*Ding*
Yuna darling, this is Mom speaking. I’m sorry I couldn’t pick up earlier, Mr Kim was incredibly excited that his daughter is getting engaged and it would have been impolite for me to… You know, pick up your call. Anyway, whatever the results are, Mommy and Daddy are here for you. We won’t be home tonight, if there’s anything you need, let the servants know. And you better not be late for the party tomorrow night. See you, bye!
P.S. You’re coming to the dinner, right?
 
*Ding*
Whoops, Mom again. I just wanted to say, be home two hours earlier for the dinner because you need some extra time for make-up. You’ve been looking so pale and dead lately. I left the Red-Lux lipstick on your bed, do apply generously.
P.S.S. If you’re coming (which you should), don’t forget to zip the sides of your dress this time! I don’t wish to replay the embarrassing event of you- Okay, goodbye, Yuna darling.  
 
 

 
"Mommy and Daddy are here for you. We won't be home for tonight though"
 
Ironic. It's okay, I let that slip.
 
I am at the clinic. Sitting beside an old lady in the front row, my fingers automatically toy with the smooth slip of paper that has my waiting number on it. The old lady suddenly breaks out in a loud cough. And I do not know if this is the moment where I offer her a tissue or ask if she's okay. 
 
Anyway, I’m perfectly healthy. Really, I am.
 
I think it’s really a great waste of time to make a trip here because I know I’m in the pink of health. Perhaps what I truly need is a late night talk with a trustworthy friend over a cup of Latte. Truth be told, emotionally and mentally, I'm a complete mess. Spiritually, I am in the Bermuda Triangle. I am such a mess. After all, I am the kind of person who reads only the first and last page of self-help books, then whine about how long it will take to see a change, and watch pilate classes on Youtube while munching on popcorn. I am really a mess.
 
My name is Park Yuna. And I will be turning twenty-one this year. 
 
To be twenty-one years old sounds terribly exciting. All the years when parents don’t care whether the music played in the car is to your liking, guess what, you can finally buy your own car! But in my case, I doubt I can.
 
Last year, during one of the many parties when my parents had invited their business partners and colleagues over, most of them congratulated me that I'm finally twenty. With a glass of wine in a hand, they would happily joke about how I would be able to rebel against my parents. And then there were some couples I would bump into and they would pat me on the shoulder saying, “Wow! Twenty years old, Yuna, you’re a young lady! The world is in your hands.” Then they laugh loudly and walk off to converse with the other wealthy couples. But little did they know, with the loud music barring from those top notch expensive speakers, I was so frustrated to the point where I wanted to scream and say, “YOU RICH S!”
But then I realised -  I was the daughter of one of the rich s.  
 
Parties with cocktail and guests and music were always enjoyable for Mom and Dad, but it was always a pressurizing party for me. So what if I’m twenty? What do you expect me to do, or to be?
 
Should I be starting my own company? Should I be drinking vodka now? Or should I be riding on the latest 360 Ferrari?  

Mom and Dad seem to hold game controllers, telling me what to do and what not to do, as though competing over who has more authority over me. Dad says I shouldn't eat too fast, because I will start hicupping. Mom tells me to buy stilettos instead of wedges, because they give off more appeal. But I think I should make my own mistakes and learn from them, because I am growing and this is my life.
 
When it comes to love life, my mom always displays her worry about me being jealous of how my pretty cousins are getting engaged one by one and thus she feels sorry for me. She once lured me to the couch and asked if I was lesbian. Her face was written with worry. When I told her I was straight, she began to worry that I'll live a lifetime of celibacy. However, I have actually dated countless of times. I am, pretty popular after all. 
 
The reason I am at the clinic today all started when Mom found a packet of amongst my Gloss magazines. It was a funny sight for me because she looked like she wanted to scream and tear my head off, yet she was pressing my face against her chest in relief because I wasn't lesbian. After she stopped her melodrama, she tells me to go for a check up in case I’ve contracted any ual disease.
 
"What? I don't do unprotected !' I screamed.
"Ssh, ssh, Yuna darling. It's better to be safe." Mom cooes.
I stare at her in disbelief. Shocked. 

As the saying goes, if there's a will, there's a way. But in this household, no matter how much will you have, Mom has the way.

"Oh and Yuna darling," Mom stands up and straightens her dress. I stand up from my bed too.
"Mommy would support you even if you were lesbian." She smiles with her gum, revealing her set of straight teeth.
Her words says so, but her forced smile says otherwise.

 
After what seemed like forever, the number I've been waiting for flashes in red on the digital waiting list. 
 
Finally! I inwardly groan as I pick up my bag. I was glad and fret-free as to what kind of doctor I would be meeting, because it was my regular doctor - The forever kind and methodical : Dr Byun. Walking past the counter, the assistant mumbles something like “Doctor Bomi isn’t in today......Her brother..(something something) ...Doctor Baekhyun-“ I discard her words and turn the door knob.
 
I am welcomed by a waft of male cologne. Not that I detest it in any way, I like it very much. But then, just as I see fair delicate fingers anxiously running along the burnished table, only to belong to a man, I shriek.  
 
The brunette seemed rather alarmed to see me come in without knocking, but I am more alarmed to see my female doctor absent. Instinctively, I squint my eyes to see his name. 
 
"Dr Byun Baekhyun"
 
Then I make sense of the assistant’s mumbles. Doctor Baekhyun had neat brown hair, except for his fringe that seemed to curl to the right. He had a stethoscope around his neck and the white coat over him made his shoulders look broader.
 
