PART II

"TO THE LIMIT. ALL THE WAY TO THE LIMIT."

PLAYLIST

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Seems by the feedback you guys liked the last chapter ahahaha ;) 

Anyway, this is 'officially' the beginning of Part 2. There's no real difference, it just helps separate the story between before the and after the lmao.

Hope you guys are enjoying, daily updates coming as scheduled in the near future :)

80 Upvotes and 120 Comments already...just wow <3

Enjoy!

1

Mistakes, or: The One With Wendy, Again

She thought at first they were still playing Michael Jackson downstairs but they weren’t and her head was playing tricks on her. Her head hurting more than she could remember it hurting in a long time. Maybe ever. There was no light in the bedroom and it was still too bright, far too bright. She closed her eyes and opened them and rubbed out the fatigue and tried to sleep again but it was impossible – she was already awake, already that sort of person that refused to rest even a minute more than her body deemed absolutely necessary. She thought briefly that she might die. That perhaps her head would burst like a watermelon and there’d be nothing left of her save the watermelony remains of her brains. And then Hongki and Wheein would turn up and ask what happened and one of the CSIs would say: Drank herself to death. Yeah, some real crazy . Her head just exploded. Crazy. And then Wheein would laugh.

She rolled over onto her side and her headache rolled with her, sloshing about in her skull, following her. The clock on the bedside table read just after eleven. She rolled back onto her front and then the other way. The cold and creased covers thrown back, the lingering smell of sweat and jasmine and in the air. She knew almost nothing. Only that the blinds were still closed and the only light was a tender and pale sliver and that the clothes piled on the floor by the bed – the white polo, the black jeans – were Irene’s, and Irene wasn’t there beside her, and that at some point in the night she had been there, softly in Seulgi’s embrace, asleep. And now she wasn’t.

She tried to sleep again. After a while she rose catatonically and rubbed at her forehead and sat on the edge of the bed trying to make sense of anything at all. It was strange, traitorous almost – that memory of hers. Two nights ago she had drunk a couple glasses of whiskey and all she remembered of that night was waking up in the morning. And now just twelve hours ago, down there in the lobby bar – the ing maxibar – she had drunk herself into a stupor, half a bottle of whiskey, a full bottle, a couple shots, a couple beers, enough to make Andre the Giant pass out, and yet she could remember all of it. Every excruciating detail. Every touch of Irene’s fingers across her stomach and her thighs and the tender touch of her lips, her tongue, and the smile so wicked and so devious and so very inviting. The smell of jasmine, of other notes. Maybe sandalwood. Michael Jackson telling them that love never felt so good and Seulgi very much agreeing. Then Cher. Irene loved that one. Is there life after love? Who knows.

She tried to stand and fell and stood again wobbling on her feet. The world seemed to bubble and well and tilt unevenly on its axis. felt like a graveyard and stank worse. The stench of day-old drink, maybe vodka there, definitely something to wash it down. She staggered into the en-suite bathroom and held her face under the tap and some of it she even managed to drink. She felt no better afterward. Something in the kitchen was moving about. Making noise. Too much noise. She knew instinctively it was Irene but she just stood there, bent crooked over the sink, water running over her ruined face, into the cold like a degenerate.

Facing Irene was the real challenge. She thought at first it might be impossible. That she might combust even attempting it. Or perhaps her watermelon head would burst again. Wonder what she’d say to that. Probably laugh like Wheein. Seulgi stood there a while longer. No doubt Irene had heard the tap running, knew she was awake. She watched herself in the mirror. This creature brought up from another world or similar. This strange and motionless ghoul. How very ghastly.

When she went through into the kitchen the blinds had been hauled all the way up and the light seeping in was terrible and the sun sat square and winking in the pink sky seemed to be laughing at her.

‘.’

She heard Irene laughing.

‘You look like ,’ Irene said. She was standing near the window in only her underwear and a thin black shirt and eating a slice of toast. On the table a tall glass of milk and a carton. Seulgi looked away.

