips. He was so happy; his eyes shining even from where I stood, hidden amongst the crowd. I felt the weight on my chest getting heavier as Youngbae made Dara laugh before tapping her nose with his finger. We used to have that. I used to have that.

I used to have all of that, but my mistakes tore everything apart.

Youngbae was perfect: he was caring and protective, he was selfless and he did all he could to make others smile and laugh. He was everything that was right in this world and I, I never saw that. I only saw myself and my insecurities and my fears.

He gave me his love and his best and all I did was to throw it all away, pushing him away with my suspicion, with my doubts that I was the one he loved. I was so stupid.

“Don’t you believe me when I say that I love you, that you matter to me?” He half-shouted, his words ricocheting across the room.

“How can I when I saw you with her? Admit it, Youngbae! I saw you with her!”

“What? She’s just my friend! Am I not allowed to talk to my friends now? Who’s next? Chaerin? Dara? Minzy?”He replied, flabbergasted and angry.

“Just—just go away, please. Leave.”

Guess the joke’s on me now, huh?

He’s happy now, with a woman who clearly saw him for what he’s worth. He’s with a woman who would make him happy, just as much as he made her happy.

I pushed him away. I broke us apart. If only I could retrace my steps, turn back time and fix it all. Yet, nothing will ever change and I’m left here, regretting for mistakes made and hating myself for what I’ve done. I knew I wasn’t perfect, but that was no excuse for treating him the way I did.

Youngbae gave me his all and I, acting like some stupid jealous person, refused to accept it, letting my insecurities take over and destroy what gave me the most happiness.

It was moments like these, when I see Youngbae and Dara together, in the park or in the mall or in a restaurant, it was moments like these that made me hate myself so much.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Ungrateful.

Envious.

Hurtful.

Greedy.

I would do anything to change it all, but in the end, I’m left standing in the shadows, calling for a Sun that would never look at me again. He’s happy and I’m getting what I deserve.

I never got it right and I never will.

---

III: Heaven

The Sun was just beginning to shine from the east, light cleaving the violet sky as dawn came. The wind blew gently, flowing into the room and making me shiver, crossing my arms in the process. The quiet countryside was beautiful, solemn and perfect and—

My thoughts came to a halt when I heard the door to the bedroom slowly open, my eyes catching a small hand holding the doorknob. I smiled as Daehyun entered, a wobbly four-year old boy that was all my—my eyes flickered to the snoring pile of man on the bed—no, our own.

I opened my arms as he climbed up my lap, his small limps wrapping around my neck for security. “Good morning,” I said, poking his little nose.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling into crescents and my heart was suddenly heavier tenfold when he looked so much like him. “Good morning!”

“Did you sleep well, Dae?” I asked, slowly rocking him back and forth even though he was four years old, even though he was a bit heavy now that he was growing up, even though I’m thirty-four and my back sometimes hurt, even though Dae was beginning to dress like his father: hoodies and caps and sometimes want to have his hair cut like his father’s.

He nodded, “But Boss took my blanket!”

I chuckled a bit, the light entering the room as the Sun erupted from the mountainside, the violet sky turning a light shade of blue.

When I heard a telltale groan that sounded almost like a puppy waking up, I placed my finger on my lips and gestured to Dae to keep quiet. The boy followed suit and placed his own little finger against his lips, wide dark eyes excited.

I slowly tipped my way towards the bed, sitting on it, making sure not to disturb the half-awake man in it. Dae quietly pulled himself away from me and climbed up his father’s chest, his hands curling into fist as he pushed against his dad.

“Daddy!”

No response.

“Daddy!”

A little shake, as Youngbae groaned a bit.

“Daddy!” Dae screamed so loud that my eyes closed on instinct.

“WHAT? WHAT HAPPENED?” Youngbae was suddenly up, eyes as wide as his surprised son, mirror images of one another.

Youngbae stared at Dae, Dae stared at Youngbae.

Dae giggle. “Happy fathers’ day, Daddy!”

Youngbae looked towards me.

I smiled, and I felt a bit embarrassed at the tears welling up in my eyes. I love this man, this man who gave me such a wonderful child, a beautiful life and a bright future.

“Happy fathers’ day! I love you.” And my embarrassment grew when my voice cracked at the last word of the sentence.

