001. We Are Nothings

“Myungsoo, you may enter.”

I stand up, my fingers trembling as they fiddle with the hem of my shirt.

The woman, whom I had never met before– or maybe I have, I can’t remember– is wiping a syringe with a blue cloth. She smiles at me, the skin at the corners of her eyes wrinkling and folding into creases.

I look around the room, before taking my seat next to her. The place smells like antiseptic soap, dried blood, and perhaps the stench of dead people with rotting insides, but perfectly normal-looking exteriors.

“How are you today?” the woman asks, snapping on her rubbery latex gloves.

I flinched at the sudden sound. “Fine,” I reply.

Sometimes, it scares me– how easily I can lie.

“Good,” she mutters, checking through the sheets of paper on her desk.

I don’t think she was paying any attention to my answer.

“Honey, I’ve looked through your reports and you’re weight has increased significantly. You have made good progress,” the edges of her lips curve upwards once again, cracking as they force themselves to move.

I nod my head once. Only once.

“When was the last time you had your shot?”

“Two days ago.”

“Okay. Then I’ll give you one more today. Wait a moment–” the woman gets up, looking through stacks of medicine bottles, scanning for the one with my name imprinted on it.

Kim Myungsoo.
Peripheral Parenteral Nutrition (PPN)
To be given every other day.
004-100-32.

It is on the top shelf. I spot it within seconds, but I don’t tell her.

She doesn’t need to know.

“Ah, there it is,” the woman tiptoes, reaching for the bottle.

As she sits back down, I spot the scratch on the back of her forearm, reddened and swollen.

It wasn’t there yesterday.

I momentarily wonder what had happened to her.

“Your arm, please,” the woman reaches out.

I place my arm on top of the metal tray on the table, my skin immediately sticking to the cold, hard material.

And so it begins again.

She injects that horrible acid into my body. I can literally feel it crawling up my veins, feeding my insides.

But my insides are not hungry. They do not want food.

I barely wince as the long needle leaves my arm.

“There. All done. I have your scheduled appointments over here,” she hands me the thick folder, with all the timings for my death sentences, printed clearly.

I barely understand half of it.

“Any questions, honey?” I notice that this woman always speaks in short, clipped sentences.

Yes, I have lots of questions. How much do I weigh? When can I leave? What are you doing to me? How many calories were there in that shot you just gave me?

“No.”

“Okay, honey. You may leave now.” She doesn’t look up as I exit the room.

Why does she call me ‘honey’?

~~~

I am not ‘honey’. I am not sweet. I cannot be eaten with toast. I do not come from bees.

Rather, I am the pollen grain that fell from the bee’s legs as it returned back to the hive. Neglected and lost.

I flip through the stack of papers in my hands.

First appointment: 0830 – Dr. Park (Psychiatrist)

It starts in half an hour.

Good, I have enough time to go back to my room and hide my laxatives.

I walk back, slowly.

The iron balls that are chained to my ankles make it harder than ever to climb the stairs. They drag across the empty, carpeted halls, thumping loudly as I raise my feet and stomp them back down again.

I walk pass an endless line of rooms.

This is the crazy level.

The level where the rooms are all padded with sponges– yes, they are real. The evil scientists stand outside, scribbling nonsense into their notepads as they observe their subjects.

And the condemned sit in the middle of those rooms, wrists locked up in shackles as they scream, kicking and reaching out to nothing. As they throw their heads back, desperately hoping that their necks would crack in the process.

There is no day or night in the crazy level. Just locked up windows and closed curtains.

Everyone speaks to each other, over here. They talk in funny sentences that don’t make any sense.

I don’t stay on this level. I belong to the floor above this one. For the even crazier people: the insane level.

But I like to visit. I peek inside the rooms, where some patients sleep soundly cry in their sleep.

I spot Louis in the first room. He is always there. His name is printed on a piece of paper, in bold, block letters, “LOUIS TOMLINSON”, and stuck on the door.

The edges of the paper are crumpled, and I swear the sheet was originally white when they used it. It is now yellowed, with brown spots dotting the corners.

Sometimes, I consider asking the nurses to engrave his name on a gold plate.

He deserves better.

I looked through the glass window fixed to the door of his room. And as usual, he is there, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

“I can’t….” Louis cries, tears streaming down his cheeks, staining his lovely skin. “Please, I can’t eat it. No, it has too many calories…”

He is almost kneeling on the bed now, pleading for his predator to let him go.

“You have to try. It’s just a banana. It is good for you,” the devil smiles smirks.

He is jotting something down in his notebook. His pointed tail is crawling its way out from under his white coat, and his horns grow almost instantly.

This demon is a very good actor. He pretends like he cares. He will demand that you tell him everything. And then, he’ll lock you up in the psycho ward, insisting that you have a problem.

When really, the only problem you had was failing to see through his pretense.

You can’t trust anyone here.

“Please–” Louis begs.

I turn my head away. I cannot look.

This is too much.

