lxii. Impulsion Implosions

“Breathe, Hyunjoo.”

He held tight to your wrenching head between his fingers. Fingernails digging into your scalp as you fought back against him. Screaming so loudly he thought you would bite your tongue off. Yelling out his name so painfully all he wanted to do was reach up and plug his ears. To stop himself from hearing it. From seeing you like this. He could feel tears, sweat, he wasn’t sure anymore, flowing down his cheeks as he kept your head to his lap. 

It stung at his eyes. It blurred his vision. It was nothing compared to the battle now raging in your body.

“Breathe, please.”

But he wasn’t the only one there to help you through it.

“Just a little bit more, baby.” Your mother chanted from where she straddled you, pressing down long, wide, oiled leaves of green against your neck. The unnamed herb lined your peeling skin from the tip of your chin to the base of your collarbones. The smell was atrocious, tugging at his gag reflex with each whiff. He swallowed it down, not strong enough to look your mother in the eyes as she repeated like a broken record: “Your mom loves you. I love you, baby. You know I do. So, so much.”

At approximately seven minutes after midnight, you drank a mixture of tea Jeon Hyosung, a former Hunter, procured for you. The liquid was eight parts wolfsbane extract, two parts water. Diluted poorly. Given misguidedly. You finished the entire tin before your nervous system had time to react. It burned away most of the mucus membrane lining your stomach, almost searing through the muscle entirely. Fortunately, minutes after realizing your mistake, you purged your system via self-induced vomiting.

Unfortunately, the acid you retched up had the same effect on your throat it had on your stomach.

Wolfsbane contained within the liquid you digested seeped into your windpipe. The result was an irritating sensation at the skin on your neck; the difficulty your experienced breathing plus this incessant itch driving you to mindlessly scrape away at your throat. Blunt nails digging into already sensitive flesh caused a rash — created from your body’s allergic reaction — to spread outwards. 

Thankfully, Sunggyu had found you before you could do any more harm to yourself.

He called your mother and carried you into the living room. Keeping you pinned, stopping you from inflicting self-injury, was easy. Listening to your pleas for him to help you somehow, some way, without having even the slightest idea of where to start, was hard. Your mother, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do.

As though she had somehow known this tragedy would befall her daughter, sometime sooner rather than later, she was prepared for you to break.

“This will help filter the air she’s breathing.” Your mother reached up, wiping away the sweat, or the tears, Sunggyu couldn’t tell anymore, that had gathered at her chin. She locked glances with him, eyes seeming to read her mental checklist while they scanned his face. “Next, we need to make her throw up again.”

By the time the sun had come up, you had fallen asleep. Bandages wrapped around your chest and neck, band-aids on almost each and every finger, you laid motionless in your bed. And Sunggyu stayed there until night fell, ignoring each and every ring of his cellphone.

It was an insignificant act of impulsivity. 

The kind that happens every day and goes unnoticed. The kind that’s forgotten the second after it happens. The kind the Fond Memory Bank skips over. Certainly not the kind that changes a person’s mindset. 

But it did.

Sooyoung managed to change Woohyun with one swipe of her hand.

Stealing his phone right out of his grip, she scrolled upwards as she trotted away, “To Song Hyunjoo. Meet me at Mambo Juice tomorrow at noon.” She looked over her shoulder, ducking when Woohyun attempted to get at her, “That’s pretty ballsy for you. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He jumped and failed to snatch it back a second time. 

She was too clever to be fooled by the fake out he tried the third time, too.

“Though the fact that you haven’t sent it yet says a lot,” she turned, head tilting, “don’t you think?”

Woohyun didn’t say anything, holding out his open palm before her. She didn’t evade him this time, giving it back without going all cliche on him. Without playing a role she didn’t have the business of playing. Without sending the text message he had been slaving over for the past ten minutes. 

“Tomorrow though?” She asked just before he walked away. “Why not today?”

Two questions that pushed him in the right direction — whether he knew it then or not.

“Just close your eyes.” Yoona tugged at the harness around his waist, ushering him forward, “And jump.”

He was currently on the railing of a bridge suspended around 100 meters above a running river. At least thirty minutes by car outside of Springfield’s town limits, he would be waiting for help for a long time before he got it. He had more than enough reason to doubt the female werewolf who claimed to be a bungee jump operator for two years prior to this one. Her clarification of “only on the summers” didn’t help bolster his confidence. 

“Come on, Ding Dongwoo.” Yoona hit his shoulder hard enough to dislodge his fear from his throat, “You’ve got more guts than this.”

Did he?

He hadn’t counted lately.

Looking down over the dismal edge of the bridge, Dongwoo wondered what possessed him to follow her through the motions as she hooked him up in the first place. She said it would be fun. She promised it would be. But he had no reason to trust her.

“Or we could stand here all day if you’d like.” Yoona rolled her eyes, yanking at the mechanism one more time — proving her confidence in her own handiwork was doubtful.

On the other hand, she was right.

He could either jump, or he stand and wait for no reason at all.

Seemingly sensing his resolution, she repeated with a smile, “Just close your eyes.”

Fingers pushing at his back, she laughed, “And jump!”

And he did.

“I’m going with you.” Sunny asserted as she stood in front of him, blocking his way out of the two-story home. As impenetrable as always, she beat him to his own sidestep. “It’s nonnegotiable.” 

Daeryong sighed, face free of whatever broken skin and busted blood vessels he’d acquired on his last excursion into what was seemingly the very pit of hell itself. He always did heal faster than most. He was, without a doubt, stronger than others like him. But that didn’t make him bulletproof.

