The light on her answering machine was blinking. Immediately, she turned away from it, knowing exactly who it was and what he wanted. She didn’t want to think about anything he posed to her right now. She had other things to do.

Last night’s meeting with Chanyeol, Baekhyun and Zitao had given her enough energy to get through a shower, and she managed to make herself a little bit of breakfast. She only finished about half of it, but that in and of itself was a big improvement. She had been a little scared at her own success, but intrigued. She wanted to know more about what she might be able to do. 

She was prepared to listen. The remaining voices seemed to be more boisterous, clamoring as if wanting to be the first to be heard. This time, she made herself more comfortable, sitting on the dirty old loveseat that had been here in her apartment for as long as she could remember. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes.

-

When Zitao had left her broken, Yixing seemed to be the ideal person to try and fix her. His voice came to her mind easily, his face warm and smiling. 

“There you are!” he said, as if she had been lost and he was trying to find her. “It’s nice that you’re thinking of me again.” And it was. She felt relaxed, and happy, reliving the time they had spent together. A longer time spent together than the time she had with Zitao, Yixing had brought a temporary sense of healing to her, filling the space that Zitao had left behind. He was gentle, polite, softspoken and genuinely kindhearted to her, and everyone else he knew. Come to think of it, it was strange that he hadn’t been able to save her. He would have been the most likely out of all of them to have been able to pierce her armor and bring her back to herself. Except one, of course, but she wasn’t thinking of him now. 

She loved Yixing. But she had pushed him away. He always wore his feelings on his sleeve and was too open with his heart. She had been afraid that he would expect the same of her, and she couldn’t ever reciprocate. She forced herself to look back on their time, and faced how she had cheated him out of time and the truth, cheated him out of having her whole heart. 

“I understand why you did it,” he murmured, reassuring her. “I don’t hold it against you.” But still, she felt even more shame dripping down over her, more than even the shame she felt at having been so loose and lacking of morals and self-value with Zitao. With Yixing, she had broken the purest of hearts, had destroyed only the best of intentions. He had been wonderful. Every day, he had convinced her earnestly of the value he knew she held, showing her, through his eyes, the beauty he saw in her, the hope that he had for her to continue writing and find herself again and the dreams he had for the two of them together. All smashed to pieces by her in a fit of anger. She had yelled at him, screaming and blaming him for not being able to break her habits for her, finding it easier to place the blame for something that was so obviously hers, onto him.

She shook her head violently, wanting to remember something more pleasant, something like his smile and his gorgeous little dimples, his talents for the piano and guitar and how he sometimes serenaded her on quiet nights under the stars. He smiled at her in her mind’s eye to demonstrate the dimples she had loved. She smiled back at him, and although she still felt traces of guilt at having hurt him, pushing him away without so much as an explanation, she whispered a goodbye, thanking him for his kindness and persistence. 

“I was happy to have been there. You know...for the record, if you let me, I would have helped you a lot more.” They parted well, his voice echoing softly until it disappeared.

She slowly opened her eyes. Although more and more burdens were lifting and more and more voices were fading, she hated that she had to relive and remember the guilt, pain, and sadness that had aded that last year. She didn’t wonder how she ended up this way. There wasn’t any question as to why. Gazing around her run-down home, she began to wonder if this reminiscence was even worth it. How much pain before the gain? Maybe she should just quit, give up here, finally give herself up for forever lost. The idea scared her, and she felt every muscle tense up in familiar preparation for a panic attack. She shot up, desperately needing something to calm her racing heart and soothe her nerves. She rushed over to the cabinet, yanking it open, her hands groping around for a bottle, but came away empty. The last little bit of precious alcohol had been in the bottle that she had smashed the night before last, she remembered with dismay.

The phone suddenly jangled, startling her and making her jump almost a foot in the air. The phone kept ringing as she tried to steady herself, practicing the relaxing exercises that she had once learned a long time ago. She calmed her breathing as the phone continued to ring, and listened for the message that would be left. It was her editor, again, demanding to hear back from her and at least know something about her progress. This message had preceded one from her mother, asking the same questions. Too many people were worried about her. She took a deep breath, picturing them, as well as the nameless strangers who had liked and read her earlier works, in her mind with a sudden rush of desperate affection.

She had to press on. If not for her sake, then for theirs. 