‘You okay there, buddy? Sweetie?’

‘Don’t call me that,’ Seulgi said.

‘Wow.’ Irene giggled again.

‘What?’

‘You sound like death. You sound like you’ve got something in your throat. Like, properly stuck in your throat. Like a frog. Or half a pound of sand. But not proper sand. Not from, like, a children’s sandpit. Rough beach sand. The stuff with the shells stuck in it. The stuff that gets between your feet and you can’t get out. Or maybe asphalt. You sound like Emperor Palpatine from Star Wars. You sound like Ray Charles, you know, when he’s doing those crazy runs and he just screams. You sound-’

‘Uh huh. Point made.’

‘You want some toast?’

‘No.’

Irene went and set two slices to toast anyway. She took a glass from the cabinet next to the cooker and filled it with milk and handed it to Seulgi. She walked languid, with great care. Or perhaps no care at all but to Seulgi there was no difference – she was still Irene, still shifting about, barely dressed at all, slender and perfectly imperfect, hair tousled and messy, unwashed, smelling of sweat and old perfume. She smiled and Seulgi’s hair out of her face and Seulgi shied away. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said.

‘What? Do what?’

‘Brush my ing hair.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not a child.’

‘Well. Drink your milk, sweetie.’

‘I’m not a child.’

‘Adults need their calcium too. Maybe that’s why you’re so grumpy all the time.’

She went and sat at the table and Seulgi just stood there. They drank their milk. The morning sun had begun to peak but there was little warmth. ‘We’ve got a big day ahead of us,’ Irene said. Her voice held to it a sort of strange cheer that Seulgi could barely tolerate.

‘How are you even alive?’ Seulgi said.

‘I’m not a lightweight like you. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t actually remember anything at all.’

‘What?’

‘That never normally happens. Like, I can’t remember a thing.’

Irene was watching her carefully as she spoke. An unreadable expression on her face, just behind the curl of her lips. Gauging, teasing – urging. ‘What about you?’ she said. Seulgi wouldn’t look at her. She drank her milk and watched the stains run down the glass and coughed into her hand.

‘I, uh. I don’t…I mean.’

‘What?’ Irene said.

‘I…we, uh.’

‘Huh. What time is it?’

She looked at Irene. This false nonchalance she was unaware of entirely. All she could pay attention to was Irene’s face, those eyes. How deadly they were. How ruinous. ‘Just past eleven,’ she said.

‘Yeah, this is another question – why isn’t there a clock in here? I mean, what sort of hotel doesn’t have a clock in the kitchen?’

‘Most of them?’

‘Yeah, sure. But not Park Hyatts.’

‘Been to a lot of them, have you?’

‘A couple.’ Irene smirked. ‘But this one doesn’t. It’s got, like, nothing. I know, I know. It’s got a lot. But for a hotel this good? Nah. What sort of room did you get us, Seulgi? You did say it was a weird room, right?’

‘That’s what they told me at reception.’

‘That it was weird?’

‘Well, no. They tried to tell me it was a special room or something. I don’t know. Or it belonged to someone.’

‘And you just ignored them.’

Seulgi rubbed her head.

‘Well,’ Irene said. ‘That settles it.’

A quiet fell between them again. Seulgi looked about. Irene’s bag was on the floor under her feet and the kitchen worktop covered with breadcrumbs and the butter left on the side with the knife still balancing on the edge of the tub. It smelled of toast and perfume and varnished wood. And air freshener from the livingroom. Irene finished her toast. She looked at Seulgi.

‘What?’ Seulgi said.

‘What what?’

‘Why are you looking at me?’

‘Am I not allowed to? Do I have to look somewhere else? Why won’t you look at me, Seulgi? Something wrong?’

‘I’m going to get dressed.’

‘Yeah,’ Irene said. ‘Sure. Why so early?’

‘It’s eleven in the morning.’

‘Like I said.’

