The rays of sunlight slicing in through the blinds were relentless, intruding friends, laying themselves atop her face to wake her up. Every noise was amplified: the alarm clock she had broken in a rage a week before was reduced to being able to only emanate a slow, quiet buzz, but even that was enough to wake her. The dust motes flying through the air glittered, the floor was bedazzled with shards of shimmering broken glass, and her eyelids fluttered, heavy and weighing more than she could support.

Voices in her head called to her, calling her to wake up, get up, do something. But she closed her eyes again, focussing on those voices, so insistent and pounding at her skull. She made no sense of what they were saying. Nothing made much sense to her anymore. Even her body, once so familiar, seemed to be wrong, heavy and hard for her to function inside it. The muscles in her arms and back tensed as she grudgingly rolled over, arms stretching up high above her head and pillowing her face. The insistent buzzing of her alarm clock mingled with the voices, all prompting her to get up, but she didn’t listen. Lying there in the semi-darkness, trapped in her own mind, she gave way and lost herself in memories; incoherent thoughts, sounds and words that she desperately tried to grasp at, hoping to piece them all together like she always used to, to create from them something beautiful. 

Her editor was losing patience. Everyone was losing patience. She was losing patience with herself. Having no passion was akin to having no pen, computer or typewriter. How could she be a writer without it? Days, months, almost a year had passed without anything new emerging from her battered old printer to send to her spiteful editor, and because of that, everyone was frustrated, especially her. What had happened to the steady flow of words that had always come from the depths of her mind? What had happened to her?

She finally gathered up enough strength to rouse herself from the narrow bed. Squinting in the daylight filtering in through the blind-covered windows, she stood, gingerly avoiding the broken pieces of the bottle she had thrown the night before. She gazed at them for a moment, at their glittering colors reflected in the light, dried and crumbling red stains adorning them and the carpet beneath them. Beautiful. She could still find beauty in this. Why couldn’t she find beauty in her memories, or anything she attempted to write? 

parched, she slowly made her way towards the kitchen. The ramshackle apartment was a mess, but why should she bother cleaning it? Her energy, along with her passion, was sapped. The voices continued on in her head as she trudged over to the coffeemaker, slapping the button and watching the brown liquid brew. She crossed her arms over her chest. She was just as much of a mess as her house was: she wore an old tank top and sweatpants— what she had fallen asleep in the night before— and her feet were bare. Her hair strung down in a mass on either side of her face, and her eyes were sunken. Tears threatened to sting her eyes as she carried her mug over to the table. Her laptop, closed and blinking, plugged into the wall, was her only companion, sitting on the opposite side of the table from her. She wrapped her hands around the mug to steady herself, appreciating its warmth. Truth was, her fingers longed to type, to write, to scratch something out from the darkness of her soul. But how could she when she could find nothing there to write?

The coffee went unfinished. Closing her eyes, finding her way by feel alone, she got up, allowing the voices in her mind to guide her to the chair at the opposite end of the table, her laptop blinking as if to welcome her back, like an old friend. Still with her eyes closed, she pressed the button to turn it on, hearing its familiar chirp. What had happened to her in this past year? When had she lost herself? Pressing her cheek down on her laptop’s keyboard, she allowed herself to sink down into the sea of her memories, the memories of the past year that she had spent trying to find herself. She paid close attention to the sounds around her. It was almost silent. And in the silence, she picked out one of the voices in her head, focussing on it, allowing herself to remember him and remember their time together as he spoke to her. He became real to her again, and she was quiet, reliving what life she could. 

-

Chanyeol had been the start of her quest to find herself. Park Chanyeol: tall, lanky and clumsy, she knew right away he wasn’t her type. But he was handsome, kind and funny, and had a personality that drew anyone in, even someone as brooding as her. The perfect example of the ideal type for a cheerful, bubbly girl. He stayed with her for a while, quite a while. She couldn’t help but smile, remembering him. His voice was deep, soothing and warm as he spoke to her.

“Hey. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m glad that you remember me at least.” She knew she was technically only talking to herself, and that Chanyeol now only existed and spoke to her in her mind. But he seemed so real, so solid. It was strangely comforting, and she kept her eyes closed to keep his memory and voice close to her. 

“I may not have been perfect for you, but I loved you for as long as you had me,” he said. And he had. Chanyeol’s arms had been warm around her when she allowed them to be there. He had taken her by the hand and led her into everything: fun days spent out in the sun together, picnics on the grass, amusement parks and movies. She had let herself go, allowing the worries of how words were becoming harder to find and her editor’s harsh pressure on her shoulders, to dissipate, at least for a little while. She might have been losing herself, but she never felt that way with Chanyeol. She had allowed herself to be filled with his warm voice, contagious laughter and comforting smile. She had thought that with Chanyeol, she had the possibility to become someone else, someone new, someone fun and without worry and fear. With him, she could have even given up writing altogether: a scary option, but one she might have been able to accomplish with Chanyeol’s help. She had been wrong of course, but pretending to have had the possibility had been nice, at least in the moment. 