Then Youngbae was laughing and smiling and I was laughing and smiling and Dae was laughing and smiling and we were enveloped in a tight hug that was all of Youngbae.

He pressed kisses and kisses on Dae’s face and on my face and everywhere he could reach and we were laughing and smiling and totally happy, even when Boss came barking into the room, jealous of the attention and making a spot for himself on the bed.

Maybe heaven isn’t too far away.

Oh, and of course, Boss got his kisses too.

---

IV: It's All Coming Back To Me Now

The sound of the safety being clicked off reverberated in the silent room, the weight of the gun against my chest making it a little difficult to breathe—a reminder that my life was in his hands.

I stared into his eyes, eyes once warm and loving; eyes now cold and hateful.

I felt my own heart beat faster, my breathing becoming a little shallower, and my skin a little bit colder, yet I placed a mask of disinterest on my face. I pretended it didn’t hurt, it didn’t scare me. I pretended that it wasn’t him holding the gun poised against my chest, my heart. I pretended it wasn’t his hand on the trigger, ready to shoot me, to kill me, at a second’s decision.

“I should kill you right now. I should ing kill you right now.” His voice was harsh, biting and totally without mercy. Was this the Youngbae I loved?

I did not reply, content with just looking at him, at his face, into his eyes. Angry at my disinterest, he pulled the gun away by a fraction before ramming it, hard, against my sternum.

I gasped in pain and curled into myself, to be only stopped as Youngbae grabbed my hair and pulled me up, the pain making me growl.

“Answer me, you motherer.” He screamed, emphasizing every word with a hit from his gun. When I felt the cold metal against my temple, I bit my lips to hold back my whimper. Yes, this was the man I loved.

I did this to him. I broke him.

After the people I’ve killed, the many others that I’ve slaughtered in my wake of rage, this was my punishment. After I killed his friends, those people who he considered family, I should have been given so much worse.

There was a moment of silence: Him, breathing in rage and his eyes like daggers, and I, quiet and wanting more than anything to hold him. In that moment, it was only him and I. Memories came back, rushing like wind, memories of us, memories of love and memories of peace.

“Why?” A heartbroken voice asked, that single word dripping with pain and exhaustion. I broke from my train of thought, my eyes widening as tears fell from Youngbae’s tired eyes.

I remember nights of us, sitting in his living room, cuddling up on the couch, forgetting the world for just a little bit. I remember being held by him as old nightmares returned, people long dead come back to haunt me, to serve my eternal punishment. I remember the quiet confessions, the whisper of “I love you, Youngbae” and his quiet reply of “I love you, too”. I remember passionate nights, filled only with the sounds of romance. I remember happiness. I remember love.

But how can I answer that question? How can I tell him that my ghosts had come back? How can I tell him that, when I look into his friends’ faces, all I could see were warped visages of demonic features, of angry, feral monsters and not of the people that he loved?

How can I tell him that I was sick, so very sick? How can I tell him that, in my clenched fist, I held my own nametag from the mental hospital I escaped so many years ago? How can I tell him that I hear voices only I could hear? How can I tell him that, every now and then, there would be a chilling whisper from a cold voice next to my ear? How can I tell him that, when I walk alone down the hall, I hear people screaming at me, words of hate, words of rage, words of love, and words of madness blaring like an angry siren?

How can I tell him that I shot all those people, that I killed them all, all because I have lost my mind? How can I tell him that person he loved, me, was mad? How can I tell him that I’m not okay, that I’m ed up, that I’m gonna be locked up somewhere in a sanatorium if I ever get myself help?

How can I tell him when there was no hope for me? The world feared and hated people like me, people suffering with diseases in the mind, people no longer able to perceive reality in a normal way.

Maybe it was better this way, after all.

“Do it, Youngbae. Please.” I whispered, trying to make my voice strong. It broke on the last word, all my strength fading away, replaced by fear and uncertainty. I saw more tears fall from his eyes, the gun against my head trembling.

“Tell me why, please. Let me know, let me understand, and I will. I don’t want to kill you, baby. Please, let me understand and we’ll work this out. Please, I don’t want to be the one to kill you.” He replied hoarsely, every word punctuated with a despairing voice. My heart broke.

He would forgive me, I knew that. He would forget it all, I knew that. He would bury his friends, bury his anger and pain, all because he loved me and that he wanted to understand me.

