XIII
Reborn for You
“To be reborn again, first you have to die..."
- Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses
*
When I got up that morning he was gone. I wasn’t surprised but I also wasn’t happy about it. I knew I had overacted, I just didn’t know why. All I knew was the loneliness of my house now that he’d left it. The room he’d been staying in was completely put together, as if he’d never been there; he must have left early.
I needed to figure out some things—okay, a lot of things. Taemin was obviously no threat; he wouldn’t hurt anyone, he didn’t cross any lines or try anything with her—she would have mentioned it to me. I know it. She told me everything—but that was the problem, wasn’t it? I wasn’t really upset about him liking her, and that wasn’t the thing that was bothering me most…
Of all times, over all things, you put up a fight now?
My better instinct was to go look for him but I didn’t. Even I if I wanted to, I didn’t know where to start. Not really. I didn’t even have a phone number to reach him. So instead I called Mr. Roh, oblivious to the fact that I might get him in trouble by doing so, and asked him if he’d seen him. I waited only three hours in the first day to make this call…
“He told me this morning that he thought you were good enough to come back to work. Resigned, actually; said his job was over. Weird kid…”
But it’s not. I impulsively argued. It’s not over.
“Is this true? You feeling better, Choi? Jesus, we could really use you ’round here—”
I paused a moment, unsure how to answer. I wasn’t really listening anyway. I stopped listening once he told me that Taemin was gone. So, he’d slipped from my life completely—just like I told him to.
It was just as well. I really didn’t know how to apologize for myself anyway. I didn’t know what I could possibly begin to say...
Meanwhile, days passed and the house had gone to hell around me. I didn’t care. What did it matter if the dishes in the sink sat another day? I wasn’t going to use them. Why bother doing laundry or picking up the empty cans of beer I’d strewn about the floor since that day? Who gave a —no one was coming here. Just me and my lonely self, that’s all the company I had; the only person who stayed with me, at all times, no matter what, was the one person I couldn’t stand the most.
Now that I had an added person to miss I also had an extra reason to hate myself. So that now even the thought of suicide—which once brought me a strange, macabre sense of peace—no longer seemed an honorable solution, just another thing to disappoint someone over. I could picture his face as he heard the news—I’m sure he’d hear somehow—and while I would hope to find her in death, I’d only be leaving someone else to curse me in life. I was torn between two worlds now, two hemispheres of love and hate, guilt and more guilt… the only thing that I could do to recover the gap was to hate myself more than I already did. To do nothing. To embrace apathy at a new level, to rot away in my private cell of misery.
Jesus ing Christ, who have I become…
I used to be a normal person. Kind. Happy. I really was a happy man once. Back when I thought I had everything to live for. Even when I thought I had nothing but promises in death, I was at least content. But now I was at a crossroads: either way seemed wrong because either way, the problem wasn’t the destination, the problem was me. Either way I chose, I could not escape myself.
Three more weeks passed, then another set after that. I had been back to work for quite some time now. I tried to forget him. I tried to forget that I even missed him. But the heart doesn’t lie, even when you don’t understand its language.
My little stalker, where are you? No longer lurking in the shadows?
Truth was, I wanted to see his face. Funny how the tables had turned. I waited as long as I could before I got the address from Mr. Roh’s file. I fought my conscious with a good show at least, ultimately forfeiting by convincing myself it would be good to see what kinds of things he was up to if nothing else. I was entitled to this, right? I mean, after all, he’d spent a good amount of time spying on my wife (at least, or so I thought). Why couldn’t I return the gesture? My boss didn’t know I did this, nor would he have likely cared. Either way, this great secret remained just that—a secret. And the very hour I lifted Taemin’s address off the computer I directly told him I was leaving for the rest of the day (night, really) and caught the first train to the station. I’d never been there before; I’d never been anywhere near this area before.
Damn, I was right—this kid lives in a hole part of town…
I found the apartment building easily enough. I don’t know how many hours I watched his door in secret. Don’t know how much time passed before he finally came home, two plastic bags from the corner convenient store hanging over his arm. My chest seized when I saw him. Hair disheveled and cheeks flushed as if he’d been jogging or at least walking fast, Taemin quickly unlocked the door and slipped from my sight.
Why are you this way? I think. Why are you, Taemin? Why are you—? Seeing him again, after all this time, only confirmed the things that terrified me. You saw him, I tell myself, now go.
But I didn’t. I just continued to stand there, watching his door and waiting for him to come back. Waited for something, anything. Nothing. I just wanted to see him one last time—if only to be sure. I had to be sure…
It ended up a bad habit, I can admit. Every night I would find myself on the same train, at the same stop, in front of the same apartment number in the same damn hiding place. I never knocked. Never said hello as I watched him ascend the stairs, only hid in the darkness to observe him, like some creepy vampire from a ’20s movie where no one talked in words, only facial expressions. After he turned his lights off for the night I would leave, and each time I told myself it would be the last, always knew that it wouldn’t.