-

Her hands were shaking badly, but she forced herself to sit and rest her head back, relaxing as much as she could. Closing her eyes, she allowed the darkness of her mind to envelope her again, waiting for the voices to settle amongst themselves over who would be the next to reveal themselves to her. 

It took a while, but finally, the darkness solidified, and a figure stood before her. Another handsome face, but with a condescending smirk on it. 

“I don’t blame you for getting this way. But it didn’t have to end like this, you know. That’s what I was always trying to tell you.”  She let out a gasp of breath, suddenly scared of him, scared of him like she had once been before.

Wu Yifan. A different turn she had taken. She had gone to him, perhaps out of guilt for what she had done to Yixing, and hoping that in trying to save him, she could make up for earlier misdeeds. When she had met him, Yifan had been sunken into fits of alcoholism, depression and insomnia. His height and porcelain face, almost always with an expression of contempt or of anger, made him intimidating to say the least. Yet she had still been drawn to him, drawn by the mystery of such a man. She knew that being with him would be like driving while blindfolded: it would be a ride full of twists and turns and bumps and jolts that she would never be able to see coming or intercept. But she was willing to go along for the ride, for as long as she could.

Wanting so badly to solve the mystery of his character, and find out the kind of man he might be without the depression in his way, she had determined to herself that she would save him. Doing as Yixing had once done for her, she tried hard to show Yifan his persistent beauty the way she saw it. He was tall, and impossibly handsome, even with sunken eyes and a pale face.

But Yifan’s problem led him not to hold only disgust for himself. He seemed to be disgusted with everyone, and was adept at picking out and seeing only the worst in everyone around him. It was uncanny. Sometimes he could tell with only a glance. She had been a willing victim of this. Oftentimes, as she had done her best to talk him through his problems, he had berated her, claiming it wasn’t her place to do so when she could barely help herself. He had hit her right on the dot, and the pain of that blow had taken its time healing. 

“I’m sorry if I was harsh,” he said to her now. “I’m just a firm believer in being upfront and honest.” The Yifan in her mind seemed apologetic, and his face softened, revealing a rare smile. He smiled very rarely at her in those days, but whenever he did, she accepted his smiles like precious gifts. His smiles were the epitome of bittersweet: they showed her the real beauty of this man, but with a sense of hauntedness, as if the happiness he had was now only a ghost, a faint shadow of a man who no longer existed, or who existed only in dreams. She longed to bring him back, knowing deep in her heart that it was hypocritical of her. Yifan had always been right: who was she to try and save him when she could barely even bring herself out of her own abyss?

“It’s okay. I appreciate your trying at least.” The intimidating Yifan in her mind crossed his arms over his chest. His face still held the regular contemptuous expression she had grown familiar with. But as she spoke her goodbye to him, it faded, just slightly, and she could have sworn she saw him smile before winking out completely.

With the fearful image of Yifan gone, energy coursed through her, and she stretched her arms above her head. She would work through this. She had to. Something was waiting for her above the surface. She had to reach it, even though what it was, was unknown. 

-

The next voice that came to her was a kind one. As Joonmyeon materialized in her mind’s eye, she smiled at him, and he smiled back. For a while, he just stared at her, studying her face while she did the same. He looked as though he hadn’t changed much. His kind smile sent warmth through her, and she welcomed it.

Joonmyeon hadn’t exactly been a healer, not like Yixing had been anyway. But he had been caring and kindhearted enough to make her think he could have been. He came from a rustic family with money of their own, although she had never heard of them before. He had grown up as the golden boy, the perfect student, the friendliest neighbour and nice guy extraordinaire. Anybody needed a favor, they’d ask Joonmyeon and he’d be happy to do it. He had been perfect; almost too perfect. She had always wondered why he had even been with someone as checkered as her when, being so perfect, he could have had anyone. 

“Because I cared for you,” he answered, his voice so gentle that it made her heart ache. “And I was happy with you, as long as it lasted.” She let out a breath. Joonmyeon had been too good to her, too quick to offer her so much. It made her feel too beholden, and she hardly had anything besides herself to give him in return. And she couldn’t give herself away to him. How could she, in the middle of her conflict to find herself anyway? What could she ever offer him?