He couldn’t. He can’t.

Slowly, I lifted my hand and wrapped it around his, holding on to that last line to sanity. I stepped closer, closer until I could smell his perfume, smell his scent, inhaling it in. This would be the last time.

I held his hand, the one with the gun, and pressed his palm against my chest.

“Do you feel that, Youngbae? Do you feel me, here?” I asked him, staring into his dark eyes. He nodded, staring back into mine. There was no hate there anymore, only love.

“I love you, Youngbae. I love you so much.” I’m so sorry. I pushed past the boundaries and smashed my lips against his, feeling the warmth bursting into flames, his stubble rubbing against my skin—a pleasurable feeling growing inside me.

I held his hand in my hand, then, without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.

There was no pain, there was no light coming to take me. I only saw Youngbae, saw his face of disbelief, and saw the horror shining in his eyes. I only saw him and only him before the darkness took me away.

It was better off this way.

---

V: Serendipity

 

The stark whiteness of the hospital walls greeted my sight as I awoke from my sleep, the grey of the sky clear from the window. At once, an uncomfortable feeling grew in the pit of my stomach, almost like dread. Almost like anticipation.

Today, I was going to have surgery, for the tumor in my brain. Somehow, I felt something, some sense of anxiety that told me that today would be my last.

If that was true, then it seems my last day on Earth would be spent alone. I looked around, my eyes taking in the sight of the wires hooked to my body, the sidetable devoid of flowers and “Get well” cards, the visitors’ couch that has never been sat on ever since I arrived, the dismal loneliness of the room itself.

I tried to will away the tears in my eyes. I had no right to cry, to be sorry for myself. After all, I did this to myself. I brought everything on myself.

I had brought this sadness on myself.

It was my fault that he left, that he packed his clothes and walked out, his wedding ring bouncing off the walls. It was my fault that perfect days of happiness were gone, that memories of birds and auroras and Youngbae were all that I had left.

I tried to tell myself that I had no right to cry, to look like the victim when I was not. I had no right at all. People who cry when they are about to die do so because they know they don’t deserve it. I deserved this; I deserved everything that was happening to me.

Yet, the fear and the loneliness overtook. I couldn’t help it. I was so afraid, so very afraid. I didn’t want to die, not now, not when I had a thousand mistakes to correct, not when I had a lifetime of penance to serve. Most of all, I didn’t want to die alone.

No one deserved to die alone, right? Right?

The electrocardiograph machine beeped at an alarming rate and only when nurses burst into my room did I realize that I was shaking and crying and panicking. The nurses tried to speak to me but their words failed to register in my mind, my only thoughts being Youngbae.

It wasn’t until a nurse injected something to one of the wires did I feel a bit calmer, the feeling of fear slowly dissipating. They said something about stress and my body but I just closed my eyes and willed myself to remember, to recall those happy memories with Youngbae.

Even when the minutes turned to hours, even when my time was slowly running out, even when the doctor came in and briefed me on the operation, all I saw was Youngbae and his smile and his love and the warmth of that time. They stripped me and dressed me in clothes fit for the operation, yet in my mind’s eye, I only saw Youngbae undressing me slowly, whispering reverent words of love as his lips touched every part of my body, every patch of skin that he could.

The tears pooled in my eyes. I missed him so much.

“We’re ready, doctor.” One of the nurses said, nodding to the surgeon. I blinked and my heart panicked.

Not yet, my mind screamed. Not until I do this.

“No, wait.” I cried, causing the nurses and the surgeon to turn to me, alarmed. “C-can I have one call, please? One last?”

The surgeon’s eyes softened. “You can have one after the operation, I promise.”

“No, this can’t wait. Please, let me have one phonecall? It’s the only thing I’ll ever ask of you.” Perhaps it was the fear in my voice, or the determination in my eyes, or perhaps he, too, felt the looming blanket of dread, the feeling that I felt. Perhaps it was that he knew death was near that made him nod and ask for the nurse to bring the phone close to me.

Taking it in trembling hands, I held it close to my ears and pressed in the numbers. It was his number to his telephone line, to his new home, the one with his new family. I had memorized it long ago but never did I have the courage to call him.

A sleepy voice answered, a youthful one: his son. “H—hello?” A yawn.