~~~

I drag my tired feet and climb up the stairs once again. The iron balls have disappeared now, replaced with thick ropes. They are tied so tightly around my ankles that I can literally feel them strain against my skin– a burning sensation– as I move.

But I carry on.

Pushing the handle down as quietly as possible, I enter my room. The wooden floorboards creak as I step inside.

The paint on the walls of the room are peeling off, I should get that covered up soon. The bed sheets are stained with an unfamiliar substance. I don’t remember noticing that when I had woken up this morning.

I look around my room. Someone has been in here. I can feel it. Things have been moved around. I scramble around the place, searching for important items.

My diary has been taken out, read through, and put back in its original place.

My drawers have been opened, scanned and shut.

And my box of laxatives has disappeared.

Oh God, I am in trouble.

“They took your measuring tapes as well.”

I immediately turn around, hearing that familiar voice coming from behind me.

He is there.

Again.

He sits on the couch at the corner of my room, playing with my Rubik’s cube, fiddling with it and messing up the pieces that took me ages to fix. His nails scrape against the colourful stickers, willing for them to peel off.

His hair has thinned, falling like silk to his forehead. His eyes have lost their colour. They are transparent– almost like glass. The skin on his body is stretched out, too pale.

I bet I can trace every single one of his veins. If only he still had any.

He looks up at me.

“I hate the doctors. They are cruel people,” Sungyeol sighs, “Luckily, I hid your razors just in time. They were about to find those too.”

“Why are you here?” I grit my teeth.

Sungyeol raises his hands up in defense. “Don’t be so mad, baby. I was lonely.” He walks towards me and links our arms together.

I try my best to stand my ground. If I don’t, he will seduce me. He will make me love him again and then he will persuade me to follow him.

I do not want to follow him, though. I’m not ready.

“Go away,” I hiss.

“No.” Sungyeol states simply, his eyes glinting with amusement and dark humour. His mouth is twisted into a lopsided grin.

And then, he suddenly freezes. He drops the Rubik’s cube onto the ground and points to the door, his fingers shaking.

I walk towards the door, pressing my ear against it. And sure enough, whispers echo from the other side. They travel like a breeze, soft and fluttery, but their words hurt my brain, cluttering my thoughts like a hurricane.

“He is talking to no one in particular… again,” someone sighs.

“This is getting out of control. I think his hallucinations have escalated to a terrible extent,” another voice speaks.

“I will talk to him, during our next appointment,” a third voice mutters.

I turn around to glare at Sungyeol. It was his entire fault.

Now I am probably going to end up in the psycho ward, strapped down to a table– with white lights everywhere– and being interrogated by people I don’t know.

Sungyeol isn’t there anymore. There is no trace of his appearance. The creases, which had formed on the couch he was previously sitting on, are erased completely.

I sigh softly. He has left again.

~~~

Good. This is good.

He shouldn’t be here. He should be dancing in heaven– or maybe, rotting in hell, because Sungyeol is a terrible person.

No, I don’t want him to rot in hell. He doesn’t deserve it.

He didn’t die on purpose; he didn’t choose to leave. It was simply his time to go.

Although, I prefer to think of his death as the complete opposite.

I prefer to remember him as the one who left me; the one who decided it was time for me to fend for myself.

Because it is easier that way. It is easier to blame him for the way I have screwed up my life after he had abandoned me.

~~~

“Thinking about me?” Sungyeol whispers from behind, his mouth just inches away from my ear.

I step away from him, scanning him warily. “Where did you go?”

“That is for me to know, and for you to find out.”

I notice that the whispers outside have stopped. Those demons have departed, proceeding to eavesdrop on other patients.

I have nothing more to say. My arms drape at my sides.

Moments later, I grab my diary from my bedside counter and rip the pages out– only the personal ones, though– so that no one else can read it.

“Here,” I crumple the papers into one big ball and hand it Sungyeol.

He blinks a couple of times, before taking the paper and stuffing it into his pocket. Then, he sits quietly in the middle of my bed.

I bend down and take out all the music albums from my cupboard, dumping them onto Sungyeol’s lap.