I managed to do this awhile, keep half of my brain functioning at work and the other half focusing on my five minutes a night I got to see the person I tried so hard not to miss, but I was still restless. It solved very little, save for keeping me alive. I didn’t sleep in my room anymore but on the couch. This was actually an improvement; the first week he was gone I’d slept in the room he’d used while living with me.
Living with me? He just stayed a few weeks…
When I slept in that bed I usually had dreams of him. Dirty dreams. So I had to stop; I wasn’t ready to wrestle that just yet. I hadn’t had a dream about her since he’d left, however, and I spent a good deal of my time being angry at her, for no apparent reason. Everything made me more and more upset—his absence, hers. My stupidity. My loneliness. I’d never felt so vulnerable in all my life, as if all the walls of my fortress had been breached, threatening to crack and expose me for the fraud I’d come to be…
On this particular night I summoned her. I know I did, though I can’t explain it. She’d been silent for so long, as if she’d forgotten me. She’d left me alone, just like Taemin, and I felt all at once that the whole ing world was mocking me. On this night I say her name, over and over, until the spell of the chant begins to lose its power. The name becomes just another word, a series of letters sewn together by the tongue. And I wondered how it would compare to say another’s instead. I say it; it sounds pathetic even to me. I can’t say it without stuttering, without feeling the same seizing sensation in my chest that came over me every time I spotted him from the dark shadow of my hiding spot.
‘I cannot deny who I am, simply to appease a ghost…’
A thousand times I’d run through this quote in my mind, a thousand times I could not explain just who, in this scenario, my actual ghost was. As if looking down on my weak state, my dead wife continues to flash that haunting smile from beyond the one-dimensional Kodak frames hung all around the room. Her expression remains bound in frozen happiness, indifferent to my pain. She just remained there, statuesque and timelessly lovely; haunting, haunting me on the walls...
“You’re not real!” I say out of nowhere. I’d never uttered those words before and they stung as I say them. I see then the truth divided from illusion; I see the constructs of my own insecurity and pain. I felt by accepting this that I was rejecting her. I felt that, by considering these feelings, I was required to be upset with her. Or at least, more upset with myself. Was I betraying her now, even in death? How could I have let it all get this far…
‘I cannot deny who I am. Simply to appease... a ghost.’
Perhaps because of this, because I’d called her out by name, my long-lost wife came to me that night—the first visit in so long a time that I’d nearly forgotten the sensation of her presence. Almost. That same night, I’d dozed off on the couch while a cheap TV-movie ran disinterestedly in the background. I was barely asleep when I heard her say: ‘Why are you fighting, Minho-ah?’
At first it was hard to tell. That voice, I remembered it; of course I did. It was just that at times like these when the difference between waking nightmares and sleeping reveries mixed. It had been so long since her voice haunted me.
‘Why are you fighting?’ she repeated in my brain.
I couldn’t see where we were. It wasn't our customary place in that park; I didn't recognize it at all. “Where did you go?” I say. I feel ashamed that I’d just cursed her; embarrassed by my secret thoughts; relieved to see her—a clash of a million emotions colliding inside me all at once. “Where have you been?”
She put her hand on mine. ‘You are so angry...’
“I’m—I’m sorry.” This seemed the only fitting thing to say in response. I am weakened by my need for her.
‘You’ve been sorry for too long.’
“There are too many things to be sorry for. Every day without you is just another apology. They’re adding up.”
‘It’s not good to live this way. It’s better to let things be.’
I did that once, allowed events to go by without me trying to stop them. That was the day that she died. The day that I let her leave, upset and angry over the stupid things that I'd said. I didn't follow her, didn't get a change to apologize. I had convinced myself that I didn't even care, never for a minute expecting it would be the last time I would ever see her.
“If only I’d been honest that day—everything would have been different. Everything would have changed…”
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’
“Do you remember? The things that I said…?” I gave her little time to answer before adding: “Yes. With your memory, you definitely remember.”
She laughed softly. ‘It’s the unexpected things that matter most. You understand, right? All things connect in then end.’
I pretended to misunderstand, but I understood lots of things I wasn’t ready to admit to. “I need to know that you forgive me—if nothing else, I have to know this.”
‘There is nothing to forgive.’
“Still. I need to hear it…”
‘Perhaps the person you need forgiveness from is not me, but yourself.’
I woke up suddenly and without warning, my wife’s words ringing mercilessly in my mind. I’d been sweating in my sleep, I could tell. It wasn’t a restful sleep at all, but the kind that makes you more tired than when you started.
