Cover

 

Its dark in here. In this small little spectrum of the unseen.

 

Some people call it my mind; I call it the gateway to my universe.

 

I have secrets I don’t want to reveal, secrets that I don’t want to keep. I feel tainted, unclean, by all this secrecy inside. Like I’m not of the same standards as everyone else anymore. Like I’m someone lesser, someone less deserving.  And it’s not what I’d done, but what I hadn’t.

 

Not doing anything can be so, so much worse.

 

But what else can I do, other than to take passive action, when all I do, all this time, is to sit here and just think?  But it’s fascinating, sometimes, to delve deeper into myself.

 

 I have to be careful though. I can’t let this anger, this guilt, get to me. I have a photo shoot next week.

 

Oh, yes. I called Yoona earlier today.

 

Her voice was the same as always. Is she tired? She sounded tired. I wonder how she’s been. But that’s why I called her, I guess.

 

Shouting at her wasn’t my intention, either. The anger, the stress, everything just suddenly came pouring out.

 

But she still doesn’t understand how important this is to me, does she? The fame, the fans, all of these matter, because…

 

What if I really do stop, for her, but she doesn’t care anymore? What if I finally leave Jessica for her, (like I know she wants me to) but ultimately she decides she can’t accept me because of what I’ve done?

 

I’ll be left with nothing, won’t I?

 

But the fans, the fame…well, the fame may fade, but the fans will always be there. I feel so guilty for thinking this, but I trust them more than I trust her. After all, adoration from the crown is everything compared to the shaky, unstable longing from a single girl.

 

But she isn’t just a girl, is she?

 

She’s… still the girl. The one from years before, who had happy smiles and polite, yet sarcastic jokes. The one who wore floating dresses.

 

And I, Luhan, took that all away from her by leaving and never coming back.

And now, all that is left is plain, simple, beautiful, yet sad Yoona. I can tell that she’s sad. I can tell by the weary tone of her voice as she answers the phone.

 

I stop myself there.

 

I tell myself it’s not my fault.

 

Guilt is useless. This endeavor to make sure she’s still somewhat alive by calling everyday is failing miserably. I’m probably making it worse, anyway. Hearing my voice… it must be torture to her.

 

But…hearing her voice is like sweet, toxic honey, and missing it leaves an empty cavity in my being.

 

I shake my head. Stop. Stop thinking about her…

 

“Luhan!”

 

Crap.

 

“Luhan! Come and help me!”

 

Holy- Jessica’s back. I quickly stuff my phone under the bed sheets and hop down lithely. There’s a heavy clattering on the polished wooden floor, and I wince. Probably her 3-inch heels. My OCD is returning- obsession compulsion disorder, which includes everything from the position of bathroom floor mats to the dragging of chairs, otherwise known as the symptoms of a neat freak.

 

I brisk walk to the living room where Jessica is untangling several bags from her hands.

 

“Come faster next time,” Jessica complains, taking out who-knows-what from those plastic bags. “I could’ve used some help. Why didn’t you come along with me to Taka?”

 

“Meh.”

 

“What? What did you say?”

 

“Um… I had better things to do.”

 

Jessica stops, and looks me squarely in the eye. “Better things to do? You rather do other things than spend time with your wife?”

 

“I wouldn’t call it spending time. I’d call it standing in a shopping mall for three hours holding your bags!” I growl back, and break eye contact. I regret it. It makes me look guilty.

 

“We don’t even talk, Luhan. Tell me again why I married you. It’s just for the press, isn’t it? Ohhh, Jessica and Luhan, the famous couple! The only thing we’ve actually done together is to collaborate on a song ironically called ‘us’, but that was when they had us pair up with you EXO boys.”

 

I put my head in my hands. “No!” I groan, exasperated. “How many times have

I told you- it’s not for the press, nothing was ever for the press…”

 

“Look at you, Luhan, holding yourself together for them.” A hint of sympathy creeps into her voice and I’m suddenly surprised by the tenderness in it. She sighs, and stands.

 

“I’ll be in my room.”

 

Jessica leaves.

 

I laugh dryly to myself.

 

“And I’ll be in the attic.” I shake my head, then quickly climb back up the stairs to where I was. Heck, I can even call it my room. I even sleep here sometimes.

 

When I open the door, I find something stuck behind it. The gap is too small for me to squeeze through. I push harder, and it swivels back slightly. With a grunt of effort, I sidle slowly through the gap and into the room. Then I look down, at whatever was blocking the door.

 

It’s a book.

 

I can feel my brows pull together-but I force them back, remembering how frowns can form ugly lines on my smooth forehead.

 

Where did that book come from? I turn. No one’s here, and I’m pretty sure that I had cleared the attic out.

 

I move to the only window in the room and push it lightly. With less force than it should need, the window swings back and forth, creaking noisily. When it was locked barely a minute ago. I quickly turn to my bed, but my phone is still present. I bend down to check the boxes underneath. My wallet is there.

 

Then, why…?

 

After a lingering glance at the half-open window, I turn back to the book. It’s in a bad condition, and the cover looks torn. When I look closer, I realize it’s not torn; there’s just a layer of mold growing over it.

 

And it smells weird. Not the papery kind of smell- it smells like it had been in a cold wine cellar that also happened to store fermented yeast..

 

Tentatively, I pick it up. It’s heavy, alright, but surprisingly thin for it’s weight.  The cover is faintly red in colour, and I can make out a word –‘The’…

 

Is it an antique?

 

I turn to the back, but it, too, is unreadable, covered in ugly, multicoloured stains. Sighing, I sit back on the bed.

 

Suddenly, inspiration hits me. I pick up my phone and dial in a number

 

“Hello?” The voice on the other end is deep.

 

“Chanyeol? This is Luhan.”

 

“Oh. Hi Luhan. Is it about next week? ‘Cause we have practice tomorrow…”

 

“No. Something else. Are you free now?”

 

“Yes.” Chanyeol sounds surprised. “Why?”

 

“I have something that might interest you.”

 

Chanyeol pauses. “Where are you now?”

 

“At home.”

 

“…okay. I’m with Baekhyun, I’ll meet you in five.”

 

There’s a soft click, and he hangs up.