I: Effect

Drip…

Drip…

Drip…

The sound of dripping blood reverberated off of the bare walls.

Kim Taeyeon took a step back, breathing heavily as her heart beat unbearably against her chest, feeling as though it could explode at any moment. A scorching pain soared from her hand, she could feel a sticky wetness on her finger and she winced from the pain, closing her eyes as she did so, struggling to regain her composure. A single hot tear rolled down her cheek.

After a couple of minutes, her breathing steadied but the pain didn’t abate and her heart continued to beat with fear. She opened her eyes, slowly raising her hand, palm up. She let out a staggered gasp as her heart sunk in her chest. Her hand was stained red, her skin barely visible beneath the red substance. Wincing, she turned her around and closed her eyes for a brief second. Her knuckles were a bloody red-black mess, layers of skin torn away. What had she done? She couldn’t remember.

She looked in front of her, at the dull white wall. One area of it was now cracked and destroyed with a gaping hole in the middle, flakes of dry paint and chunks of plaster board littered the floor in front of her, some of it now permanently stained red. She didn’t look around at the rest of the room, fearful as to the extent of the damage. She couldn’t remember what had happened. She didn’t want to know. But what she saw before her was enough to make her realise what had happened, what she had done. Her eyes focused on the blood-stained flakes of paint and plaster.

She had done this.

She had lost control.

Again.

She shook her head, her light brown hair flying across her face. What else had she done? What had triggered this? She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember. But she knew that she couldn’t be here. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Almost as silently as she had arrived, she left the room, leaving behind the mess she had made.

She rushed down the corridor, trying to put as much distance as she could between the room and herself, trying to ignore the painfully aching in her hand, cradling it against her chest. She didn’t know where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get as far away as possible. She couldn’t be found. If she was then they would send her away. They said they would and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to go away.

She ran blindly down the corridor, grateful that she hadn’t run into anyone. What was she supposed to say if someone found her? There was no excuse for what she had done. Well, there was, but it wasn’t one that anyone would understand. No one understood her. No one, except for him but now he was gone and she was all alone again.

She could feel the blood beginning to dry, feeling it harden against her skin. Her eyes settled on the restroom sign at the end of the corridor, diverting her down another before she yanked open the door to the women’s and rushed over to the sink, turning on the hot tap. Instantly water gushed out and she placed her damaged hand underneath the torrent, grateful for the soothing sensation it caused. She rubbed at her hand, trying to get off as much blood as possible and the clear water soon turned red. Her damaged hand burned like crazy both from the pain from her knuckles and from the pressure she was applying in her attempt to get rid of the blood, turning her other hand red and raw too. Her heart was beating wildly with panic against her chest. She had to get rid of it. She had to get rid of the blood.

The water eventually returned to its natural colour and Taeyeon breathed heavily. Her body felt excruciatingly painful. Her head, her heart, her hand. They all hurt more than she could imagine. She had been through all of this before of course, but every time it happened, she swore that it felt more and more painful.

Placing her hands against the side of the basin to steady herself, leaving the tap running to remove the last traces of blood, she slowly looked up and instantly regretted doing so. Her reflection… it wasn’t her. The girl looking back at her… it wasn’t her. She wasn’t supposed to look like that, with deathly white and sweaty skin and wide hazel eyes. Her hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions. She looked truly crazy. If people saw her like this, they wouldn’t hesitate to send her away. She wasn’t the girl in the mirror. That wasn’t her. She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t. She just… she just lost control. That was it. She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t. She wasn’t. She wasn’t.

She closed her eyes and took some calming breaths, feeling her body begin to relax. She opened her eyes and used her good hand to flatten her hair before splashing water on her face. Her complexion was still pale but at least she didn’t look so crazy anymore. The only problem now was her hand. How was she supposed to explain the bloody lump that was her hand? She looked down at it, at the torn skin, at the raw redness and at the black masses of congealing blood on her knuckles. How was she supposed to explain it?

She ran the fingers of her good hand through her hair, grimacing as they caught on the knots and shook her head. She shouldn’t have done it. She shouldn’t have lost control. She swallowed heavily, trying to think of an excuse, any excuse to explain her battered hand. In the end, she decided that she caught it against a wall. Yes, that would do. She was pushed against a wall and scraped her hand. That was a reasonable explanation… right?

With another sigh, she ran her good hand over her hair once more before giving herself a shake. She left the bathroom and then the building without looking back. Looking back would make her remember the aftermath of what she had done. She didn’t want to remember.