“I don’t know if I can—” I told the empty air around me in an almost desperate tone. “What if I can’t do that, what if I don’t know how?”
But there was no one there to answer, no matter how much I wanted it.
‘I cannot deny who I am. Simply. To appease. A ghost…’
It hit me then with inescapable clarity: the false self I'd created in order to cope with realities too strong to grieve, the ones I was too afraid to do without because without them I was forced to move on, forced to accept things as they were and all the things that could be because of it...
I finally understood. The ghost wasn’t her at all—the ghost was me.
* * *
Despite the wind and the rain and the late hour, I went back to Taemin’s apartment for a second time that night. I felt led here. Led by my pain, by my need. I didn't want to be at home anymore. It was no longer the sanctuary I once believed it was; it was no longer keeping me from the things that hurt me, but from the things that I needed in order to feel better. Just like that, my refuge had become a prison.
I didn’t bother with an umbrella. I didn’t even bother to hide myself well—I knew he’d be asleep. Taemin always slept at this time, I could tell by the artificial light of the electronic candle that shone through the small kitchen window—he turned it on every night at 11:30, no doubt to detract burglars from thinking no one was home. Quirky and a little OCD, just like I remembered him. I liked this about him. I liked it a lot.
He shouldn’t be living in this place. It’s dangerous.
I’d somewhere along the way forgotten that he had essentially lost his job because of me. That he was unemployed. That he was probably existing off little to no money, guarding this small space with the ineffectual flame of a fake candle the only thing he had left to cling to…
You can’t play savior here, Minho. I reprimand myself. You can’t play both savior and devil. He probably hates you. He hates you…
I don’t know how long I stood there that night. I honestly don’t remember. I don’t remember anything else but the feeling of satisfaction I got from watching over him. Even if he never knew—that was fine. He’d spent far too long protecting me. I wanted to return the favor…
Favor. Favor? This is no ‘favor.’ This is fantasy…
I started to drift off, the haunting conversation from ealier still lingering in my mind as I drifted between consciousness. I continued to hear voices though, voices that at first resembled hers but soon enough his...
‘Why are you fighting?’ I swore I heard, their voices mixing together. ‘Why are you fighting, Minho-ah?’
The words lingered a little more before—
“How long are you going to stand in the rain? You’re gonna get sick that way.”
I was startled awake by this sound. I hadn't imagined it at all; was Taemin talking to me? Like that? I’d been so out of it, I didn’t even notice his door opening in the first place.
“What, you don’t think that I see you there? That I’ve seen you there every night for the past two months? You could have at least picked a different hiding spot now and again…”
I had no idea what to say. This took me completely off-guard.
Taemin crossed his arms. He was leaning in the archway like the king of his castle. A sheriff over his ward and I, the petrified guilty-as-hell criminal standing trial. “You look terrible.”
He really does hate you. Why wouldn’t he? You’ve been nothing but a jerk all this time…
Part of me wanted to run away at the sound of his stern voice—I’d never been intimidated by another man before, especially like this. But the other part… well, the other part wanted something wholly different. “T-aemin, I—” This was the only thing I could force from my mouth.
Tell him that you’re sorry. Tell him you’re sorry for being such an .
He waited, stony-faced and impossible to read.
Tell him that you—
“I’m—I’m… how are you?”
“Better than you, it seems.”
Understatement of the year.
"Hey, I'm still alive~" I shrug comically.
"I can see that." He apparently didn't find it as funny as I'd hoped.
"You probably knew that also..."
Taemin managed a slight smirk. He didn’t ask me what I was doing there or how I found him. He didn’t ask me anything. Not that he didn’t care most likely, but that he really was unsurprised; it took a lot to surprise Lee Taemin, this much I knew.
"You look well..." I added then.
Again he ignored my observations. “You’re all wet,” he said. “You could at least come in and dry off.” And then he took my hand. Touched my wet skin with his soft fingers and pulled me, albeit jarringly, towards the door.
I was fully aware that I’d been selfish since the day that I’d met him. That I’d been a prick. An unfeeling, irresponsible, slandering prick. I also knew, in that moment that he touched me—those warm eyes of his, that tender expression that hid behind a guise of indifference—that I wanted to feel him more. That I needed to feel, if just for a moment, the things that I craved in the silence of my solitude…
I need this. I need... Taemin, I've missed you.
I allowed him to pull me, matching his effort with twice as much effort of my own, until all at once my lips landed on his, my rain-stained face dripping shamelessly over his—my hand, still connected, lacing his fingers with a gentle force that confessed beyond words that I did not want to be separated.