My heart broke. It was his son. “Hi, i—is your dad awake?”

The voice was quiet at the other end, my heart beating fast, before he answered. “I’ll see.”

Then the child was gone and I waited, not caring that the surgeon was looking at the clock and at me back and forth. It seemed like an eternity before I heard the phone being picked up again, and a familiar voice spoke, husky from sleep. “Hello?”

My eyes shut, the tears dripping. I wanted so much to tell him everything, to ask him to come to me here, to hold me, to comfort me, to be here for me, to let him know that I still love him after all these years.

“Hello?” He asked again, his voice more alert. I in a breath and answered.

“I’m sorry, Youngbae. I’m sorry for everything.”

I hung up, the dialtone ringing in my ears. My hands trembling but my heart lighter than ever, I gave the phone back to the nurse and turned to the surgeon. I gave a nod. I was ready.

I knew I was not going to make it. I knew that this would be my last moment on Earth. I knew it with a certainty so powerful that it bordered on instinct.

I knew it and I spent the last moment with Youngbae, even if he did not know it.

Miles away, in a distant town, a sleepy Dong Youngbae stared at the phone, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m sorry, Youngbae. I’m sorry for everything.”

The voice seemed familiar, and it tickled the edges of his heart. He felt like he should know who it was, but he was getting older and his memory was fading. Still, he should know who it was. It seemed so familiar.

“Bae, who was that?” He turned at his wife’s voice, curious. He smiled at her before putting the phone back, walking back to the bed and climbing under the covers. Dara raised a brow, still curious. Youngbae placed an arm around his son, who had gone back to sleep next to his mother, and gave Dara smile.

“Time of death: 9:23:56 AM.” The surgeon spoke, everyone silent and still.

They turned to the patient, the heartrate machine now silent, and the room quiet. A patient dying on them during surgery was common but it left a bitter taste in their mouths. Yet, this one was different. It was like they had helped this person somehow, as morbid as that sounded.

“Peaceful.” One of the resident surgeons spoke and a lot of heads nodded. Even in death, the face of the patient was set in a content smile.

---

VI: Solaris

 

I was astounded with my own boldness as I came up behind the man. For Christ’s sake, he was just a piano man. A poor piano man, if the faded, almost worn-out collar of his shirt was anything to go by. I was a titled nobody, a noble without money in my pockets. We were two strangers in a run-down 1980s bar called Solaris. This would be awkward, at most. Especially when I know that this man just started today. Why? Because I frequent this bar, the owner knows me and I was renowned here. Was is the exact term, seeing as I have no more money to gamble with and all my friends had threatened to call the police if I ever come up at their doorstep, asking to borrow more money.

“Scotch, Jiyong. One glass only.” I told the man behind the counter. He frowned at me, silently asking if I had any money to compensate for it. I held his gaze. “It’ll be the last one, Jiyong. I swear.”

He sighed tiredly before he took a glass and poured the liquid into it. I took the glass in my hand, eyeing the piano man even more. Then, even though I thought otherwise, my body moved on its own and approached the piano man.

“Evening.” I spoke, placing the glass of scotch that I held on top of the piano. The man turned, surprised. He looked back-and-forth the glass and I, and as if he finally realized that I was talking to him, he smiled, causing his eyes to turn up into crescents. Wonderful, really.

“Good evening, can I help you with anything?” He was polite, still smiling, his hands poised above the piano. The man was attractive, to put it frankly. Attractive in the sense that he shouldn’t be what he obviously was: poor and from the country. His accent and that innocent look in his eyes gave it all away.

 He was not as tall as the other men in the bar but what he lacked in height, he obviously made it up in muscle. The white long-sleeved dress shirt he was wearing dignified that as it bunched when he flexed his muscles to wipe dust off the ledge of the piano. He looked intimidating, but his sweet voice and his smile contrasted with such notions.

“What’s your name?” I asked, pretending not to hear his question. He had a quizzical expression for a while, probably wondering why I was asking for his name. Perhaps he thought that, with me decked in one of the few expensive clothes I had left, I was an old-world noble and, with the countryside’s perception of aristocracy, I or, rather the people associated with me, should not talk to people like him. Then, he replied with a “Youngbae. Pleasure to meet you.”