It was evening and the street lamps had been lit, illuminating the darkening streets. As she walked, she tried to keep her pace steady and even, hoping that no one would notice her hand, which she tucked into the pocket of her black hooded jacket, wincing as her knuckles touched the material. Once she was a distance away, she slipped down a dark, narrow, deserted alleyway and leant against the wall, taking a moment to calm herself down. Her heart had started beating with fear once more and she needed to calm down before she continued her journey back home. She tilted her head back, resting it against the bricks and closed her eyes, willing her heart to steady.

Her eyes suddenly shot open. In the distance she could hear the sound of sirens. The noise was getting louder, going in her direction, towards the building. Her heart froze in terror. What had she done? She turned her head to see two police cars and an ambulance whizz past her and she pushed herself away from the wall, her complexion turning white as her eyes widened in fear. She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t be found. She couldn’t be sent away.

She took a step backwards, disappearing further down the alleyway. She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t be here. Without another thought, her heart once more pounding against her chest, she turned and ran down the alleyway, past the bins and litter, into the darkness.

Her heart continued to pound painfully as she ran. She had to get home as quickly as possible. No one could know she was there. No one could know what she had done… though she didn’t know herself. All that she knew was that she had punched a hole in the wall. She didn’t want to know what else she had done, though she was sure it wouldn’t be long until she found out.

She ran through the back alleys. She didn’t want to encounter anyone. Had word already spread about what had happened? If the police were already there, then surely word must have gotten out. No one could possibly attribute it to her… could they? Her heart felt like it was going to burst, from fear and from exhaustion, but she kept running, pushing her body forward even though it was now beginning to resist and tire. She had to keep going. She had to get as far away as she could. The sooner she was home the better.

She continued to run through alleyways and deserted streets, gratefully for the lateness of the hour, her tiring body being forcefully pushed forward. She couldn’t stop. She tried not to think of the pain coursing through her body. She closed her eyes but all she could see was the broken wall, the gaping hole she had made, the flickers of blood on the pain and plaster. No. She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to think about else had lay in that room, but there must have been a person, for an ambulance to be called then there must have been. Her body shivered and she instinctively clutched her hands to her arms in an attempt to keep warm, not that it worked since she wasn’t cold. She had shivered from the memory, the thought of what else had been in the room, what else she had done. But what else had she done? It was a thought that wouldn’t leave her mind. But it wasn’t just that that preyed on her mind. What really worried her was what had triggered her outburst? What had happened to make her lose control?

She ran onto her street and instantly stopped, leaning against the wall of someone’s garden, breathing heavily. Both her heart and lungs felt like they were going to explode. She bent over, her hands on her knees, gasping for breath as her hair covered her face. She had made it home, but now was the tricky bit. How was she supposed to hide her damaged hand from her parents? She looked at the hand, at the black knuckles which had begun to slowly scab over and the tinge of green signalling that they were going to bruise. She let out a groan. She hoped her excuse of catching it against a wall would work.

She took staggered, hitched breaths and once she felt her pulse return to its usual pace, her breathing steady, she pushed herself away from the wall, trying hard to walk normally down the road towards her house. She kept her eyes focused on the path before her, not daring to look around her, fearfully that someone would see her, see her hand and realise what she had done. Had the incident been broadcast on the television yet? Did people know what had happened, what she had done?

She tried to keep her footsteps steady, not too fast, though she desperately wanted to run. She walked past the perfect white-walled bungalows with their white picket fences and immaculate lawns. She couldn’t look at the buildings, not with their white walls. They looked too much like the wall she had destroyed. She couldn’t think about that. She couldn’t let her mind wander back there. She couldn’t.

Her feet automatically stopped and she lifted her head away from looking at the grey concrete beneath her feet. She looked past the picket fence and perfect garden at her home. The porch light was on and the curtains closed, though she could see the dull illumination behind them, telling her the lights were on inside. She swallowed as she pushed the gate open and followed the path up to her house, pushing the white front door open. White. Why was everything white? It all reminded her of what had happened… the hole… the sound of dripping blood… the flakes of paint… the chunks of plaster… her bloody and battered hand… Her body froze before shaking as she tried to force the images from her mind. Her parents couldn’t see her like this. If they did, they’d send her away. She didn’t want to go away…

“Taeyeon is that you?”

The sound of her mother’s voice made her jump and she quickly scrambled inside the house closing the door, hoping that she didn’t look as scared and nervous as she felt and quickly stuffed both of her hands into her pockets. Did they know? They did know what she had done? She quickly her damaged hand into her jacket pocket, clenching and unclenching her fist.

“Taeyeon?”