They will check those too. I know it. When I’m not around, those people will take out the CDs and listen to the music that I listen to. If it’s anything “triggering”, it goes out.

Sungyeol sighs again. “You know… if you just cross over, things wouldn’t have to be this way. You wouldn’t have to hide anything from anyone,” he mutters.

I look up at him and he smiles sweetly at me, his pale lips filling with colour. “You are sick and twisted for wanting me to die… just so I can be with you.” I state.

“Don’t forget selfish,” Sungyeol adds, kissing my cheek softly.

I flinch from his touch. And almost instantaneously, the bell rings.

“Half past eight. Your appointment room has been moved. It is downstairs…” Sungyeol looks at the clock and trails off.

“How do you know?” I ask, curiosity woven deep within my voice, though it might take someone a while to decipher my emotions.

Sungyeol shrugs as his figure gradually turns transparent, disappearing into an unknown.

~~~

Sometimes, I can’t help but to wish this whole ‘dying’ thing would be easier.

I try– I really try– my very best to cross over; to reach Sungyeol, who is waiting for me at the other end.

I want to be with him. I want to feel absolute bliss with him. I want to vanish into nothing.

Yes, that is what I want.

And Sungyeol tells me that I’m close. That this feeling– whatever it is– in my chest will eventually go away.

He tells me that I am merely trapped; stuck in between the worlds. I am still breathing, but my insides are dead.

~~~

Everyday, Sungyeol would crawl into bed with me, playing with my hair as I tried to force myself to sleep. Vines would sneak around us, gripping me tightly and holding me into place.

They would creep into my mouth, filling the gaps of my windpipe and blocking my lungs. But Sungyeol would force them to leave.

He says he can’t bear to take me away.

He wants me to do it by myself.

But that takes time. And I’m not ready.

~~~

I pack my things back into place.

Sungyeol has taken my albums away with him– to where he has hidden all my other precious memories: the back of my head. The entire collection of CDs and posters sit there together, dusty and locked up.

But at least, they are safe.

~~~

I knock on Dr. Park’s door.

“Come in.”

Slowly, I creep into the room. A cold gust of wind slams hard against my face, causing my eyes to water.

“Need a blanket?” Dr. Park doesn’t wait for my answer as he gets up and takes a blanket out from the cupboard next to me.

He drapes the cloth over me and returns to his seat, searching for his pen and notebook.

I look around the room. It is my first time in here.

I notice that Dr. Park has a strange for colourful objects. The walls of the room are painted in strips of different colours, looking almost like a kindergarten classroom.

His desk is filled with rainbow-coloured files, each with a smiley face sticker stuck onto the side.

At the corner of the room, a trail of colourful umbrellas line up against the wall.

I grimace at all the blinding colours and briefly wonder why the he needs so many umbrellas.

This man has a problem– an addiction to bright colours.

I think he needs help.

Dr. Park curses under his breath, unable to find his pen and notebook.

I pick at the threads of the warm blanket, pulling and plucking each of them out. By the time Dr. Park starts to speak, I have accumulated a bunch of them in the palm of my hands.

“Myungsoo, I am not going to beat around the bush anymore. I will tell this to you straight, okay?”

I nod.

“People are starting to get worried. You seem to be getting better– with your weight and all. But we hear you talking in your room. Do you like to talk to yourself, or is there someone in particular you are talking to?” he asks, adjusting his spectacles that are slipping down the bridge of his nose.

No. I will not answer that.

If I lie, he will know. He will find out and question me until he digs out the truth.

And if I tell him about Sungyeol, he will declare me “crazy” and ship me off to the psycho ward.

I cannot go there.

And so, I stay quiet.

“What’s wrong, Myungsoo?” he inquires again.

Stay quiet.

“Will you tell me? I promise whatever you say will be kept confidential.”

Stay quiet.

It continues like this for the next half an hour.

Dr. Park is very persistent. He insists that I tell him.

But I am strong.

And I absolutely will not give in.

Soon, the thirty-minute timer rings, sending its annoying shrills across the room.

Time’s up.

I get up from my seat and stagger out the door, without waiting for Dr. Park to end the session.