Chanyeol had wanted to stay with her, and had for the most part. When pretending to be someone else was no longer enough, and losing herself in the happiness that he brought became harder and harder to do, she slowly began to retreat. He had gone with her, watching her become more and more withdrawn and quiet, unable to be the fun, happy girl that he had wanted to stay with, but had stayed with her anyway.

“I’m not just going to leave when it gets hard,” he had said to her one day. “I won’t abandon you. I’ll be here to support you through all of the difficult times. I promise.” They had been here, at her apartment, post-mess. His arms had been around her waist, pulling her back into his lap, and she leaned against him, eyes closed. She desperately wanted to believe that she could lose herself in him again, like she always had, and that despite her rough edges, he would hold true to what he had promised and stay with her. She wanted to believe that those arms around her could protect her from anything, that staying with Chanyeol could protect her from anything. But Chanyeol could not protect her from herself.

She prayed that he would understand. Things had ended badly, as she had predicted, him leaving at her request, a suspicious moisture in his eyes as he turned away. They had broken up in a coffee shop, and she had wrapped her fingers around her mug for warmth and comfort. Just as she had done just now, before drudging up his memory. She had cared for Chanyeol, and had loved the loud, laughing, lanky man who had opened up so many possibilities for herself. But he couldn’t save her, and it was for that that she sent him away.

“I know,” his voice echoed in her head. “I know you believed that I couldn’t save you. But for what it’s worth, I would have tried as hard as I could, if you had let me. Til the very end.”  And with those words, his voice grew quieter, becoming a whisper, and then was silent.

Her eyes flew open, and she sat up. Silent. Chanyeol’s voice was gone. She could no longer hear his deep voice in her head, even if she conjured up the memories of him. And with that… she suddenly felt lighter. As if a weight had been magically lifted off of her shoulders. She drew in a slow breath. What had he said? I would have tried as hard as I could, if you had let me. Til the very end. She began to breathe calmly, closing her eyes and conjuring up the memory of Chanyeol once more, seeing his tall frame and handsome smile in her mind, feeling the natural warmth that came from him. She sent him a silent thank you for all he had done for her, and said goodbye. 

His voice was gone now, gone from her head. A burden had been lifted. But there were still more, more voices who had not yet gone silent. Wrapping her arms around herself, she closed her eyes again, listening closely, picking out another voice and focussing on it, waiting for the memories that this new voice would bring to the surface.

-

Byun Baekhyun. Similar to Chanyeol, but with a quicker temper, and a stubbornness that nearly matched hers. The two of them had gotten into many fights during their short time together. But it had been the fights that she had liked best, strangely. The fights in which she would scream at him, feeling her blood heat up and her face flush, her fists clenching and her body shaking. His body would mirror hers, his voice rising up into shrillness and anger whenever they disagreed. The fights never went on too long, and their anger at each other never lasted more than a night or two. It was as if even then, they knew that their time together wouldn’t be long enough to stay mad at each other. 

There had been other things though, besides the adrenalizing fights, that she had grown to love about Baekhyun. Like Chanyeol before him, he was funny and kind, handsome as well, in a softer, almost feminine way. He had the sweetest voice, beautiful and lulling, and it calmed her as he spoke to her in her mind.

“Heheh. I knew you’d be back eventually. We never got to say a proper goodbye, so you had to come back and listen to me.” She winced, her eyes still closed. He sounded a little annoyed, and also as if he were teasing, even for just a voice in her head, but it was so fitting to his personality that she calmed down. He was here with her too. He had tried to be there for her, just as Chanyeol had. But Baekhyun was never one to ignore his opinions, always telling her just what he thought about her self-exile and lack of drive to work.

“You’re just wasting away if you don’t write!” he had yelled at her, his cheeks and even his ears going pink. “What do you want me to tell you, that I think it’s okay what you’re doing? Because I don’t, and I won’t tell you so just to make you feel better! Man up!” She sighed. This had been the fight when the energy had faded. When the fight began, she anticipated eagerly the rush that would surely come. But it had failed to bring her the usual adrenaline and fortification that she needed and loved to get from him, which scared her. And it was then, directly after this fight, when they had parted. She had sent him away, and in the throes of anger, he had been glad to leave, storming out of her apartment and leaving behind a broken chair and more emptiness.

She missed him for a full week after he had left, staring at her blank laptop screen, desperately trying to “man up” as he had told her, but couldn’t. She wanted to say a proper goodbye to him, but they both had their pride. She never saw him again after that. Not until now.

