Yuri POV

The rain raps house roofs like mallets. The thunder is a tympani drum. The low and high whispery voices on the street, whipping mind and crashing thunder create a symphony to my angry soul as the step that I take become heavier than before.

I don’t really care how drenched I am. And don’t even care the weird stare from pass by-ers, who judging from their look, could have secretly called a mental hospital to rescue its run-away patient. It might be more surprising if they witness the so-called mad woman is Kwon Yuri from SNSD.

But at this point, I don’t freaking care who I am and what am I expected to behave.

The inevitable harshness of grief strikes my chest and I feel angry. Again.

Since the funeral, these past few days in my life were rather anything but grief, anger and pain in no particular order. Pain. Anger. Grief. Anger..Pain..Anger…Grief…I think I might have just become a loyal disciple of those three unbearable feelings.

I don’t want to feel anymore. I kept fervently wishing to the Big Guy out there to grant me a feelingless heart. What a dumb request, but I’m just…tired of it. With everything.

I’ll just need a place to urgently bury those ‘faithful’ feelings now. To my luck, I’ve just seen a dingy bar right in front of my eyes and I verdict it sells vodka and hopefully, plenty of cigarettes. That’s all I need.

I can vaguely hear Taeyeon’s voice in my head saying,”Sooyeon would be sad if she knows you’re doing this kind of act.”

“Shut up, Taengoo.” I answer, hopefully not too loud to be heard by anyone. By just hearing her name, my chest hurts.

As I dash toward the bar, I notice dozen of middle-aged patrons, mostly consist of anglo-saxons. Thank God, better there ain’t any Koreans here!- are sizing me up. The vibe of their expressions scream I am intruding their privacy or perhaps, surprised to witness a young Korean woman would ever dare to come to this hidden bar. I nonchalantly shrug and quickly take a seat on a stool at the end of the bar.

The bartender, who is a local, greets me with a smile and hands me over a drink menu in front of me as I roll over my soaked sleeves. Blessed the heavy rain outside, at least, he doesn’t recognize my face. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Truth to be told, I guess the rest of Koreans should learn how to be him and just mind their own freaking business. How I wish I could say it to the media out loud.

“Smirnoff. Make it double shots.” I order. “And a pack of cigar mojito.”

He replies with a nod, then makes his way towards the corner of the bar to type my order into the POS machine. Not long after, he comes back with my drink, together with a pack of cigarette, and leaves.

Perfect. Leave me alone. I’m not in the mood to answer any unnecessary chitty chatty questions.

Yet this only lasts for two flippin minutes.

A white man, probably in his fifties or sixties, appeares without invitation with his hand holding a glass half-full of beer to my side. Judging from his red-colored cheeks and smug grin plastered from his lips, he is undoubtedly drunk. Before I can escape, he squishes my shoulder and begins to talk.

But, I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone.

“What a beautiful lady like you doin in a place like this?”

I don’t really want to talk, so I don’t answer him and take few stools away from him.

But he persists. “Let’s have a convo, pretty? I’ve got plenty of times in here.”

Please. Usually, I’m pretty good with my self-control and at least, never once crossing the line. But, today is different. I tilt my head and look him in the eye.

“I’m not gonna have a convo with you, unless you tell me that you know how to bring back the dead into life.”

His expression is flabbergasted. Confused, to be exact. Maybe, never once in his life he’s going to be thrown with that sort of question.

I shift my eyes out of him and let them fall to the glass of light red liquid that I’m currently holding in my left hand.

“Well, I really have no idea how to-“

“Then, leave me alone” I cut off his words and look back at him again. It’s a command.

He replies with a tight smirk and sluggishly moves his feet away to the other side of the bar. Good, he finally complies with my demand.

I really don’t know how much time have been spent in this bar or how many glass of shots have I gulped into my throat. I only can feel my vision starts to get blurry and my limbs are past the point of numb. I need to sleep, so I ask the bartender to call me a cab.

And get the driver to take me to the nearest hotel in this town.

“Which hotel, mam?” The driver asks.

“You pick”.

I don’t really want to go back to the dorm. I’m not yet ready to face the painful reality.

I’m still living in denial.

The walk to the hotel’s lobby is slow and clumsy. Fortunately, the receptionist is kind and patient enough to show me the right direction to my room. I should have thanked him, but I didn’t. My dizziness really prevents me to utter any coherent words. I’m not even sure how I am finally able to end up in my hotel room, anyway.

My last recall about today is I just slump my body into the bedspread and as I close my eyes, I don’t really know if sleep comes for me or my physical body and wrecked mind instantly shut down.

Either way, I’m grateful.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Have you ever wanted to sleep a day and preferred an entire day pass without you have to witness even a second of it?

Because I do. And it’s beautiful… and I hope to get addicted into it. Previously, I always thought it was sad and kind of a wasted opportunity. But now, I can totally understand. It’s beautiful not to do anything, and even more beautiful… and enticing because you don’t have to think about anything.

People will say that I’m hid