Pitch black darkness devoured him and he was pulled in; into the abyss below, further and further in every hitching breath. He sees splatters of red and a familiar face, pale and lifeless eyes bore into his. The eyes were familiar orbs of brown, but were filled with terror, shooting daggers to his own. He’s sinking, flailing and struggling to no avail. And then.. nothing.

Kris wakes up in a jerk, body shaking and panting irregular short breaths. He tastes salt, and realized tears were flowing endlessly. His skin is slick and glistens in the light, and realized he is drenched in sweat. Hastily, he searches for eyes; familiar dead eyes, eyes in the dark. But he finds only darkness.

He can hear the tick tock of the clock, breaking the silence of night. The moonlight illuminates the bed post, reflection pooling the floor. Lost in the abyss of time, he finally succumbs to the fatigue, trying to ignore the vivid image of eyes imprinted on his head.

*

Kris hates Taeyeon. He never knew when he did. He never knew why he did. He hates it when Taeyeon plays the tuts of the piano, creating a cacophony of broken melody. He hates it when Taeyeon breaks the vase, breaks the glass, breaks the plate, breaks everything on sight. He hates it most when she starts whining, crying, pleading incoherent muffled nothings. All he acknowledged of her is her status of a step sister. He feels no love, no affection. It is mere responsibility; he chants the words to his mind.

Kris remembers the old frame. It is no younger than a decade old, a memory of what had once been there. There is a small nick in the glass, a chip with a diameter no larger than a few centimeters, but at least a dozen cracks in the glass sprout out in askew directions to make the impact seem as though it’d been twice as hard. When Taeyeon brushes the top shelf with her cane, intentionally or not, the picture falls down in the swift motion. Kris stood astounded at the side; his heart fractured in sync with the crashed picture.

He shouted endless profanities and curled into a ball, wrecked in emotions. It was the last memory of his deceased mom and sister. Although he knew it is amendable, deep down he knew it isn’t. The cracks on the glass reminds him of the cracks in his heart; deep holes filled with insecurities and fear. The cracks on the glass reminds him that no matter how much he wished, no matter how hard he tries, the dead remains so. The crack on the glass reminds him that they will never return, and the hollows of his heart never to be filled.

*

He never understood why his father would want to adopt another child; despite the fact that he’s never home. Kris knew the incident changed everything; change everyone’s view on life. His father buried himself in his so called work after the loss of his only wife and daughter. Talking was never his thing, and more so, consoling. Let’s fetch your sister, he says one blind morning, grabbing Kris by the hand. Kris hadn’t yet fully deciphered the meaning behind his words, but he came home with a petite girl half his height, holding a cane. Soft wavy hair frames her round face, long eyelashes accentuates her almond brown orbs and her pink puckered lips forms a tiny smile. She introduces herself as Taeyeon. She is blind.

Kris cried that night, and the nights after.

*

Maybe he hates her because she tries so hard to get his attention. Maybe he hates her because she will nag him with oppa this, oppa that, until he gets fed up and ends up shouting at her. Maybe he hates her because she will then sob, but when he touches her face, saying countless sorry, she will force out a smile and holds his hand in hers.

Maybe he hates how she closes her eyes and hums along when he plays the piano.

Maybe he hates that she tries to play a decent song, although failing miserably at the process. Maybe he hates her because she will end up banging her hands on the piano, wailing and shouting in desperation.

Maybe he hates her because she reminds him so much of his late sister. Because his late sister would do the exact same thing. Because his late sister is blind too. Because his late sister is blind, and gone.

*

Kris drowned himself in alcohol; a bottle made to two, two made to three, and he stopped counting at five. The alcohol burn down his throat and releases the knots in his body. It made everything blurry. Kris loves being in a blur; like there’s no good or bad, just exactly in the middle. No distinction- only blurred lines. No familiar faces- only blurred images. No forced out smiles and laughter- only giddy giggles and slurred lines. He enjoys the feeling; the release of inhibitions. He forgets everything after some time.

Sometimes the incident replays itself like a broken record. He is deafened by the sounds of tires skidding. He remembers the loud bang of the collision, metal screeching, glass shattering, smashed windscreen. The sound was thunderous, yet gone in the spur of a moment. He remembers vividly his mom and sister thrown about like rag dolls. He doesn’t know if the stinging of the safety belt digging in was a miracle, or the cause to all destruction. He tastes copper in his mouth. Blood. His vision becomes blurry yet manages to see vague image of his mom and sister, drenched in blood, eyes opened to the dome of blue above. He shouts and loses himself to unconsciousness.

Kris gulps down another glass of beer, and the images fades. He drinks another, and it fades more. He drinks more and more and more, until he loses himself to the pitch black darkness and welcomes it with open hands.

*

What started out as a ‘release’ had turned into mere addiction. What started out as a weekend hangout has turned into a daily routine. What has been the guy at the end of the bar, has become the guy at the dance floor. Kris became aggressive. He is too wallowed in the lavishness of the night life- it’s his escapee.

It’s not once Taeyeon found him collapsed by the couch, breath a mixture of cigarette and alcohol. She would poke him with her cane, because calling out his name triggers no reaction from the latter. Not once too Kris would suddenly open his bloodshot eyes, shooting daggers at her, before the final blow came. He slapped her.

He hits her one too many times, pushes her, and screams profanities at her. You can’t replace my sister, he shouts, you can’t replace her. He shouts again, again and again, until he feels like he can’t no more. His voice trembles, and he feels the walls vibrate to the action. Taeyeon is falls at the floor, hair disheveled, yet her hand tries in vain effort to search for his. Kris slaps her hands away.

You’re a no body, he says, but Taeyeon is adamant. She frantically searches for his hands, and although Kris pushed her away easily too many times, she doesn’t stay still. Tears roll down her cheeks and her lips were trembling, but her hands never stop finding Kris’s. Stop, she whispers, and Kris does. Her hands found his, and frantically moves to his face, wiping off tears from his cheeks. Kris is tired. He lets her do her thing. Taeyeon moves her face closer to his, and traces the planes of his face with her fingers; her touch ghostly, subtle yet very delicate. I’m sorry, she whispers, I’m sorry.

That night, the couch became the medium of their dreamless slumber, hands holding each other tightly. Their clothes were soaked with tears, and their body screamed discomfort, but they let it be just for one night.

*

Kris wakes up with a sore back and the absence of being beside him. He ignores the pounding head and with wobbly movements walks straight to the toilet to flush down the meal contents of last night, combined with alcohol. However the sight that came to greet him was too familiar for his liking.

He sees Taeyeon as white as a sheet, eyes staring at the yellowing porcelain of the ceiling, foaming at the mouth.

Kris fell down on his knees, and shouted.