She took cautious footsteps into the room her mother’s voice had come from. Her mother was sat in an old arm chair that had belonged to her mother, Taeyeon’s grandmother, a stern look on her face. Taeyeon’s eyes then flittered towards her father who was sat on the sofa, his usual a seat, an apprehensive look on his face.

“Come here, Taeyeon,” he said, beckoning her to come closer.

She did so, curious yet fearful as to what was going on. Something wasn’t right. She could sense it. Her parents were too quiet. It was then, as she stepped further into the room, that her eyes settled on something, someone, she hadn’t known was there. Leaning against the fireplace was a tall man dressed in a pinstriped suit with perfectly combed dark hair and a small moustache resting above his lips. Her heart froze as she heard a buzzing sound in the background. The television was on.

She took a sharp breath. They knew. The news was on. She could hear a reporter discussing the brutal attack on a male in either his late teens or early twenties and that the attack had taken place inside a hotel. Blood that didn’t belong to the victim had also been found. That was her. She had done that. She had badly beaten someone. She had done that.

“Taeyeon, what have you done?” her mother asked, her voice breaking with sadness as she shook her head.

She took hitched breaths, her eyes wide in fear. How could this have happened? How could she have done that? She knew she was capable of it, her parents knew that too, but what had triggered it? Who was the man? Why had she done it? tried to form words but failed. How was she supposed to explain this?

“Miss Kim,” the strange man spoke, his voice silky and sweet but Taeyeon could sense a menace behind it. She could see it in his narrow, dark eyes. She hated him. “Miss Kim, your parents contacted because they are concerned about you and your… outbursts.”

Outbursts? It sounded like he was trying to say that he knew about her temper, that she could lose control, but was trying to say it nicely, for her benefit or her parents, she didn’t know or care. How much had her parents told him about her? What did he know? Wait… her entire body numb as she realised that this man, this man was going to take her away. She was going to go away. No. She couldn’t go away!

She took a step back and out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother’s eyes widen. She knew exactly what she was going to do.

“Taeyeon,” she began, making as if to rise from her seat.

“No,” she breathed, shaking her head as she continued to take steps back. “No. I’m not going to be sent away.”

“Taeyeon,” her father began, rising to his feet but the man interrupted him, walking towards her.

“Miss Kim, your parents are concerned about you. They’re worried about your safety. They’ve asked me to help you. You’ll go away from a little while so I can help you.” He held out a hand to her.

She looked at momentarily before looking up in disgust. “No!” she screamed. “You’re not going to take me away. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t!”

The man nodded knowingly. “I know you didn’t, that’s why I’m here to help you. I want to help you learn to control your outbursts.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. She shook her head fiercely. She couldn’t go away. She couldn’t. She turned to look at her parents, but the looks on their faces told her enough: they didn’t care. They were sending her away.

“Look at what you’ve done, Taeyeon!” her mother cried angrily, throwing her hand towards the television. “You hurt him. You did that!”

“No! I didn’t… I didn’t mean to I swear!”

“You’re a danger to just to yourself, but to others. This proves it,” her father added harshly.

She turned to look at him. He was usually on her side, but not this time. He looked at her with disgust, as if she was something dirty from the streets, as if she wasn’t his daughter. She shook her head. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t! “Father, please, I, I didn’t mean…” She trembled as she continued to back away but the man continued to gain on her, his figure towering over her petite frame.

“You did this, Taeyeon!” her mother spat. “You were told what would happen!”

“No. No. No. No.” Hot tears streamed down her face. “Please.” She felt her back hit something hard and she instantly froze, petrified. She knew that she hadn’t walk into a wall or a door. Slowly, she tilted her head up and let out a gasp of horror. A tall, bulky man was stood directly behind her. “No,” she gasped as he grabbed hold of her, his thick hands almost crushing her arms, pinning them to her sides so she couldn’t move them. She grimaced.

“I’m sorry, Miss Kim,” the moustached man in front of her said, “but you’re parents told us that you’d put up and fight and I can’t have that.” He gave the man behind her a nod and he hoisted her off of the ground.

“No!” she screamed, kicking wildly. “No!”

The bulky man carried her out of the house as she continued to kick and scream. She could feel her rage building, her eyes going to blind to everything except her anger. She could feel a fire inside her, her anger fuelling it. “Mother?! Father?! No!”

She threw her head back, feeling the stubble of the bulky man against her skin. She screamed louder and kicked harder, but it was to no avail, the man didn’t release her. She was so caught in her fury, kicking and screaming, that she didn’t notice the moustached man fill a needle with a clear liquid before piercing her arm with it. She let out a pained gasp.

The world went white.

Thank you for reading.

Any comments or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.