‘We’ve got to meet Wendy soon.’

‘In five hours.’

‘Time goes quickly,’ Seulgi said.

‘What does that even mean?’

Seulgi didn’t respond. She disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door and locked it and stood there by the sink peering into the mirror again. Her face had gone red. She was still holding the glass of milk in her hand.

‘,’ she said. . Just the thought of Irene out there. Irene not even knowing. Not even remembering. Like some cruel reversal of fortunes, a twist of fate, a toying of the truth. Seulgi knowing everything, Seulgi the blackout drunk, the lightweight, the whiskey-carrying Don Johnson-loving headache-having poser. Irene the casual borderline alcoholic, the vodka-sipping shot-downing woman of her dreams. Or her nightmares perhaps more accurately. . She put the glass on the floor by the sink and washed her face and showered and dressed and went out again.

She went directly into the bedroom. Irene was still in the kitchen doing much of nothing. When Seulgi went through she was still sat there at the table on her phone, fresh toast on the plate in front of her, hair falling about her face. So casual it looked effortless. Models would have to try to look so neatly disorganised.

‘Is that all you do?’ Seulgi said, pouring herself a glass of water.

‘Is what?’

‘That.’

‘Eat toast?’

Seulgi nodded.

‘Do you ever eat anything at all?’ Irene said.

‘Things healthier than toast.’

‘Oh, you’re going to school me on the nutritional problems of cooked bread now, are you? How very high and mighty, sweetie. By the way, what time is it?’

‘Just gone midday.’

Irene turned towards the windows and winced. ‘Nice day,’ she lied.

‘It’s certainly a day.’

‘Is that supposed to be funny or something?’

Seulgi just looked at her.

‘It wasn’t,’ Irene said. ‘You need to get better jokes, man. I swear.’

She stood there sipping the water. She thought for a moment it was the cruellest thing of all that she be so attracted to Irene, so much so that it was difficult to turn away even when she daren’t look at her. Not that sleeping with her hadn’t brought that on. It was a sort of karmic paradox of the order of things, unable to look, unable to look away, self-inflicted and painful and teasing, irresistible almost entirely. She was sweating in the cold. Her face had gone red again. And her head still hurt. After a while in silence she said, ‘Forget it.’

‘Forget what, sweetie?’

‘I’m going out.’

‘What?’ Irene said. ‘Going out where?’

‘I’ll be back tonight.’

‘Wait. What does that even mean? Seulgi. At least leave me with a key.’

And then Seulgi, dangling the keyring with the swipecard and the doorkey on it, saying: ‘We’ve only got this one.’

‘You’re not going to leave me, are you?’

Seulgi nodded. She was halfway to the door. She thought Irene might protest again but instead she just sat there and shrugged and smiled. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Fair play. What time will you be back?’

‘What? You’re not going to argue? Or try and come with me?’

‘Why? Did you want me to? Did you want it to be like a scene from one of those cheesy macho movies where you get to push me away and act all cool and ? Wait. Does that happen in Miami Vice? I bet it does, doesn’t it?’

Seulgi didn’t reply.

Irene laughed. ‘Jesus, you’re terrible,’ she said. ‘So embarrassing.’

‘I’ll be back by seven,’ Seulgi said, turning away. ‘Once I’ve been to Wendy’s.’

‘See you ‘round, sweetie!’

She was already out the door and halfway down to the stairs and blushing and sweating again. She went down through the lobby and ignored the terrible and memory-inducing sight of the maxibar at the far side of the room and went out to the car and started it and pulled out without wasting another second.

She drove down the street and turned right down Gapyong street and parked the car at the end of the furthest lot. From there she could see the docks a slight to the north and the crystalline shine of the Han River and the big diner already gathering patrons in the cool afternoon glare and a number of boats out there on the water bobbing about. She sat there for a long time. She watched the river and the big harbour building but she thought of nothing relevant to the case and nothing she should be thinking of. Just Irene. Just the usual. Was it wrong if it felt so right? Is that how it works? She didn’t know. She thought not.