I was wrong before: this did seem to surprise him. It wasn’t the same as the day I tried to take him on the bed. This was different, though it is hard for me to explain just how. The first time I’d felt Taemin’s body this close to mine all I remember was vehement greed: a careless and selfish desire to take what I wanted regardless of protest—had he provided any. This time, however, I felt absorbed by his touch; weakened and excited and vulnerable in one swoop—I felt, so very unexpectedly, like I would go crazy if I did not taste that specific flavor of his tongue I still remembered, or smell the signature sweetness of his skin. My hands were shaking like a ’s; I swear it was the weirdest thing—he made me nervous, he made me afraid. All from the simple touch of one man’s lips grazing another’s…
What are you doing?! Everything you do is wrong. Tell him you’re sorry—tell him you’re sorry!
I pulled away, just a fraction of an inch—just enough to begin to mouth an apology before Taemin, an incessantly surprising person, leaned into me and kissed me back. Not only a kiss, but a kiss—and the difference between these two kinds is immense, like the space between worlds.
Oh, this taste. This taste...
This moment of weakness that I did not understand fell over us like a shroud, compelling us both to do things silently and beyond explanation that perhaps we would not have otherwise. Not one word was exchanged as we moved together through the doorframe, backed against the kitchen wall in a fit of strange yearning, remained inexplicitly linked by heightened heartbeats and trembling touches. He didn’t ask me if it was okay, nor did I. I didn’t even ask myself. There were no questions in my mind at this point, only impulse—fiery, unstoppable impulse.
Taemin was clutching at the sleeves of my jacket, causing the water that had been absorbed by the cotton like a sponge to seep out as he kneaded it. Likewise, I was touching his face—his cheeks flushed, his neck soft, the rim on his jawline that moved up and down as he moved his mouth further into mine... I slid his shirt up and over his head. I don’t know why, other than to say it was a drive that compelled me. In the back of my brain, I realized there was a name for this. But I couldn’t even define what was happening, much less keep up with the sensations that were compelling us both to endure it.
Am I—? Is this who I am…?
Shut up.
There was no time to answer. No time to think. All I knew was that I felt, for the first time, a state of bliss that no one and no thing allowed me to feel since my wife left me.
I cannot deny who I am, simply to appease—
I wanted this. I wanted him. But I couldn’t take him as simply as that. Not after all I’d done to deserve nothing but a cold shoulder…
“Taemin, I…”
He put a finger to my lips and gestured me to stop. “Hyung, do you finally understand?”
I think so. I think so…
In truth, I did think so. At least some things, but not all. But there'd be time for that. Right now, it was impossible to know anything save for the way his small body felt pressed into mine. “If we—I’ve never…” I trailed.
I could hear him breathing heavily from out his nose, lips slightly ajar. “Me neither.”
“Ever?”
He shook his head. I found this equally surprising; I had assumed at least one of us would have some experience, I don't know why. I felt more and more like I was taking something from him.
“If you’ve never been with...” I started, “how do you know that you’re—”
“You haven’t either; how do you know that you’re not?”
He had a point, but honestly it wouldn’t have mattered: I’d already come to the same conclusions, regardless of the questions. “Are you sure?”
I had to ask, you understand. After failing him so badly the first time, I had to ask.
“Minho...” he answered breathily, lips hovering against mine. “Your clothes… are wet.”
I didn’t flinch as he ed my jacket then shoved it off me, allowing it to pool on the tiles of the kitchen floor. I was still slightly afraid to touch him even now, really touch him, but the temptation was getting harder and harder to resist. I allowed him to take off my shirt also, followed by my pants. He was right, after all; everything on me was soaking wet.
I didn’t really know what to do, but instinct was faithful to lead us; I corralled him into his room with the pressing of my bare chest against his, my firmness starkly contrasting his more soft and subtle build. Our hearts were beating wildly, I could feel it the very second I moved on top him, the mattress sinking under the weight of us combined, and for a few seconds we lay there stunned and mystified, lost in a strange expectant trance as I began to trace the delicate arch of his collarbone with a wayward finger.
It was all I needed. My whole body... is on fire...
“I thought I’d already hit rock-bottom,” I said as I continued to touch him, studying his every reaction to the slightest sensation. I allowed the same adventurous finger to explore Taemin's sternum. I was too curious, you see; curious about this magnificent body and the magnificent person who owned it. “It wasn't until you left that I realized how much further I had to go…”
With a more aggressive force than I anticipated from him, Taemin reached up and cupped a single hand around my neck, pulling my face down to meet his. Silenced once again by his kiss, silenced and eager—these were the last exchange of comprehensible words we would share for the next hour, and quite some time after that.
___________
A/N: So, I'd like to know: was the second scene too much or not enough? Honest opinions are welcome. This information will come in handy later on. Ah, only two chapters left, guys~ I will miss this story. Will you?
<3UM
Comments