I can’t believe people get paid for this.

~~~

To my almost-surprise, Sungyeol is sitting on one of the chairs in the empty waiting room outside.

He is completely engrossed in filling out a crossword puzzle found inside some tacky, old magazine– that has probably been here longer than I have.

I watch as his eyebrows furrow and his lips form a frown on his face. He scratches his head, before sensing that someone is looking at him.

Then, he looks up and smiles at me– his glass eyes twinkling like sparks.

He is beautiful.

I try to smile back. But before my lips can move the way I want them to, Sungyeol holds the magazine up close to my face, like a little child.

“Seven down: a five-letter word for ‘departure’. Do you know?” he asks.

“Death,” I whisper. The word escapes my mouth before I can snap it shut.

 Sungyeol’s smile disappears. For a moment, we just stare at each other– no emotion shown.

But soon, Sungyeol’s form fades away and he disappears.

Again.

~~~

I shake my head slightly as I walk down the empty hallways.

It is a quarter past nine, in the morning. And everyone is either still asleep, or hidden in the security of their rooms, buried under piles of rubbish that they have been burdened to carry.

I walk further down, to the end of the building, where the telephone booths are lined up.

Honestly, I have no clue what I am doing here.

I spot a handful of people queuing outside, trying to ignore the cries from children who are calling their parents, begging to be set free from this prison.

I would queue up too, if only there was someone to call.

~~~

I walk aimlessly down another stretch of hallways.

There are no other patients here. Only nurses and doctors– they are all monsters that shuffle hurriedly from room to room, obtaining trays of medicine and food.

I notice– only now– that I still have Dr. Park’s blanket with me. Wrapping it around my body for extra warmth, I inch my way down the path.

The monsters do not notice me. They simply carry on with whatever they were doing and push me aside.

I make it past that hallway, turning into another unfamiliar corridor. The place is lined up with little rooms, and parents sit outside as their children run around, crying and laughing at the same time.

My lips quiver from the cold air around me.

And just as I walk past them, Sungyeol appears in front of me.

His body is bent forward; his arms are resting on his knees. He is panting so hard that his entire frame is shaking uncontrollably.

I try to reach for him, but he raises his hand to stop me.

He looks up– his eyes have colour now. They are red, like burning flames.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Room 115. Level 9. Go there. NOW,” he says before he vanishes, fading with the air.

I look around, confused.

What just happened?

A flood of thoughts invades my once-empty mind. Overwhelmed, I start to panic and run around, sweat forming on my forehead.

Parents are staring at me now, grabbing their too-hyper children and pulling them away.

Sungyeol looked so much like a ghost– it scared me.

But my subconscious slaps me awake.

He is a ghost.

And he needs you to go to Room 115. NOW.

I sprint for the stairs.

What level am I on right now?

No clue.

What is in Room 115?

No clue.

I run up the stairs, climbing them two at a time– all iron balls and ropes have disappeared.

I look at the sign next to the staircase: Level 7.

Two more levels.

~~~

I have dropped my blanket long ago.

My T-shirt is drenched with sweat and fear.

I scan the door to every room, before spotting Room 115.

I peeked through the glass window; there are monsters inside.

So many of them. They are arranging bottles of medication, wearing blue masks and filthy-looking hairnets.

I spot Dr. Park right away.

“He didn’t say a word throughout the entire session this morning,” he speaks, his voice a little muffled by the mask, but clear enough to interpret.

“I think we need to move him to the mental ward. It’ll be safer that way: 24-hour monitoring and all. If he continues to hallucinate, we’ll change his entire medication prescription. We’ll get him the antidepressants, as well,” another person continues.

At first, I don’t understand.

But then, their words piece together in my mind, and they hit me with full force.

Antidepressants?

The last time they put me on that, I lost myself.

I had become normal, like they had wanted.

But I wasn’t Kim Myungsoo.

I was nothing.

I couldn’t feel. I couldn’t think. I only reacted.

And the worst part was, I couldn’t even see Sungyeol when he was standing right in front of me.

Unknowingly, tears build up at the rim of my eyes.

I am crying.

I have never cried in such a long time.

The last time– and I remember clearly– the last time I cried was when… when….

…Sungyeol died.

A sob escapes my lips.

Sungyeol is dead.

He isn’t here.

This whole time, I have been living in my own little dreamland.

I slap myself exactly eleven times, before walking away from the haunted Room 115.

The weight of reality crashes down on my shoulders, crushing me beneath it.

Sungyeol is dead.

He is gone.

He has left.

I am alone.

I am alone.

I am alone.

No, no, no, NO, NO. They cannot take me to the mental ward. I won’t let them. If they take me away and drug me, I might float away and never come back.

And worst of all, I might forget Sungyeol.

I shake my head violently.

I cannot forget Sungyeol.

Words from Sungyeol suddenly invade my mind, his voice echoing through my thoughts: We could escape; be happy, forever; you wouldn’t have to hide.