The day wore on oblivious to her and she oblivious to it. A couple schoolkids came and ogled the Testarossa and disappeared again and a car alarm faintly in the distance seemed to roll on forever. Sometime in the early afternoon she went and bought herself a box of aspirin and a couple sandwiches and a can of coke and sat eating in the car. Just before three she started the engine up and turned out of Gapyong and west toward Yanghwa Bridge and further to Taepyong. The white eye of the sun watched her with careful intent. As if it too were judging her.

She thought perhaps it was for the best that Irene didn’t remember. That she might simply brush it aside and forget it and go on with the day and the night and by the morning regardless of boat-party outcome it would be all in the past. But was that taking advantage of her? If she forgot it, was that playing to her ignorance for Seulgi’s own benefit? She didn’t know that either. Didn’t know much when it came to Irene. Only how frustrating she was in every respect. How untenable, right there in her mind’s eye. And if she was being honest the idea of brushing it aside and forgetting it was ludicrous at best, wishful at worst. She would remember that night for as long as she lived.

She turned the stereo on and listened to the Jackson 5 and Michael Jackson. Love Never Felt So Good. Then she turned it off and drove in silence. When she pulled into the driveway of Wendy’s house in Taepyong it was just before four and all was quiet. She stepped out and adjusted her suitjacket and knocked and waited. Wendy came and answered almost immediately. She was dressed in that same red bomber jacket and a pair of flared green trousers and she wore a yellow headband this time. Like an attire sorted out of some fevered wardrobe. Like she had run through a vintage clothes sale and come out the other side wearing whatever had stuck to her. She nodded, grimaced. ‘Seulgi,’ she said.

‘Let me guess. I’m late.’

‘You’re not, actually. You’re on time. You’re two minutes early. That’s good. I like punctual.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Where’s your friend?’

‘She’s around.’

Wendy opened the door wider and peered out. ‘What does that mean?’ she said. ‘You’re not planning something, are you? You’re not conspiring. You’re not in cahoots with those black van boys or anything, right? To take me in. Because you won’t. You’ll never take me alive.’

Seulgi just stood there. After a while Wendy nodded and shrugged and led her through into the livingroom. She sat on the edge of the couch again, behind the computer, smoking a joint. Seulgi in the doorway holding her nose.

‘How does the mess get worse every time?’ she said.

‘Mess? What mess.’ Wendy punched something into the computer. ‘Everything is exactly where it should be. Every little thing, man.’

‘Everything.’

‘That’s right. So mind your step. Years of important in here. Years’ worth. You want some?’

‘No thanks,’ Seulgi said.

‘Want something to eat?’

‘I’m good.’

‘Yeah,’ Wendy said. ‘Probably for the best. You never know what they put in anymore. You dig? Even the cookies, man. They’ve even got to the cookies. You know they put cyanide in cheese? Don’t ask me why. They just do. Maybe it’s a population control thing, you know? A culling. It’s gonna happen someday, man. It’s the rapture. We’d all be better off not eating, you know? Like…who is it? I don’t know. But fasting. We should all fast. You dig?’

Seulgi just looked at her.

‘Eh. Forget it. Goes straight through you, doesn’t it?’ She waved the joint about. The smoke wobbled and coiled and she coughed. ‘You sure you don’t want some?’ she said.

‘I’m sure.’

‘If you’re thinking it’s illegal, it’s not.’

‘Uh, it is.’

‘Yeah. Well. It’s not wrong, I mean. I’m offering and you’re a guest. So it’s like, protocol and . It’s respect. What is it the Romans said? When in Rome?’

‘Why would the Romans say When in Rome?’

Wendy ignored her. She tapped something into the computer and dabbed the ash into the little glass tray and sat back. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘She’s all ready for you.’

‘Who?’

‘It’s a figure of speech. Never mind.’

