He staggered towards me, stumbling over every obstacle he came across, including his own two feet, as I took steps away from him in fear. His pain-stricken, delusional expression made me both scared for him, and of him.

“Luhan …” I stuttered, concerned yet in fear. “Stop. What’s wrong ?  Where have you been ? What’s going on ?” It didn’t take me long to realise that my words weren’t getting through to him. He didn’t register my voice, or my sincerity, or my trembling body.

“No one understands. It hurts me so much. Why can no one feel my pain ? Why doesn’t everyone else feel my pain ? There’s no stopping it. It’s like an infection - a virus. It burns through your veins and sets your body on fire, it hurts. Why does it hurt ? Why do I hurt ?” He uttered quickly and quietly to himself, like a mad man, his voice vulnerable like a child but the anger laced between the syllables hit me deep inside. Despite his soft, pained words, his stance and eyes were strong and terrifying.

He continued to make his way towards me and I was able to take in his appearance. It was his eyes. They weren’t his. They didn’t feel like his. They were sharp, harsh, pupils constricted, glazed over – unpredictable. Something was going on. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t Luhan. Not emotionally. Not mentally.

“Aren’t you going to answer ?” He asked, turning his head to the side chillingly, as my back hit the cold back wall of my living area.

“I-I-” I stammered as he grabbed my arm and secured it against the wall and blinked slowly before letting out a disturbing laugh which sent shivers shooting down my spine.

“Don’t you want to understand the pain ?” He whispered horrifyingly into my ear as my body violently shook in terror.  My weak attempts to push him off failed miserably; he was too strong for me to escape from. He brought his left arm up to lock both my arms in place as I struggled against his weight. He removed his right arm then raised it up and I winced as a harsh slap fell upon my cheek. My head snapped to the side and I tried to bring my hand up to my burning face as tears stung my eyes, but both my arms were still stuck in place. It was when he lifted his hand once again that I noticed the distinguishable marks trailing up his arm. My body stopped struggling. My eyes stopped moving. My heart stopped beating.

Luhan suddenly paused, noticing my strange actions, before he traced my line of sight to his arm and his eyes widened. His momentary distraction allowed me to push him away and dart into the closest room, which was Hyori’s room, and lock the door.

I collapsed against the door, hands gripping the fabric of my shirt, panting, exhausted both emotionally and physically. I sent a short text to Hyori telling her to not come home tonight before giving up on myself completely. My chest felt so tight that I could barely breathe and I tried to process what had just happened. It was so unreal. The sizzling sensation on my cheek was nothing compared to the emotional damage. The images flashed through my head on constant repeat, burning them into my memory, a memory I certainly wouldn’t forget.  continued to blaze through my mind as I fell into a deep, weary slumber, leant against the door frame.

It was the trail marks. The bruises. The injection marks. It was his underweight body. His unkempt appearance. His unfamiliar eyes. It was proof, without doubt, of drug use.

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*** Luhan’s POV ***

The sound of cars driving by the window seemed deafening to me and I clutched my head in my hands in desperation, trying to block out the noise, trying to stop the deep aching, trying to stop the flood of memories that rushed into my head from the night before.

I had tried to stop. I did stop. I wasn’t ever planning on starting ever again. As a teenager, heroin had been my escape, I had always known but had never done anything to stop it until I moved to Korea. Then I found Minyoung. Then I found my happiness. I didn’t think I’d need anything else in the world. But life’s tough and I couldn’t stop myself, I was too weak, I didn’t have enough self-control to turn down what was offered to me. I took it to try and escape the infestation of pain entrenched within my heart, the gaping hole that I thought was well beyond cure.

In the end, I not only hurt myself, but the one person who I swore to myself that I would protect. The one person I swore to myself that I would tell my story to. The one person who may not ever trust me agai. I was a disgrace. So I stayed, curled up in a small ball like a child on the ground, hoping that the drug that had been pumping through my blood stream like a disease would just end my life here and now.

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Sometime later, of which I can give no length specifically because of my completely useless state of self-abandonment that was slowly eating me away, I heard a quiet shuffling from behind the door where Minyoung must have slept. My ears pricked and a surge of courage shot through me – even if she wanted to leave, I wanted to explain myself, I wanted her to know why, I wanted her, someone, to understand. I knew she was awake and I knew she could hear me, I could sense her distraught presence behind the wooden door which kept us apart.

“Minyoung …” I started, my voice shaking, trying to find the right words to express the complete catastrophe, that was my own human body and mind, to her, the only thing I could utter was the overused phrase “… I’m sorry …” which was all I could manage to articulate in my calamitous state. 

A few minutes later, when I had regained my composure, I took a deep breath and began to speak, to try and explain, not asking for forgiveness but asking for her to accept me and my story, even if it meant her departure from my side.

“My father …” I chocked on my words and took another deep breath, filling my lungs and calming my mind before continuing, “he was really sick … diagnosed as fatally ill … I had to … I had to go back to China, stand beside my mother, stand beside my own father as he lay on his death bed. He was my role model, the one man I trusted more than any other, he was my teacher, my friend. He loved to sing, he would always sing to me as a child and, when I grew up, he insisted that I should love music as much as he did. And I did.

Do you know what he said before he passed ? Do you know what his last words were, whispered weakly, to me ? ‘I’m sorry son, dad can’t sing you to sleep tonight ‘ … those were his last words before the heart monitor went dead and my mother broke down in a fit of tears. The grief was too great to handle, I found myself in the wrong place again, the place I never wanted to be in again. But when I was offered the heroin injection, I was too delusional to think that there was any other options. I was so desperate for an escape, I needed to forget everything. You see … the feeling was all too familiar for me, too quickly did I fall into the routine that I left behind when I moved to Korea. I’ve always had anxiety issues since I was a child. No reason in particular, just unlucky I guess, but that led me down the wrong road which I stumbled across once again. It was all too easy for me to do when I came back into the country. So easy that I didn’t think about the consequences of my actions.

I’m sorry … I’m so sorry … I made such a big mistake … Minyoung … I’m sorry …” When my voice got lower and my story came to an end, I heard the muffled sobs coming from the other side of the door which soon quietened soon after my voice did. “Minyoung …” I pleaded, silently asking for a reply, some sort of reaction; I didn’t want her to hurt alone …

“I’m sorry Luhan” Her voice was barely audible but I managed to catch her hushed whisper, the pain evident in her tone.

“Is there anything … anything … I can do …?” I asked, wanting to understand how she was feeling more. I wanted to help her, to heal her, to hold her but I couldn’t, not after everything I’d done.  

“Sing for me.” I was surprised at her sudden request as she spoke in a soft tone. I slowly began to sing, allowing the notes to roll gently off my tongue. The simple, melodic tune was ‘Tears In Heaven’ by Eric Clapton ( << Please listen by clicking on the hyperlink). The song held a deep meaning, one that seemed to ease my pain and ease the loneliness.

“Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong
And carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven.

Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?

I'll find my way
Through night and day,
'Cause I know I just can't stay
Here in heaven.

Time can bring you down,
Time can bend your knees.
Time can break your heart,
Have you begging please, begging please.

Beyond the door,
There's peace I'm sure,
And I know there'll be no more
Tears in heaven.

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?

I must be strong
And carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven.”

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