Tiffany hates her. Well, not really. Not after everything the girl had made happen in the past twenty-four hours. Still, Tiffany doesn’t like her. She hates the girl like how she hates the ever-changing lights of a traffic-light; with passion. And yet, she finds herself torn between two opposites, neither here nor there, and she finds it difficult to hate the girl, but she finds it difficult to come to like her as well. Life is a complicated mess, and Tiffany’s only failure is that she has failed to sort it out after numerous tries. Yes, true, Jessica has turned her life into a mess, but for the Hwang, messes are meant to be cleaned. Only problem is that…she can’t bring herself to clean the messes Jessica made.

“Stop staring out the window. Your lack of enthusiasm creeps me out,” now Tiffany regrets not being able to clean the mess up as she averts her eyes, though heavily, to the frowning Jessica. “What happened to ‘Fany Fany Tiffany’?”

“She’s sulking in the corner because her life came out wrong.”

Jessica smirks lazily at her. “Well, tell her to quit moping around about it and do something!”

~+~

Tiffany decides to go around without lip balm for a day, only to freak out when she peers into the bathroom mirror. Oh, the horror of dried, chapped lips. But it isn’t like anyone is going to kiss me anyway. With that thought, Tiffany went to sleep without removing her make-up and wakes up to an utterly amused Seohyun who now have something to add to Tiffany’s ‘I-don’t-wash-often’ subject. It’s a touchy subject but somehow it keeps on popping up every now and then. But that’s good.

Bad things are memorable.

Just like Jessica Jung.

Yes, like Jessica Jung. Her high-pitched squeals, constant whining; Tiffany will gladly shove a cucumber where it doesn’t shine. Till then, she cringes at the shrill voice.

“Someone tape up,” she mutters and grabs toast from the table.

Jessica is too lazy. Tiffany understands that Jessica’s sloth-like nature has something to do with the fact that the girl has no goals in life, nothing to look forward to, nothing to fuel her enthusiasm when on stage. That small aspect, Tiffany is willing to sympathise, but she isn’t planning on giving in and being the timid slave when it comes to Jessica. She glimpses Jessica’s lazy nature now, when Jessica ignores the comment and continues to indulge in the American breakfast.

Tiffany recognises their similarities, but is too distracted by their differences to fully analyse anything yet, like the small smiles she sees on Jessica’s face when she sings along to the latest English song, or the stares that seem to stretch on forever.

And forever is a very long time.

~+~

Jessica thinks of Tiffany like a fleeting cloud, sometimes here, sometimes there. That girl is never still. But that cloud fades away just as fast, like when Tiffany burns out from physical and mental exhaustion and decides to play dead for the day, simply blending in the walls until she recharges again.

Just like battery, Jessica realises.

But batteries reek of that acrid, metallic smell that nauseates Jessica. That’s it. Tiffany is a battery then, since Tiffany nauseates Jessica. But like it or not, Jessica’s life can never be complete without her much-needed battery. She needs to shove some in the remote control to watch television, she needs it for the clock mounted on her wall, she needs to use batteries to ensure that the remote for the air-conditioner stays alive. She can’t survive without batteries.

So Tiffany is a battery, then.

“Tiffany,” she once said to the passing girl. “You’re like a pack of rechargeable batteries.”

“Rechargeable batteries?” the girl had seemed surprised, but nonetheless pleased.

 Jessica had just compared her to batteries. Sure, her life was great.

“Hey,” Jessica knocks on Tiffany’s door and it swings open in a hesitant welcome. “So, tell me, do they use batteries to power traffic-lights?”

Tiffany is blank. She doesn’t know anything to say of that moment.

“Go Wikipedia it or something. Google it. I’m sure something will come out,” Tiffany finally says, not able to make the connection between batteries and traffic-lights.

“It lags. Connection here.”

“Well, then, ask God,” Tiffany answers evenly.

Jessica on the other hand, is surprised that the door hasn’t already been slammed in her face. “You want me to pray for batteries and traffic-lights?”

“Everything is worth praying for.”

~+~

Jessica taps her pencil on the notebook and drums her fingers along the table. She is tired today. Countless schedules make a very grumpy and cranky Jessica. Most importantly, she is tired.

