A Thousand Times
A Thousand Times
((No order of events because he's lost his mind, and they won't let me indent apparently, but my wordpad- no I do not use Microsoft, I have yet to download it, so any typos/spelling mistakes... well I don't have SpellCheck, so mianhae. Some things are indented and some things aren't.))
A thousand times.
I must have seen him die a thousand times.
Every time, I'd wake up screaming, and he'd wake up next to me, hugging me wordlessly, not letting go until the sobs quieted to whimpers. Then he'd look at me with those big, beautiful eyes of his and say, "I'm still here, Kibummie. I'm still alive." He knew just what was going on, every time, almost every night (I must have told him somewhere along the way, but I can't remember anymore). He didn't show signs of boredom, and he never showed any signs of wanting to leave.
I think the dreams started when I received those schizophrenia pills, but it's been so long that I can't remember. I told them that I was fine, that I wasn't paranoid, but not even Jonghyun believed me. He told me that everything would be better if I did what they said, but look at me now. Do I sound ing fine to you?
I started to wonder when my drugged mind would run out of ways for JongHyun to die. I started realizing how frail humans are, and how easily they die. Thoughts started forming in my head. Thoughts I didn't like.
My hands... they shake a lot. They sometimes shake so much that I can't pick up or hold anything. Jonghyun has to do it for me. I hate that pitiful look in his eyes. I want to scream at him to look away, to tell him that I'm not a freak like they say, but instead, I let him help me. I don't want him to leave me. He's done it a thousand times in my dreams.
Sometimes, when he falls asleep as we sit on the couch watching Minho's drama, I study his face, listening to Kang Tae Joon threatening, "Jokgoshippeo?!" I like his cheekbones. They're prominent and they give him his cute, dorky grin. I like his lips and they way they drop with his jaw when he's surprised. I like his puppy dog eyes when he's awake, and how big and dazzling they are.
But most of all, I like the color in his face. It means he's still alive.
I don't like sleeping then. I'll go days without sleeping before I pass out. I always wake up in bed next to Jonghyun. Always. And he never forces me to sleep.
Sometimes, I dream of killing him. I hate myself for it. I don't want him to die. Sometimes, he commits suicide because I'm being too hard on him. Sometimes, he gets killed because of me. Sometimes, I'm in denial about his death. One time, he even died in his sleep (that scared me the most, and I rarely sleep when he does, or I try not to).
Every night, a different dream. After every dream, I wake up screaming. Although he's died a thousand times, he's still alive and telling me through his eyes that I'm insane. I'm insane and I've lost all direction.
ing Jonghyun. I'm fine. I told him that. I keep telling him that. People get weird dreams all the time. It's not like I'd really kill him.
He gets sad, then, asking if I even want him around. That's when I finally yell at him. That's when I finally scream at him until my voice gives out, and he takes it while casting his gaze downward, like a guilty puppy. When I finish, he holds me close and apologizes, promising that things will get better with a sincere tone. He's a great liar. A great liar indeed.
I stopped taking the pills. Jonghyun noticed after he noticed the signs of my schizophrenia creeping up again. Maybe when I asked him questions like "Why did you make extra soondae gook?" He points out that we haven't had soondae gook in the house for at least three months. I shake my head and start to argue, and when he raises his voice I let myself curl into a ball on the floor, screaming and crying. The withdraw from the pills was terrible. Just terrible.
He tried to force me to take them. "Please, jagiya," he would whisper, trying to get me to swallow the pills I needed and wanted so bad, but for the first time since those doctors made me take the pills, Jonghyun didn't die in my dreams. We even went clothes shopping in my dream, and he smiled at me, making me smile back, something I haven't done in a while.
We still couldn't do those things in real life. Jonghyun claims that he can't take me out until I take the pills because I'm unstable and can't handle a social setting. He's probably right. I think he's also embarrassed to be seen with me. Why wouldn't he be? I'm ing crazy. I'm insane, right? Isn't that what the doctors said?
I once told Jonghyun that I wish it was me. I wish I died in my dreams, but I never did. He put his hands on either side of my face and told me that he loves me no matter what, and that he's glad I didn't die, not even in my dreams. He told me that nothing will ever change that. I don't think that he'd kill myself if I died. I don't want him too, either. I wish he'd just find someone else and leave me alone to wallow in my disorder, and stop wasting his life taking care of me.
I hate putting him through his.
I hate seeing him die.
Why did we have to get so close? Back before this all happened, he ignored me. He wasn't being mean, but he knew that there was something wrong with me, and he didn't want that in his life. Now, he's in his old Hell, engulfed with the flames of issues that are me. I made his life Hell.
A few times, I cut myself. After I stopped taking my pills, the pain was more bearable, because even though I didn't have the drugs to help cloud the feeling, I had hallucinations to keep me distracted. There were voices telling me it's okay to hurt, it's good to feel the pain, because I deserved it. I took away Jonghyun's life, making him watch over me until I finally die, and each cut is a step closer to healing him.
He saw me, though. He came home earlier than I thought and yanked the kitchen knife out of my hands, tossing it into the sink and washing off my cuts, lecturing me for a while before drying the wounds and saying nothing, his face a mix of such strong emotions that I had to look away. I knew that he was crying. I knew that he was disappointed in me, but I couldn't help it. I want his life to be better. Does he not realize how good his life would be without me?
He called the doctor then, and told them about me. They took me to the hospital. I grew to hate those disgusting white rooms and sanitary feeling. It sickened me. It sickened me to see my boyfriend sitting next to me, his eyes flooded with worry and guilt. Guilt. He was guilty that I had ed up his life. And they call me crazy.
People sent flowers. Jonghyun's friends, I think, because I don't remember having any friends. I don't remember wanting to be talking to anyone but Jonghyun.
"I want to get out of here," I told Jonghyun again, but he shook his head, saying that if I left, I might hurt myself again, and he couldn't risk that. He then said that I already said that. He says that I say that every day but I don't remember it at all.
They forced me to take the pills. They would drug me out of my ing mind just to get me to take them. I hated it. I hated it beyond words and Jonghyun knew that. He just smoothed my hair back and told me to get some sleep.
The first night of taking pills again, he died. This time, we got a trip to the Amazon, and he was devoured by some animal. I can't remember it now. The animal smirked at me, it seemed, but he also left me alone. I screamed for him to come back, to take me, too, but it left, and I was stuck staring at the mangled remains of my dead lover.
I had woken up with a start, screaming, expecting Jonghyun to wrap his arms around me and whisper soothing words, but he wasn't there. He wasn't ing there. I looked around, tears running down my face, and yelled his name. My superhero didn't come to my rescue.
Instead, the nurses came in, drugging me again until I calmed down and fell back asleep. But Jonghyun wasn't there, and another dream came. For the first time ever, it was a death that I've seen before... I think. I don't remember it well, but I had a strange sense of deja vu. I looked at the hospital bed. Strange, I was in a wheelchair and a hospital gown. There lied Jonghyun, his face pale again. Words escaped my lips in a shrill voice, but I don't remember what those words were. I needed to get to him. I needed to see him open his eyes and smile at me, and I needed to feel his arms around me. How could he be as selfish as to die? I was weak. I needed him.
The doctors were talking about some disease, some stress-caused disease. Was it me? Did I kill him? Jonghyun was dead because of me?
I woke up drenched in sweat with a pounding headache, the drugs wearing off. Jonghyun still wasn't there. Jonghyun needed to be there.
Or has my dream finally become a reality?
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