My mom would have one hundred percent murdered me if she knew I was flying down the Highway on the back of a motorcycle with my arms wrapped around some kid I’d just met. Like real, live, actual murder.

But she didn’t know. And, in a weird sort of anyway, I didn’t care. It felt good to forget about everything that had happened to me, and it felt good to take a break from crying. It wasn’t like there was anything I could do about it now anyway. That’s one thing I learned real quick. You can obsess and obsess over how things ended—what you did wrong or could have done differently—but there’s not much of a point. It’s not like it’ll change anything. So really, why worry?

Plus, life after death was kind of, well, fun. It felt like that weird but awesome in-between place where you totally know you’re dreaming, but also know there are still ten perfect minutes left before your alarm’s going to go off. But in my case, the alarm is locked on eternal snooze. And the dream lasts forever.

Sehun hadn’t wanted to let me on the bike with him at first.

“Um, I don’t think so.”

“Come on.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not your chauffer, that’s why.”

“Please?”

He looked me dead in the eye and grew quiet. I got the sense he wasn’t playing around. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, okay?”

“That’s funny, because I think it’s a great idea."

Little did he know, I was terrified with a capital T of motorcycles and always had been. They were loud and dangerous and Mom had so many stories about the awful bike injuries she’d seen in the ER. But my real fear—my true fear—came from somewhere else. Somewhere deeper.

I wasn’t about to tell Sehun, but the reason I was so scared of motorcycles was because, for as long as I can remember, I’d had a horrible recurring nightmare where I’d be riding on the back of the bike—my face and arms lifted up towards the bluest, calmest sky imaginable—and then CRASH, everything would go wrong. The sky would darken. The wind would pick up. I’d feel the driver begin to lose control. And then I’d hear the sound of screeching trees and crushing metal. I’d feel myself being ripped from the back of the bike, flying through billowing smoke and heat until suddenly, always at the last possible second, my eyes would fly open and I’d wake up, gasping for air.

Just like that.

Every time, always the same dream. Always the same feeling of zero control, zero gravity, zero chance of survival. Besides the fact I’d never even touched a motorcycle, the weirdest part was that I always seemed to have the same nightmare on the exact same day of the year: the Fourth of July.

And sometimes, the smell of smoke and burning fuel would stay with me all day, even through the fireworks. But my stupid phobia didn’t matter anymore. Because no matter how you spin it, a girl can’t die twice.

In other words, I had nothing to lose.

“Please?” I said. “Just one little ride.”

“What is it about no that you don’t understand?”

“What is it about no that your mom doesn’t understand?”

“Hold on. Did you just Your Mom joke me?”

“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.”

He cracked a smile right then and I knew I had won.

“You’re sure you’re not afraid?”

I nodded.

Lies, Lies, Lies.

He gazed at me, his eyes full of concern. “And you’ll speak to me again even if you hate it?”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t speak to me again?”

“No, I won’t hate it.”

In the end, I turned out to be wrong. I didn’t hate it. I loved it.

It was the most incredible feeling ever. Even better than the simultaneous rush of total calm and total exhilaration I always felt in the first millisecond of leaping from the high bungee jump I went during my school trip. The moment you realize you’re free.

It turned out there was an entire world waiting for me beyond those familiar pizzeria doors—just like Sehun promised—a world made up of old memories and dreams, some of which belonged to me and some of which did not. Smells were smellier. Colors were brighter. Chocolate was chocolatier. Days were longer, and nights were draped in starlight like I’d never imagined.

The whole place was like one big Choose Your Own Adventure novel. I slept when I felt tired (pizza booths are pretty comfortable, actually) and ate when I felt hungry and skipped when I felt like skipping. There was a theatre down the road from Slice that only played my favorite movies, like A Walk to Remember, When Harry Met Sally, You’ve got Mail and Notting Hill and (come on don’t judge me) Princess Diaries. There was even a park nearby with tons of different slides and a giant wave pool and the most amazing lazy river where I could nap in my inner tube all day, floating and drifting along in the sunshine.

But the real fun started when I learned how to make wishes. I mean real wishes. The kind where you squeeze your eyes shut and imagine the most insanely perfect hammock, and then when you open your eyes, it’s all right there in front of you. I wished for a potbellied pig. I wished to horseback ride through green, grassy meadows and fall asleep under the stars. I even wished for Sehun to teach me how to surf—hilarious, considering he’s the least surfer-boy type of person ever and wouldn’t even take his bomber jacket off in the water.

“You’re weird, you know that?” I called to him from my board.