Her career had fascinated him. When he learned that she was a writer, he was quick to search for some of her more obscure, earlier works, reading them and praising her earnestly. She wasn’t sure whether or not he actually did read and like them, and had the sneaking suspicion that he was only doing so in an attempt to encourage her back to writing again. Still, she appreciated his efforts. He told her she had talent, a gift, and that if she could only go back to it, she could be even greater than she already was. It felt nice to believe those words, for a little while. Joonmyeon never understood the real depth of the abyss of her mind, and thought she could come back from it easily. He found out just how deep it was the day he had left. But they had parted well, at least. 

“Take care of yourself,” he whispered, nice guy to the core as she said her goodbye, smiling. “I never stopped believing in you.” 

-

More voices waited, more time was passing, and more messages were coming in, no matter how often she deleted them. She would have to hurry: she felt the pressing need for more time weigh heavy in her mind. So she quickly shut her eyes, forcing herself to concentrate on the remaining voices that clamoured over one another. Who’s next? she thought impatiently.

Jongin’s image came up slightly ragged, since she had conjured him so quickly. But she took a deep breath, relaxing, and his rough edges became clear. Jongin smiled at her. Even after she had eventually grown disinterested in him, his good looks could always make her heart skip a beat. He had always had an almost childish beauty about him, which could uncannily transform into unbelievable iness in a heartbeat. She shivered to remember it. Young and confident, Jongin had been a strange combination of intensity and naïveté. Naïvely believing that she could love him wholeheartedly, even with emptiness caving in on her and her checkered history, he loved her with an intensity that made her shiver. An intensity that, no matter how hard she tried, she could not return. She still questioned to this day, how he had been able to do that: love with such intensity.

“I can’t love in any other way,” he answered her, shrugging his shoulders. “If I’m going to love someone, I won’t do it halfway. You may not have been able to love me, but at least I loved you completely, and that’s what counts.” She smiled. She told him about how grateful she was for that intense love, and with her goodbye on her lips—

The phone rang. It jangled loudly, startling her out of her solace. She sent out a desperate goodbye to Jongin before he disappeared completely, hoping he didn’t feel cheated out of a proper one, thanks to the damn caller who ruined it. Night had fallen already, meaning she had spent the whole day here again. Irritated, she stalked over to the phone. Having rung itself out, the answering machine began to take the message, and she glared at it, waiting to see who it was calling at such an unearthly hour.

“Hey… it’s me. Again.” 

She caught her breath, and the glare slowly faded off her face. 

“I know I’ve been calling a lot. I guess you think it’s pathetic of me. Sometimes I think I’m pretty pathetic myself, for doing this.”

Her breathing began to increase. She hadn’t been prepared for this. 

“Look, I know you’re running away from me. And you’re probably so sick of me chasing after you. But the thing is, I’m not giving up. No matter how useless you, or anyone else tells me it is, I’m not giving up.”

“No!” Her voice came in a raspy shout, as if she hadn’t spoken in a long time. She squeezed her hands over her ears, desperate to block out his voice.

“Don’t ask me why I keep on trying. Truth is, I’m still figuring it out myself. But whether you’re listening or not… I’ll keep trying. And I’ll come back and find you. Don’t give up, okay?”

The line went dead, the message over. She stood there in the darkness, chest heaving. Why had he called again, and why now in the middle of the night? She knew he had been calling here a lot, but she never listened to his messages, either deleting them right away or holding down the button to keep them from even recording. Tonight had been the first time she had heard his voice, and it hadn’t even been inside her own mind. Tonight, she had heard him speak for real. He had completely blindsided her, attacked her when all her defenses had been down. Heart accelerating, breathing increasing, she screamed. 

She screamed, her arms thrashing out to smash the answering machine against the floor, silencing his voice for good. She screamed as she threw everything that found its way into her hands, tears blurring her eyes and streaming down her face. She screamed until her voice went raw. She screamed, for—what? Fear? Pain? Loss? She didn’t want to feel any of it. Maybe the abysmal darkness of her soul was better than this, she thought as she sank to the floor amidst the wreckage of her kitchen. What had she done? She had destroyed the place. She had destroyed herself. She had shut out the one person who was still trying, still hopelessly and determinedly searching for her, even though she had kept pushing him away. 

She lay down on the floor, gasping to catch her breath. Tears streaked down her face. Had she come so far, listened to so many voices, only to let this pull her back down again? Would the memories she resurrected have gone to waste now? How would she ever be able to write again, with all this mental and emotional confusion and frustration?

She had trashed nearly everything in her kitchen. But miraculously, her laptop, still on the kitchen table, its battery now dead, was still perfectly intact.