“It looks like you could use some batteries now,” Tiffany says.

“Batteries are unreliable. Better stick with the trusty electrical socket.”

“And get electrocuted.”

“Bother some other god-forsaken person, would you?”

“I only see one god-forsaken person here,” another smart comeback.

Jessica swears will get Tiffany back some other day when looking up into earnest eyes isn’t such a difficult thing to do. The jumpy Tiffany is displeased at Jessica’s silence. The absence of the girl’s snarky comebacks agitates her and she tries to poke holes, seek for loopholes to press Jessica’s button. Tiffany can’t say much, because a nagging in her mind is telling her to sleep and lie in the comfort of her bed and blankets that await her in the air-conditioned room, but she waits until Jessica Jung makes a comeback so she can start again.

Morphine.

Jessica is like morphine. But Jessica is way too many things already and the girl has already been preoccupied with the various names other girls call her. Tiffany feels it necessary to deem the nearly lifeless Jessica as a drug.

Tiffany hates drugs. She hates how the lethargy spreads out and takes control of her mind without her permission. But lethargy feels like a soft bed, with plush pillows surrounding her. Lethargy feels like a safety net when she fails to stand. And like that, Jessica is morphine.

“Oh Christ, you’re still here,” Jessica shifts a little and peers at Tiffany from the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to say anything.”

“You never do,” Tiffany smiles faintly. “Morphine doesn’t speak.”

“And who is this morphine?” Jessica asks testily.

“The girl who called me rechargeable batteries.”

Jessica sighs and Tiffany can see how tired the girl is. Tired, but not defeated. This simple logic keeps Tiffany from leaving the room.

~+~

“I just found out,” a triumphant grin irks Tiffany, “that traffic-lights do have batteries in them.”

Tiffany stands, her back aches and her calves burn. She has been sitting that way for hours, arranging photos in old albums, folding old clothes into a duffel bag, things she hasn’t done for a very long time. She almost misses the lingering smell of old parchment paper her father keeps in his bedroom and the batteries. Oh god, the melted batteries her father still has in his drawer by the bedside table. With gloves, the youngest Hwang diligently scrapes it out with the back of a spoon, supressing bile in .

Well, her bedroom now smells of nothing but age, if numbers have scents. Faded shirts she used to wear, worn jeans scuffed at the hems and the torn, stained bed-sheets she winces when stared upon. Tiffany’s mind swirls, colours flashing too fast in her mind now.

Like a traffic-light. Like Jessica.

But as immediate as it is, the lethargy kicks in and Tiffany smiles once again at the presence of morphine.

“Additionally, I found out that rechargeable batteries come in pink,” Jessica fiddles with the small cylindrical battery with her fingers, much to Tiffany’s disinterest.

Tiffany says nothing in response, but takes the pink battery from Jessica. Despite everything, despite the blank look that probably means ‘I’m about to shove this in your throat’, Tiffany knew she can never have this any different.

Well, if it had been, Tiffany will never be Tiffany. Without traffic-lights, without her much-needed morphine, Tiffany is nothing like the rechargeable battery in her fingers. She is not a battery when Jessica is not morphine. Simple.

She stares at the battery, finds no resemblance to her physical self and slowly reaches out for Jessica’s slender fingers. She uncurls them and gently places the battery in Jessica’s palm. Such contact is enough to recharge Tiffany and to drag the lethargic Jessica into surprising awareness. Tiffany taps her fingernail on the battery, smiling.

“Your addiction to the air-conditioner is amusing,” she says and curls Jessica’s fingers around the battery.

Tiffany hopes she will never have to scrape them out, because her trust comes in high favours. Tying batteries to the things Jessica loves, Tiffany knows she will only have to scrape them out after forever.

And forever is a very long time.

Note: To those that didn’t get the ending, by giving the battery to Jessica, she’s entrusting Jessica to keep her heart safe, because the battery is like a reflection of Tiffany’s own self. By saying, ‘Your addiction to the air-conditioner is amusing’, Tiffany is implying for Jessica to use that for the air-conditioner, which Tiffany is certain Jessica will love forever.

And like that, JeTi is like batteries and morphine.

Hope you enjoyed it. ^^