Don’t look back.

Those three words would always make my heart do crazy palpitations of fear and nervousness. It’s a nightmare, for me, whether awake or asleep, every time I hear those words. The weirdest thing is, I don’t even know what significance it plays in my life. It tires me every night I’d have to argue with myself whether I should sleep or not. Of course, it would be my good sense that eventually wins over; my mind says my body needs it, and my body agrees with the droopiness my eyes become. It though. Every night waking up is something I have to fight for. I often succeed, but barely. And I cuss this sixth sense ability that sometimes even waking up is not a desirable option for me. I’d see ghosts again; sometimes it would be a little girl running around, but more frequently, it’s the lady ghost I’m accustomed to seeing. Catching sights of them is so often I’m actually thinking of being friends with them.

The strange thing, though, ever since my meeting with Zelo my nightmares have become less vivid, or should I say deadly, now. The struggling child and the words don’t look back is (and I think will always be) present, but now…I don’t know. I don’t have to thrash in my sleep just to wake up. I don’t wake up panting. When my mind senses the dream is becoming too scary to bear, I simply open my eyes and that would be the end of it. I don’t wake up sweaty and haggard. Ever since I met the boy named Zelo some of my dreams are not really even nightmares. I get to experience those weird dreams some people talk about; those nonsensical, abstract, and sometimes too good to be true, sleepy apparitions.

It’s 6AM, and I undeniably still have a lot of time to kill before school starts. As soon as I get up I take possession of the bottle on my bedside table and take in a pill. I’ve been taking these pills all the years of my life I’ve forgotten what they serve as. They scratch out the label so I couldn’t really see what’s it called. My aunt tells me I should always take this in “for me to get better” and I don’t know, I find myself having nothing against it—haply it’s also because it’s been a part of me and my routine now. I once or twice tried not to take in this medicine, and I noticed, I wouldn’t get a hold of myself. I mean, I find it hard to calm down; I wouldn’t have control over my thoughts, I get very nervous and the worst—what I see in my dreams would be remembered vividly, like they’re memories that actually happened, and I would always have to curl up in a ball and cry, with my hands covering my ears to ward off some sounds that I think are the product of my imagination or actually my sixth sense.

I hear the doorbell ring, and I rush to get it. For one fluttery, expecting moment I think it’s Zelo, but then when I open the door—

“Hello, Heebinnie,” my aunt smiles affably, and envelops me in an embrace.

Oh.

She draws out and my hair. “I missed you, dear.”

“I…I’m fine, Ahjumeoni. Thank you. oh, come in, come in!” I usher her in, and she easily settles herself on the couch and puts on the table a seemingly heavy box.

“What are those?” I ask her.

She opens it carefully, and you wouldn’t think that that fancy box would contain such serious specimens. “Your medicines, dear. I figured your supply is running out,”

I nod twice, and sit beside her. “You were right, Ahjumeoni. Thank you.” I eye the box with a grateful smile.

She my hair. “How are you here, dear? Are you eating well?”

“Yes, Ahjumeoni.”

When her face turns to worry I know what she’s going to say next. “Very truly? You’re alright? are…are the nightmares still there?”

That catches me off-guard. I was sort of anticipating her asking about my health, but… “H-how…how did you know?”

“You once confided in me, remember? Do you sleep well?”

“I…uh…”

“You can tell me everything, Heebin.”

Not taking it anymore, I crash myself down her chest and cover my face. “Ahjumeoni…It’s…they’re…still there…and…and I’m seeing things,”

“What kind of things?”

I look up at her and whisper, “Ghosts.”

She gives me this look like I said something abnormal, but then she does good at concealing it and asks more, “Don’t you think you should go and see Kim ahjussi today? He can help you,”

“But my classes…”

“Skip class for today, Heebin.” It sounds as a command, so I know I will have to follow. “Besides, your ahjussi misses you. He even asked me once about how you were doing. He misses his ‘pep talks’ with you,”

Pep talks. That was our secret code for therapy. This Kim Ahjussi we’re talking about is a doctor, or my therapist, exactly, and he’s been our family friend since I was eight years old. Aside from my mother and father, he knows I’m having nightmares. So any information leak that got into my aunt must be caused by him. “Okay then,” I sigh. “I’ll go,”

Later that day, I f