“I told you so,” he said to her now. But there was no spite in his voice, no anger. Had he forgiven her? Maybe so only in her mind, but it was good enough for her. “I won’t hold it against you. I know you still miss my voice sometimes. So maybe, I’ll sing for you, just once more.” She let out a sigh, the muscles in her shoulders relaxing. In her mind, Baekhyun sang to her. He would do this sometimes, during the few nights they had spent with each other, her lying in his arms, feeling safe and secure as the words of the songs he sung floated around her. She too, had wanted to lose herself in his being.

As the notes of Baekhyun’s song ended, she said goodbye to him, apologizing for her temper and wishing him well. The image of him shone, and he smiled before slowly disappearing.

Another voice gone. Another burden lifted. How many more were there? She would find out. She closed her eyes again, stretching her tired muscles and focussing. Another voice, there in the dark, called to her. Who would he be? 

-

“Hey. Do you miss me?” The voice came up from a dark place, and sounded like he was struggling to submerge from deep underwater. It was true: he had been buried in one of the deepest, darkest corners of her mind, in the hopes that he would never surface again. She shivered, knowing that she didn’t want to bring him back. But she had to, if she wanted to let him go. 

“It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you. But just listen to me, please. Say my name, and don’t be afraid.” 

Zitao had been different from Chanyeol and Baekhyun, very different, and the first of the men to break her heart, rather than the other way around. Younger than the first two, hotheaded, and very aware of his stunning good looks: she had fallen for him straightaway. His muscular body exuded utmost strength, brute strength, a different kind of strength that Chanyeol and Baekhyun had. He studied wushu, was an athlete. She loved him for his beautiful body. She had loved to slide her fingers up his arm as they had lain down together, tracing each muscle and imagining the strength beneath them. 

He had never once said the actual three words, but she allowed herself to believe that he loved her too. He was similar to her, brooding and indifferent, often preferring to spend his time alone, if not with her. His smiles for her came often, more often as more clothes came off. But she didn’t care. To be looked at by him in that way, to be smiled at by him in that way, it was the height of bliss that she could experience after living through so much emotional darkness. Needless to say, most of the time they had spent together had been spent horizontally. 

She grimaced in shame, but allowed his voice and image to remain in her mind, at least for the time being.

“Why be ashamed? We both enjoyed it while we had each other. I don’t regret you at all.” His voice was soft in her head, just like it had been soft against her skin, during all those nights together, his lips against her neck, stomach, arms and legs. She had fancied herself as leaving herself behind whenever she was with him, becoming his and no one else’s. She felt as though the feelings he made her feel could bring her to write again, if she could only transcribe the thrills that his stares and wicked smiles gave her onto paper. 

“You’re a rare beauty,” he had said to her one night as they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms. He had her cheek, staring into her eyes and setting her shivering. “So dark and mysterious… you make me want to find out everything about you, even if I get hurt along the way. I want you to be only mine.” She had taken his hand and his palm— even his hands were beautiful, strength evident in every finger. She believed his every word, not with her whole heart of course, cynical to the very core and always expecting the worst as she did. But it had still felt good to believe him, even for a little while. Sometimes she wondered what might have happened, if she had really allowed herself to know Zitao. What kind of heart did he have underneath his physique and proud personality? Did he carry any secrets? Could he have been just as vulnerable as she was underneath? She might never find out.

Part of her knew all along that it had only been a fling between them, with no real love existing. But she liked to believe that such a striking, beautifully intense man like Zitao could love her. Perhaps she had only been pretending so, and pretending to love him as well. But after he left her, becoming bored and no longer tolerant of her passivity, she had been hurt, pain at the loss of him aching in her heart and body so deeply, she had to question whether or not she really had loved him. No wonder she had hidden him away for so long, and so diligently. His voice was probably one of the more persistent ones, wanting to be found after being hidden away for so long.

Staring him bravely in the face, she whispered a final goodbye. But to her surprise and sudden delight, his response was uncharacteristically gentle. “Don’t forget me, okay? You don’t have to like me, you can hate me if you want. But don’t forget me.” His face was so calm, and she could have sworn his voice had wavered. She wondered if maybe all this time, he had been hiding a vulnerable side. She might never find out, but if he had, she was grateful to have caught a glimpse of it, even if only in her mind.
He smiled again as his voice faded, leaving behind nothing but a faint whisper.

-

When she opened her eyes, it was dark, the light gone from the dim apartment. Her neck and back ached from having leaned against her laptop for so long. Languidly, she stretched, feeling sudden strength returning to her limbs, and a newfound energy coursing through her veins. Left with less of a burden, she got up, heading back to her bed, wondering how she had done that: silenced some of the voices in her head just by swimming deeply into memories that she had done her best to shroud in oblivion forever. Maybe… there was a way to find herself again, and begin to write again. If she could only just find out how…

Chanyeol, Baekhyun, and Zitao had helped her. Maybe, she thought as her eyes slowly closed, the rest of them can help me too.