When Kyung woke up he wanted nothing more than to forget. The alcohol from Minhyuk’s party made his mind tenebrous and hazy, but the sour smell emanating from his hair and skin along with the putrid taste in his mouth let him know that something went wrong. He didn’t want to know where his expensive shirt had disappeared to, nor did he want to know how he’d gotten home. But eventually, as Saehim was bringing him water and ibuprofen, he forced himself to ask. “You drank,” his sister responded hesitantly. “Even though there were other drinks – cola, water – you took shots. You got sick in Minhyuk’s bathroom. You ruined your shirt. And you…saw someone.”

That was enough. Kyung didn’t want to hear anything else about it. That tone of hers said everything; he saw someone no one else could see. He shushed her harshly and turned his head, refusing to acknowledge her even when she called his name. Saehim sniffled as she pushed herself away from the bed and left the room. He was familiar with the sound, and he knew what it meant. She would want to go to therapy soon.

Kyung had more than one doctor, and he disliked every single one of them. The doctor he hated the most– with his smug face and poisonous medicine – would ask him the same damn questions, knowing full well that he wasn’t able to fully answer any of them. The man did it on purpose; Kyung was sure that the doctor liked to see him go blank.

But that was probably his paranoia talking.

Kyung didn’t expect Saehim to come back so soon, but when she did, she carried a tray of food. Her hand shook slightly, and she accidentally knocked over a few papers on his bedside table. When she bent down to pick them up, his eyes automatically lowered to her exposed midsection to trace a long, ugly scar that crept from her hip to her ribs.

Screams, flashing metal, splashes of dark crimson. Images suddenly flooded his head and he grabbed his head to try to keep the memories inside. That’s what they were. Memories.

She’d walked in on him on a hot June day near the onset of his worsening symptoms as he held a knife in his hand, starting intently at his reflection in the mirror. He’d just started taking his medicine, but he’d gotten into the habit of throwing them up as soon as Saehim would leave him alone. They were poisoning him, and he wouldn’t let some bastard with a fake degree destoy his body.

But he was getting worse. Depression had a tight hold on him at that point, and he was ready to plunge the knife into his stomach when his sister ran in, screaming for him to stop and reaching for his hands. He still wasn’t sure how it happened, but Saehim had fallen, her side slashed open and blood slowly painted the floor. Kyung didn’t move. Instead he watched her as she began to bleed out, watched her as she struggled to find help. He was callous, and it didn’t register that she was hurt and needed help. She’d called the paramedics herself, her voice shaky and breath shallow as she begged them to keep the police out of it.

Of course, they didn’t, and that was the first time they tried to take him away.

Doctors changed his medication three times, each prescription preceded by a stint in the hospital. Eventually, they got it right. The medication managed his hallucinations, his depression. Managed, but not eradicated. There were still occasional voices here and there, growling his name or urging him on to do something stupid with razors and scissors. But he’d learned to ignore them and pay more attention to his sister and his only friend. They were, after all, all he had after word got out about what he'd done to her. Almost everyone else threw him away. Hatred came easily for them.

When he found himself in the doctor’s office two days after Minhyuk’s party, he tried to keep that in mind. He’d done this before, several times, in fact. Talk, then pills, then leave. But when the doctor began to talk, he literally froze.

“Tell me how the episode happened.”

Kyung didn’t move. He didn’t speak or even acknowledge that he’d heard the man. Instead, he stared at the books behind the doctor’s head. He found a heavy, aged book and focused on that instead of the questions. He could still see the doctor in his peripheral, nodding as Saehim began recounting the ‘episode’ and jotting down notes.

She finally asked, “What are you writing, if I you don’t mind me asking?” and the doctor clad in white gave her a condescending smile.

“Answer,” Kyung mumbled with his eyes still focused on the shelves. There was a shocked silence, but it was quickly filled by the sound of a pen scratching urgently against the page. When the sound stopped, the man sighed.

“I’m writing what I observe. His lack of eye contact, evidence of alogia...."

“Evidence of what?”

“Lack of speech. His symptoms appear to be returning in ear