“So what?” he called back. “It helps me stay afloat!”

We sat on our boards until dawn, making fun of each other until the sun rose, all golden and perfect and peaceful. The best part was, every single wish came true. Every single wish was better than the one before it. There were no worries. There were no problems or nightmares or troubles or fear. It wasn’t real life.

It was better.

Then one morning in the middle of breakfast—which in the case happened to be an Oreo milk shake—Sehun asked me a question that changed everything.

“So, do you want to get back at him?”

I paused, mid-slurp. Looked up. “What do you mean? Get back at who?”

He groaned and fell over on the table. “Seriously, Cleopatra? You’ve seriously already forgotten?”

Huh? What am I supposed to be remembering? And why’s he calling me Cleopatra?

He smacked his head when I didn’t answer. “My dear, you continue to amaze me.”

He reached over and grabbed my shake. “You’ve got Phase One bad, kid. Real bad. Luckily, you’re sort of cute when you’re in denial.” He took a slurp from the straw. “Oh, that is GOOD.”

“Hey!” I swatted at him. “Get your own.” My eyes wandered at his outfit, as they did from time to time, and I found myself cracking a smile.

He caught me staring. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Never mind.”

“No.” He was suddenly interested. “Say it.”

I bit my lip. “It’s just that, um, jacket.”

He looked down. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, nothing.” I stifled a giggle. “I mean, if you’re a fighter pilot. And it’s 1982.”

His mouth fell open. “I resent that. And anyway, like I’m about to take advice from a girl who’s younger than me.” He shook his head. “So as I was about to say before you went all Fashion Police on me: Does the word payback mean anything to you?”

I paused. “What, like revenge?”

“Sharp as a track today, aren’t you, Cleopatra.”

“All right, stop calling me Cleopatra.” I said.

“What about revenge?”

“Well.” he said, grinning. “ I just thought, maybe you’d like to have a little fun is all.”

“And who, may I ask, are we revenging upon?”

“Oh, you know, Snuggle Pants.” said Sehun

“Schmoopity-Woopity. What’s-his-name.” His tone was mocking. Teasing. Annoying.

“Huh?” I said, making a face. “Who?”

“Wait a sec, I’ve got it.” he said. “Jongdae?”

What?

“Shoot, that’s not it,” he mumbled. “Was it Jisoo?”

Wait.

“Junmyeon?”

Ohmigod.

“Well, shoot, this is going to drive me—”

“Jongin,” I whispered. My throat closed up and an old familiar ache—an ache I’d almost completely forgotten—slowly crept back into my chest.

“That’s it.” Sehun snapped his fingers and leaned back against the booth. “Thank heavens you remembered, Yewon. That was definitely would’ve kept me up all night.”

I was too stunned to notice his sarcasm.

Jongin.

I hadn’t thought of him in what felt like forever. I put my hand over my heart. Perfectly still.

“He kinda deserves a little payback, don’t you think?” Sehun said.

Jongin’s face flashed through my mind. His eyes. His arms. His lips. His kisses. His words. The last words I’d ever heard.

I.
DON’T.
LOVE.
YOU.

A chill shot up my spine.

“Hey.” Sehun leaned over and poked my cheek. “You okay?”

“How long . . .?” I stumbled over the words as reality sunk in. “How long have I been here?”

He held up his hands and counted silently on his fingers. “By my extremely scientific calculations. . . . . seventeen days.”

That’s ALL?

Sehun read the look on my face. “Feels longer, right?”
He ran his hands through his dark hair. “That’s how I used to feel too. When I first got here.”

My stomach suddenly felt queasy.

Seventeen days.

Unbelievable. Somehow, I’d completely lost track of time. I’d lost track of my family. My friends. My world.

How could I have forgotten my whole world?

A prickling sensation began to burn quietly at my fingertips. A weird buzzing, the slightest spark of electricity snapping at the back of my neck, just underneath my hair.

Jongin.

He was the reason. HE had done this to me. It was his fault. All of it. Everything. More than everything. An old forgotten feeling slowly crept in. Something I hadn’t felt in a while.

I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t lonely. I was mad.

“Well?” Sehun said.

I locked eyes with the scruffy boy-angel sitting across from me, and for the first time, gave him a wicked little grin of my own.

“He’s going down.”

Hey, guys! It's an updateee! Thank you so much ffor the support and for the new subscribers/readerss. School's done. Finally I can update whenever I want. Expect many updates from now on. Bye! See you soon. Hope you like this update. 😁