That didn’t mean he didn’t need her.

“A word that means: I’m going with you.” She defined as she stood on the tips of her toes, attempting to meet his tall height. To look down on him in her superior way just like she had before puberty struck. To be there for him, stand up for him, when no one else would. 

He nodded, agreeing for sentiments sake.

Weaker to women than he ever wanted to be, he put the girl he cared about the most in this twisted world in danger. 

For his own sake.

“Will you marry me, Jojo?”

Jung Daeryong asked with a smile, large hands engulfing yours. Your birthday hadn’t come to pass quite yet. So, even if you had said yes, the two of you would have to wait one more month before holding the ceremony. Even if.

It was two days following Graduation, when everything seemed pleasantly settled. When the two of you pleasantly settled yourselves on a stone bench in the town square. A mango juice in his hand and a ginger ale in yours, you almost didn’t hear him over the large gulp you took.

Almost, because he said it again.

“Will you marry me, Jojo?”

You laughed at the time, saying something you couldn’t remember as you pleasantly drifted into a state of REM sleep. He laughed too, finding whatever witty comment you made just as sarcastically funny as you did. 

Then he pulled out a box and said, “I love you, my Snow White.”

You didn’t take him seriously as you returned his affection. Insensitively adding the word “too” at the end like you meant it. When he knew you didn’t. When you both knew you didn’t. 

“I love you, Jojo.” His voice spoke clearly, ringing true above it all. Above the noises of the trees, of the cars, and of the people that surrounded you. Above it all. “I think I’ll always love you.” 

And that was it. 

That was your dream of an event that took place a handful of months prior. 

That was the last time you saw his smile. That large, beaming smile as he pushed onto you a burden he had never intended to. He just needed to say it. He just needed to proclaim those three words that held in them the raw truth of how he felt towards you in that last moment as you sat there, the only one reflected in his eyes. He just chose to do it over mango juice and a ginger ale.

That was the last day you saw Jung Daeryong.

Because by the end of your pleasant dream, by the end of this long month of August, he’d be dead.

Myungsoo arrived at your house not even five minutes after Sunggyu called him. Other than a change of clothes, he wasn’t lacking of anything in particular. He had calm demeanor and a grasp on his sanity. Much more than Sunggyu could say for himself.

Your mother explained your situation. Myungsoo listened without interrupting once. He absorbed all of it and immediately went to work changing the bandages wrapped securely around your neck. He whispered some things as he did so. Something about your thick-headedness. Something else about your impulsivity. Some other sweet words that didn’t fall deaf on Sunggyu’s ears.

It was obvious then to Sunggyu exactly what kind of relationship you maintained with Myungsoo.

Yet he remained undaunted by the horror he had faced for hours on end.

“How long have you known?”

“Since last Spring.” Myungsoo answered his question without hesitance, “When I smelt my brother on her for the first time. It all clicked after that.”

Sunggyu nodded, digging his hands into his jean pockets, “Her father’s name is Park Hyunwoo. He’s the Ruling House Member of the Park House. A member of the Elite’s Werewolf Faction. A pure bred who mated with a human female: Song Hanbyul.” Shoving them further down, reaching for something he couldn’t grasp, he added, “His family is particularly close to yours.”

Myungsoo turned where he sat at your bedside, facing Sunggyu with a deadpan expression, “You’re my family.”

Myungsoo’s loyalty both pleased and upset Sunggyu. Pleased because, since the day Myungsoo took his last name, he cared about him as though they truly were brothers related by blood. Upset because Myungsoo’s loyalty stretched both ways. Onto both him and you.

Five minutes for exactly how many miles?

He even had the guts to apologize for being late when he arrived at your doorstep.

“I need to get home.” Sunggyu spoke up, not even having the courage to stay until you woke up. “The others will start asking questions if I don’t return again tonight.”

“I understand,” Myungsoo responded.

He didn’t ask why Sunggyu intended to keep your true nature a secret. He didn’t ask why Sunggyu had found you in the first place. He didn’t ask because he trusted him.

Because secrets are kept for a reason.

You woke up a few days later to an aching pain in your chest. Sitting up in bed, you peaked down your shirt to find multiple hot patches. The smell was bitter and had your stomach convulsing in displeasure. You only remembered bits and pieces of what had occurred after your borderline suicidal act. There was Sunggyu. There was Myungsoo. Perhaps only one. Perhaps both were a dream.

Either way, there certainly wasn’t food. 

Judging from the clear bag of liquid that was suspended above your bed, hunger was a problem easily remedied during sleep.

Not nearly as such when wide awake.

You pushed yourself out of bed, not paying as much mind as you should have to the needle you yanked from your arm or your own reflection in the mirror atop your dresser. You pulled at the large gauze on your nape. The absence of pain had you tugging at it without any inhibitions as you descended the stairs. A slap on your wrist is what snapped you out of your hunger driven daze. 

“Good morning.” Your mother greeted, patting down onto that tortured patch of cotton. “You’re up earlier than expected. I was worried you wouldn't make it.”

You parted your lips, wanting to respond.

She cut you off with a smack to your before you could, “Go on and shower before having breakfast. Your flight leaves for Japan in five hours.”

There was an ignorant smile on her face and a packed suitcase by the front door. 

Though you had a feeling that, despite international charges, your mother wouldn’t let you off the hook scott-free. Sure enough, one week later, you would be sending a care package back home containing all the flavors of twizzlers known to man. This included a mystery pack, whose flavor was known to no one.