"Good afternoon.” Dr Baekhyun greets me. He smiled apprehensively, as though he was the patient and I was the doctor.
 
Sitting down rather uncomfortably, my heart sinks knowing that I am once again meeting an unfamiliar doctor who may or may not be friendly and reliable.
 
Baekhyun looks up from his clipboard and clears his throat. And then, I'm struck for two reasons.
 
Reason number one because he looked so much like his sister that I have a strong doubt about his gender. And reason number two is because despite Baekhyun’s feminine complexion, he has brown puppy eyes with a glisten of roguish aura. It was the pair of eyes that could make women melt and husbands worry with just one twinkle. His face was milky fair and his lips were as red as a rosebud. Not to forget that as he cocked his head to the side while waiting for me to respond, he looked incredibly edgy and attractive. 
 
"Y-Yes, I'm here to collect my report?"  I manage to untwist my tongue.
 
Normally, Dr Bomi’s table would be tidy and free of eraser dusts, her different coloured files all lined neatly beside her pink clipboard and a small notebook by her computer. Sometimes, there would be a mug of hot milk with a cute lid. However, her brother, was the complete opposite. It was obvious he had a struggle to keep the documents from falling off the table and his stationary was all over the place.
 
Dr Baekhyun flips the papers over his clipboard, perhaps searching for my document. Adjusting his collar, he sits across me and stares into my eyes. I hold my breath. How could anyone look so good?
 
“Yuna, I am really sorry,” Baekhyun’s brows bend sympathetically. “According to the tests you took at the hospital, you have contracted terminal ual disease, HIV.”
 
My heart stopped beating for a moment and my fingers become paralysed.
 
“What? H-How is that p-possible? I-I...I-“ My whole mind flips over and the white walls of the room seem to close down on me. “But I’ve never had unprotected !”
 
“I am truly sorry, Yura,” Baekhyun bends down and opens up his drawer and places a tissue box on the table. “Your appointment at Seoul General Hospital for your first lap of treatment has already been made.” He passes me some document for me to look.
 
I try to read the words on the paper but my mind wouldn’t comprehend it. I shove the paper back to him in horror and take my leave immediately. All of a sudden, the whiteness in the clinic intimidated me and even Mr Baek’s cuteness wasn’t enough to compensate the fear.
 
“B-But...I’ve always made sure........W-Why!” I blurt loudly while walking through the automated doors of the clinic, attracting weird glares.
 
My mind rocks back and forth, trying to remember every single man I’ve slept with. Did I even sleep with any? There was one popular boy I dated in high school who called himself The R-O-C-K and we were close to the bed. Yucks. I try to recall even more but it starts to get blurry. Why me? Why? What wrong did I do?
 
Before I knew it there were tears in my eyes and I was standing at a traffic light with other strangers. The red man turns green, but I am in a daze. I want to look up at the blue sky and I see many tall buildings. My heart shakes as I ponder over the meaning of life. All these while I have been living under the thumb of Mom and Dad, feeling the stress of portraying myself as an elegant person, not able to express my interests to my parents properly and so on...
 
“I want to die by my own will,” I scream suddenly. “...before my illness does!” And I dash across the road before the green man turned red.
 
My legs carry me to the nearest office building and I climb up the stairs as though racing in a vertical marathon. With my face wet and sticky from the moisture of both sweat and tears, I reach the rooftop. My hair flies with the breeze and my bangs hit my forehead, as though telling me to calm down and stop what I’m doing. Just then, my phone vibrates and the Poporo song comes on. Mom is calling me.
 
“Yuna darling, are you done with the clinic already?”
 
My lips are sticky from tears and somehow lacked the strength to open them and talk.
 
“Y-Yuna? What’s wrong?”
 
“Omma! It’s o-over...” My runny nose clogs up my voice.
 
“Yuna! What are you saying? P-Please! Please don’t do anything silly!” She screams in the phone but I put it down.
 
It was a thirty-eight storey high building and I was sure a body would have its parts splattered if it fell. By now, some passers-by below were staring at me and pointing, calling other strangers to take a look. I could see the clinic and the traffic lights very clearly from above but the people looked like white sausages with weird dressings ( nice pun though I’m about to die ). Just then, I see a doctor running out of the clinic frantically with a clipboard in his hand. His brown hair swaying with the wind and his stethoscope hitting his chest rhythmically. He immediately noticed the crowd that had gathered below the building that I am on top of.
 
“YA!!!!!!!!” The doctor suddenly screams while looking up at me.
 
He looks left and right anxiously before dashing across the road illegally. I gaze at him and observes his features.
 
“Mr Baekhyun.....?” I sweep my fringe aside to see clearly.
 
“WAIT, YUNA! I GOT THE NAMES WRONG! I HAD MISTOOK YOU FOR A PATIENT NAMED YURA!” He shouted from below the building, his hands forming a circle at his mouth to enhance his volume, his clipboard clasped between his knees.
 
What? I look down at my feet and gulp.
 
“I AM SAYING-“ Baekhyun yells from below, this time with a loudhailer from God knows where. “ I! AM! SAYING! THAT! YOU! DON’T! HAVE! H! I! V! SO! GET! DOWN! YOU! STUP-“
 
“I don’t?!” I answer immediately, only to realise my voice is drowned by the wind. I point to myself and shake my head, waiting for Baekhyun’s response.
 
“Yes," Baekhyun says softly in the loudhailer in between his heavy panting."Yes, you don’t.” And he smiles.

 
And that was the first time I wanted to throw myself onto Baekhyun and hug him like crazy.

 
Then maybe, punch him for scaring me.