My tears won’t stop flowing down my cheeks.

I wipe them away, with the sleeve of my shirt.

Slowly, I step back. My fists are clenched, nails digging deep into my skin.

Those demons, they won’t bring me to that horrible place.

Because I am leaving.

I dash back to my room, jumping down flights of stairs, tripping and falling– but never slowing down my pace.

My bones rattle against my skin, not used to the impacts of my fall. They bruise easily, reddening the remains of my flesh.

Sungyeol is in my room. He is sobbing into a pillow.

I try my best to stay calm as I approach him.

“What’s wrong, Sungyeol?” I ask gently, patting his back.

“They’re taking you away…” he looks up; his eyes are still red like a fire. His lips are blue now, and his hair falls out like pieces of thread.

“No, they won’t,” I smile at him.

He is confused at first; his lips press into a hard line.

But shortly after, he understands.

He smiles a little– he is very happy, I can tell– though he tries to hide it. Leisurely, he gets up. Our faces are inches apart now.

“You won’t miss this?” he questions.

I can’t help but to let out a strangled laugh. It sounds bitter.

I gesture to the small room around me, “This place? Do you think I would miss this place?”

“You know very well what I mean,” Sungyeol isn’t amused.

I sigh and think about his words.

Happy together, forever… or locked up in a psycho ward?

“No,” I whisper, “I won’t miss this.”

“And you won’t regret it?” he asks quietly, interlacing our fingers as he closes the small gap between our bodies.

“Never,” I smile softly, pressing my forehead against his.

And with that, he leans forward and places his lips firmly onto mine.

His lips taste like cooling peppermint. They used to taste like cotton candy– when he was still breathing.

Our hands stay interlocked, at our sides. Neither of us moves; we simply delight in the kiss, closing our eyes and appreciating the silence around us.

Sungyeol’s eyes gradually lose their fire. They slowly return back to his ghostly transparent form.

“You won’t miss anything here?” he asks– still unsure– as we pull apart.

“There’s nothing to miss,” I bite my lip, “besides, I can’t see anything else but you.”

Sungyeol closes his eyes. “The razors are in the bottom drawer– toilet cabinet,” he speaks up and breaks away from my hold.

I dash straight for them, locking the toilet door behind me. Any minute now, those demons might attack, tying me up and pulling me away from my lover.

Scrambling through boxes of my toiletries, I finally find them– my secret stash of razors.

I’m glad I kept them.

Sungyeol appears next to me.

“You’re sure about this?”

I nod my head, holding the sharp edge close to my wrist.

“I can’t watch,” Sungyeol says simply, before turning away.

I ignore him and press the razor deep into my skin.

It slides easily, across my wrist, creating a long red line.

I create another cut on my other wrist, biting my lip in the process.

The familiar stinging sensation burns my flesh, and I clench my teeth together.

The blood skims down my arm, caressing my skin with tingling feelings– almost like butterfly kisses.

Sungyeol feels it pool around the two of us.

He turns around, just in time to catch me as I fall.

My heart is banging against the constraints of my ribcage. It is pounding mercilessly, willing to be set free.

I can feel it coming.

It blinds my vision with black spots, at first, and slowly it takes over all control of my limbs.

Sungyeol caresses my face, tracing the edges of my jaw.

“The worst part is the moment when your heart stops beating. But then, everything gets better,” he smiles, his eyes forming little, bright crescents.

The blood has stained everything: from my shirt, to my body. But it doesn’t touch Sungyeol.

I reach up to touch him– to feel him while my hands are still warm, while my lungs are still breathing.

His smile is still in place.

And I’m glad he doesn’t cry– because I don’t want to cry, either.

“Myungsoo, are you in there?” the demons ask from outside, willing me to come back.

But I don’t listen to them.

I simply look at the love of my life.

His eyes have colour now.

They aren’t transparent anymore; neither are they red.

They are hazelnut brown– the soft colour that I adored so much.

“I love you….” Sungyeol whispers.

I can feel it coming, now.

My flesh is burning; vines are crawling around me once again, ready to claim me as theirs.

Any second.

I choke as my voice strains. “I-I love you too… I’m–”

Suddenly, a bright light surrounds me.

And my eyes close.
 

 AUTHOR'S NOTES 
GAHHH >.<
I had no idea where I was going with this.
I guess it came out alright :/
Comment, subscribe… it’ll make me a very happy person ^^
Oh, and I’ll be explaining how my story relates to the prompt in the next chapter.
Thanks for reading~

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