I gazed at his outstretched hand for a moment before holding it with my own, feeling the callused skin underneath my fingers. He had a firm grip, I noted, as he shook my hand. I smiled as he moved a bit and gestured towards the space beside him on the small bench.

Sitting next to him, I could feel his warmth, giving me a fuzzy, almost tipsy-like feeling. I calmed myself by taking a gulp of the scotch that I brought, loving the burn it left in my throat.

“Any song you might like?” Youngbae asked, and I turned to him. His eyes shined with polite respect and even a hint of interest, and suddenly I was afloat. Yes, I felt excited and happy, even though I was in a rundown bar, even though the smell of beer and cigar smoke aded my nose and made it itchy, even though I had no penny in my pockets, even though Youngbae probably worked here for something to eat, even though we were just two strangers living in a lonely world.

“Y-you choose.” I managed to say, looking into his eyes. Suddenly, as if he’s been waiting for this all along, he began to play a tune that was so familiar, so famous that I grinned at the apparent predictability of it all. Everyone in the bar seemed to think so, too, as some patrons laughed and others began to sing along. I could see Jiyong shaking his head from the counter, a smile on his face. Even Choi Seunghyun, whose family was one of my old investors, gave a wry smile from the game table.

All the while, Dong Youngbae smiled and smiled and I smiled, as well: two strangers, searching in the night for love and acceptance.

I’m forever yours, faithfully.

---

VII: Taking Chances

Rusty-brown leaves trailed and danced in the wind, a quiet symphony circling by my feet as I stood in the park, holding a newspaper and a cup of coffee. Every day I was here, always at five in the morning. Every day I was here, standing by the same tree, overlooking the quiet and serene park. Every day would the same man come, jogging, earphones plugged in. Every day I would rehearse the words in my head, practice the way I would smile, the way I would walk, the way my voice would come out. Every day I would pluck up the courage to greet, to say hello to that man. Every day I would suddenly lose my bravado and just watch, disappointed, as the man, oblivious to my existence, passed by me.

I don’t even know why I’m after this man. I mean, I’m no one. I don’t even think I’m that outstanding, to be honest. The man wasn’t spectacular, as well. He was muscular, yes, but a lot of other guys were muscular. His hair was in spikes like a Mohawk; a lot of people had hair styled like that. All in all, he was just like your regular, everyday, normal human being.

Still, there was something about the man that pulled me in. Was it the passion with which he sang to himself when he jogged, that voice that was as smooth and as bright and as strong as the man himself? Was it the fire in his eyes, the determination in every step as he did fifty laps around the park, never stopping? Was it that heart-stopping, beautiful and glorious smile that formed on his lips when he reached his fiftieth lap and jumped in celebration, not caring that he was alone and that it was five in the morning?

Or was it the longing in his eyes when he stops in his celebration, eyes a couple passing by and sees their entwined hands—the same longing and loneliness that I was sure to hold?

Rusty-brown leaves trailed and danced in the wind, a quiet symphony circling by my feet as I stood in the park, holding a newspaper and a cup of coffee. Every day I was here, always at five in the morning. Every day I was here, standing by the same tree, overlooking the quiet and serene park. Every day would the same man come, jogging, earphones plugged in. Every day I would rehearse the words in my head, practice the way I would smile, the way I would walk, the way my voice would come out. Every day I would pluck up the courage to greet, to say hello to that man. Every day I would suddenly lose my bravado and just watch, disappointed, as the man, oblivious to my existence, passed by me.

Every day that would happen, but it wasn’t every day when that man, that same man who just passed by, would stop and retrace his steps and turn to me.

With a smile worthy of the Sun, he said. “Hi!”

Then, with my heart up in my throat and my spirit flying, I replied. “Hello.”

---

VIII: Tango

Youngbae had it coming, oh yes he did. He should have known, known that I wasn’t the patient, forgiving type. Patient, forgiving people meant patience and forgiveness.

Patient, forgiving people did not mean chains and knives and blood.

Pop!

“Why, baby? Why’d you do it?” I asked, pouting. I teased Youngbae’s face with the sharp edge of the knife, my lips at the sight of fear in his eyes. He shook his head fervently, left to right, the strap on his mouth disallowing him to speak. It didn’t matter. He had it coming, anyway.

Six!