‘The invites, you mean.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘You’ve got them?’ Seulgi said.

‘It’s all digital, man. I told you.’

‘So, what then?’

‘Okay. So.’ She shifted closer to the computer. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘Alright. Seulgi, you’re, well…not Seulgi.’

‘What?’

‘Your name is Kim Yongsun. You’re twenty-seven years old and you deal in art. If anyone asks, just tell them Expressionism. That’s all. Just say that, man. You’re there on business, not pleasure, alright? You’re meeting a woman called Moon Byulyi. Tall. Dark hair. Down to her shoulders.’

She wheeled the computer around and showed Seulgi a picture. ‘You get it?’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi said.

‘Alright. Cool. The good news is that Moon Byulyi has never met this Kim Yongsun before, so she has no clue what she looks like. So you rock up and tell her you’re Yongsun and boom. You’re in there.’

‘Okay, and then what?’

‘Well. Then you’re in.’

‘That easy?’

‘That easy,’ Wendy said. ‘You’re there on business to meet Kim Yongsun and that’s it. You might not even have to meet her. Just tell the guard. Don’t worry. You’ll be on the list.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘What about Irene?’

‘What?’

‘Irene. My, uh. My partner.’

‘Oh ,’ Wendy said. ‘She’s your plus-one. Just say that.’

‘What?’ said Seulgi. ‘You haven’t gotten her an invitation?’

‘Uh, no. But not to worry. They’ll let her in as long as she’s with you.’

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘Positive.’

‘Promise me, Wendy.’

Wendy made a sign with her little finger and grinned lazily. ‘Word is bond, man. Word is bond.’

‘So no paper invites?’

‘You’ve always been a slow one, Seulgi.’

‘I’m just making sure.’

‘No paper ones.’

‘Alright.’ Seulgi stood there nodding a moment. ‘Is that all?’

‘Unless you wanna stay. Actually, no. Don’t. Not safe.’

Seulgi looked at her. Then she said, ‘I’m going. Thanks.’

‘Hey. Don’t sweat it. What are friends for, right? And remember the codewords!’

‘What?’

‘The codewords. Remember them.’

‘Uh huh,’ Seulgi said. Then she turned and went out and started the car and drove off. She had no idea what she was going to do or whether the letter was legitimate or anything nor did she care. All she thought of was Irene. She turned the car back down Gapyong street and sat there in oblique silence for a long time. The sun falling rapidly against the rim of the world. Soft amber light, no warmth. She would not go back to the hotel. Not yet. Not with the possibility of having to face Irene. She sat just imagining her for a while. Just thinking about her. About how hard she had fallen. It wasn’t love. Of course it wasn’t. It was just this yearning, this ual desire for someone so utterly inescapable. Irene had been right. She was wound up. And it had affected the case. Goddamn it, she was right.

When she parked outside the hotel again it was just before seven and dark almost entirely. The lights on the docks and the diner had begun to light like candles in the low evening. She went through the lobby with her head down and took the stairs two at a time and braced herself by the door and then she unlocked it and went in.

Irene was there in the kitchen, peering out of the far window. She was still in only her underwear and that shirt. Seulgi looked away. When she looked back Irene was watching her with a small smile playing on her lips.

‘I was wondering if you’d got lost or something,’ she said.

‘Why are you not dressed yet?’

‘Should I be?’

‘It’s seven PM.’

‘Must’ve slipped my mind. Where’ve you been all day, anyway?’

‘At Wendy’s.’

‘All day?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, so you slipped out without telling me? Went for a little fun, did you? Where’d you go, sweetie?’

‘Paying attention,’ Seulgi said.

‘Paying attention.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘To…the docks?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’ve been watching the docks all day.’

‘If I hadn’t then no one would’ve been. This is important.’

Irene paced around the kitchen. She disappeared into the livingroom and Seulgi followed. She stood there in the doorway while Irene played with the bottles on the table and the little ornaments on the dresser. At the far end of the room was a huge walk-in closet neither of them had opened or even acknowledged. ‘You know what you look like?’ Irene said.