 “Does it hurt, baby? Don’t worry; it’ll all be over soon.” I cooed softly, slashing a long, deep scar on his impressive chest. His groan of pain was a malevolent symphony in the air, tears leaking from his eyes. “It won’t hurt long now. Just a slash for every broken trust, baby; for every betrayal, for every broken heart, for every lonely night waiting for you to come home.”

Another slash.

“For every that you’ve ed, for every lie you’ve told me. For everything, baby.”

Six flicks of the hand, six grunts of pain, six giggles of pleasure, six droplets of blood, six scars on his chest.

Squish!

The feel of the blood, his blood, on my hands was glorious. I said to him as I worshipped his bleeding body, trailing every drop with my tongue, the knife forming new scars, his grunts of pain in sync with every squish of the knife. There was a time where I would have been horrified at what I was doing, but that was long gone. I’ve changed. Pain does that to people.

“How does it feel, baby? How does it feel to be tied down, to be betrayed, to be hurt beyond repair?” I asked and, before he could answer, I slammed the knife into his thigh.

I slammed the knife into his thigh ten times.

Uh-uh!

His screams reverberated around the room, the swath of cloth against his mouth not strong enough to stuff it. It was okay, though. No one will hear him. No one could ever hear him.

“Do you want more, baby? DO YOU WANT MORE?!” I shouted as his screams continued on and on, the knife going up and down, the silver of the blade slipping into the torn flesh, squish squish squish squish.

“Uh-uh! UH-UH! NO! NO MORE!” He screamed and I laughed, our voices a sepulchral symphony.

“No more?” I traced the knife over his heart.

He nodded fast. “Uh-uh.”

The knife went through flesh.

Cicero.

---

IX: Unbearable

Colors fade to grey, warmth into cold. The sky is bleak and nothing seems to shine.

The silence is unbearable.

I remember a time when everything was in color, when the dazzling yellow of the Sun was like a holy, magnificent light against the eternally blue sky. I remember a time when everything seemed to bloom and breathe with life and happiness. I remember a time when silence was nonexistent, when the chirp of the birds brought forth a peaceful melody, when the crumpling of the leaves against each other was a golden harmony, when music burst forth from everything.

I remember a time when Youngbae and I would lay on the grass, staring at the night sky; see the dazzling palette of colors brought by auroras.  The array of light would take hold of my interest and Youngbae would laugh at my wide eyes. I remember a time when he would come over me, cup my face, and caress it with his nimble fingers, leaving a trail of fire and warmth with his touch. I remember nights like those, nights where everything seemed so perfect, where everything echoed with love as gossamer as silk.

Ethereal lights danced on wispy winds, like little fairies escaping Never Never Land. Youngbae would point towards the sky, tracing the stars with his fingers, as if he could touch them and call them his own. I believed he could, then.

I believed in so many things, then.

I believed that true love existed, that true love meant forever. I believed it was true love when I fell asleep and Youngbae would gently raise me from the grass with his strong arms and carry me home. I believed true love was forever when Youngbae knelt before me, holding a diamond ring that must have cost him three years’ of work, asking me to marry him. I believed in what it meant to be happy when our friends and families threw rice at us, clapping and shouting and cheering and all that I could do was pull a very happy and smiling Youngbae into a kiss, his eyes crinkling into crescents as he responded.

I remember a time when I was that happy.

I remember a time when we didn’t fight, when ugly words and awful accusations were left in the air. I remember a time when we didn’t point fingers at each other, when we didn’t blow up with jealousy when one so much as looks at another person. I remember a time when Youngbae didn’t pack his things and leave. I remember a time when I had the courage to say what I wanted to say. I remember a time when I did not let my pride destroy the only thing I’ve ever cherished.

Look at what my pride has left me with now: silence.

The room is empty. The whole house is empty. Eight years ago, I received divorce papers. Eight years ago, I was on top of the world. Eight years ago, with a single and stupid mistake, I destroyed it all.

In those eight years, there was no one to pick up the pieces.

In those eight years, I had heard that Youngbae had started a new family, that he was happy now, that he just saw his son graduate preschool.

In those eight years, I had suffered with silent regret.

In those eight years, all I ever wanted to do was call him up and say “I’m sorry, Youngbae.”

I’m so sorry.

Colors fade to gray, music to silence. It is unbearable.