‘I’m sure you’ll tell me.’

‘You look like something’s wrong.’

‘What?’

‘Why won’t you look me in the eye? Is something wrong?’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Seulgi.’

There – that glimmer once more returning. And Seulgi looking away.

‘Seulgi, my sweet.’

‘Don’t do that,’ Seulgi said.

‘Do what, my sweet?’

‘Call me that.’

‘Seulgi, my sour.’

‘Really now.’

‘What happened last night-’

‘Was a mistake. I know.’

‘What?’ Irene put down the bottles. ‘No. I mean: what happened last night? You know what? I’ll tell you what the problem was. One too many vodka cranberries, I think. The trick is that you don’t even taste the vodka until you’re four drinks down. It’s the cranberry. I’m telling you, it’s the cranberry. I could drink my own body weight in that stuff. I probably did. I don’t even know. Mind’s a bit hazy. I told you you were right buying the cheapest vodka, didn’t’ I? The stuff without a proper label. It’s, what? Fifteen thousand a bottle? Not even. Now that’s some proper value. You know what they should call it? Blackout. Sounds punchy and it’s accurate. Two-in-one combo right there. Actually, I don’t even know if I drank vodka. I never drink vodka. . Was I that ed?’

Seulgi just looked at her.

‘Did something happen? Seulgi. What? You’re looking at me like that. Did something happen?’

‘You really don’t remember?’

‘Not a thing. For like, sixteen hours. I don’t even remember getting here. To the hotel, I mean. I wasn’t drinking that much, was I? Jesus.’

‘Well,’ Seulgi said.

‘Go on. What happened?’

‘Me and you. . .’

‘Me and you what?’

‘We, I mean me and you, we were. . . ‘

‘Were what?’

There was a quiet. A terrible awkward quiet. Then Irene giggled wickedly. ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘I’m just ing with you. Course I remember. Every little detail. It’d be hard to forget, you know. Like, whoa. Hey, speaking of ing-’

‘Alright.’

‘What? I was just gonna say, when it comes to ing-’

‘Irene.’

‘That when it comes to ing: Last night? Whew, boy. I can tell you’re out of practice, but still. I told you, didn’t I? Wound up.’

‘That’s enough,’ Seulgi said.

‘Hah. Now there’s something you didn’t say last night.’

‘Irene. I’m serious.’

‘Well then, Serious. Whaddaya say we go for a quick round two? Or a long round two, if you like. I can draw it out. I’m good at teasing.’

‘Stop.’

‘Don’t think I heard you say that, either.’

‘Irene. No.’

‘No.’ Irene smirked. ‘No. Or. . .yes, you know? As in: Yes, Yes, Yes Irene!’

‘God.’

‘Ooh, that’s a good one. As in: God! Yes, God, more! That works too.’

‘You are insufferable.’

‘I do try,’ Irene said with a grin.

‘We have to go. We’ve got to be at the docks for nine.’

‘Do they do room service?’

‘At the docks?’

‘Why would I be talking about the docks? I meant here. Do they do room service? Like, deliver it to us and .’

‘What? I mean, probably. Look, Irene-’

‘I do hope so.’

‘You’re not listening.’

‘I am,’ Irene said. Pacing again. Making Seulgi uncomfortable. ‘Docks. By ten.’

‘By nine.’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Get dressed.’

‘Tut tut. I don’t respond well to orders, Miss Serious. Why don’t you try asking me nicely? For once. Maybe try putting on a sweet voice. You know, do something not-boring for once. God, why couldn’t I have been put with Wheein instead?’

‘You need to stop being such a smartass and get dressed. If we’re not out of this room in an hour, we’re going to be in some real .’

‘Yeah. I know, don’t worry. But we’ve got more immediate problems.’

‘What?’

‘Real immediate problems.’

‘Like what?’ Seulgi said.

‘We’re all out of Peach Schnapps. And ice. Can you believe that?’

‘You’ve been ing drinking again?’

‘What? Oh, the Peach Schnapps. No, I just found it in the fridge. Now can you believe that, of all things? Crazy. Who leaves Peach Schnapps lying around? I guess they were telling the truth when they said they hadn’t cleaned this place.’

‘This is serious.’

‘I thought you were.’

‘Irene.’

‘You know, you’re very attractive when you’re shouting. You always look slightly weird. I think that’s what I like best about you. It’s kinda like you’re not cut out for getting mad at people. Like you’re meant to be boring and nervous all the time or something. Like you’re putting it on. You know how kids in school plays try their hardest to pretend to be a tree or some ? It’s sorta like that. You’re sorta like a bear, you know? Like a bear cub? Like, you’ve got this cute squidgy face but at the same you’d probably kill me if you wanted to. Kinda like how you’d never mess with a bear cub because it could just bite you and you’d be done for? You know, big jaws and ? That’s you. You know what? I like the bear analogy. You’re like a cute-y-angry bear. Kind of a turn on, honestly.’

She stopped in front of the big walk-in closet and hauled it open and stood peering in. ‘Oh,’ she said laughing. ‘Have you seen this ? What sort of room did you book, Seulgi? Why did we never look in here last night? We could’ve had so much more fun.’

It looked like something from a store. There were miniskirts and microskirts and dirty accessories and dirty costumes hanging by clothespegs and from overhead hangars and cardboard boxes in the bottom of the wardrobe filled with toys and leather outfits and masks and ballgags. Seulgi stood awkwardly watching. The heat had returned to her cheeks a long time ago.

‘Look at this!’ Irene said.

‘Irene.’

‘Is this a o room? Holy . Is that what they were going to tell you at the front desk? That you accidently booked some creepy old man’s room? Is that what this is? It’s gotta be. No wonder they said it was weird. I hope you got a knockdown price.’

‘For ’s sake.’

‘This is the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen,’ Irene said, holding it up. ‘Have the people making these ever seen a schoolgirl in their life? Why would you wear this anywhere in the real world? Let alone to school. It’s entirely impractical. Even if you’re trying to be a tease it’s a bit of a strategic blunder. The whole point of a tease is that you don’t show anything, otherwise it’s not a tease. So what’s this, then? It’s a rather sly way of conning money out of teenage erts. Because, let’s be honest, how many young and impressionable nineteen-year-old girls in the middle of regretting their purchase are gonna go up to the counter and be like: Excuse me. Yeah. This ty schoolgirl outfit I bought is entirely too short! It doesn’t even cover my ! Well. to be you, sweetheart. That’s basically social suicide. Just imagine the look on the cashier’s face! At that point you’ve just got to live with it. Although, maybe if you’re wearing leggings it’d look better? I don’t know. Hey, do you think it’d look good on me?’

‘Irene.’

‘Imagine how wild we could’ve been. Still could be, if you’re up for it.’

‘Get changed.’

‘Don’t need much convincing, do you?’

‘Get changed.’

‘Into this? I knew you were a freak, Seulgi.’

‘This is serious,’ Seulgi said.

‘Hey, give me a minute and I bet I could find some handcuffs. Or one of those fluffy dog tails with the pink frills on them. I bet you’d like it if I talked dirty to you as well, wouldn’t you? Hey there Daddy, are you gonna play with me? I’ve been a naughty, naughty gir-’

‘Alright, that’s enough. I’m going down to check out. If you’re not in the lobby in twenty minutes, I’m leaving you here.’

When she was by the door Irene called out to her from the livingroom again.

‘Make sure you get some more Peach Schnapps,’ she said. ‘And a bucket. We’re all out of ice. And some of those party sausages they have! The ones on the little toothpick sticks. I’m so hungry. And what is it about sausages? Why are they so tasty? God, Freud would have a field day with me.’