01 - Sweet

Backwards

Rain drops roll down the panel of the car’s window, moving down an unknown path and flying off with a quick turn of the wheels. The car’s heater kicks on with a soft buzz, hot air slowly blowing out. My eyes follow a drop of water down the window, making a race with other drops. They merge together and fall away from the panel.
“Baekhyun, we’re here.” Jongin says as the car is pulled over to the curb, the engine settling into a soft hum. I nod and unbuckle myself from the car. I rest my hand on the handle for a moment, flashing from cameras flood my view. I hear Jongin get out from his side and walk around the car to the back, to where I’m seated. He pushes back men with cameras and opens the door for me, popping out a black umbrella. I climb out and walk silently up to the cold-stone building and through the glass entrance, photographers shout for a statement, but they’re ignored. Jongin follows me inside, closing the umbrella as he steps behind me, blocking the view of the people crowding outside the doors. The doorman keeps them at bay, not allowing them inside.
I take a moment to stand there, sounding out for any other people in the building before walking away, going to the cold-metal elevators. The elevators are fast to arrive and to drop off anyone to their floor. I’m inside my own home in a matter of minutes. Jongin stands awkwardly by me as I remove the thick-black jacket from my shoulders, hanging it on a door handle as I walk down the wide-set hallway.
“Are you staying here?” I ask Jongin, glancing at him over my shoulder. His shoulders straighten and he shrugs, as if he doesn’t know what to say. I shrug back, walking into the silver-set and white-walled kitchen.

It was a long day of makeup, reading lines in front of a heavy camera and interviews. I lean into the white fridge for a moment, closing my eyes to breathe in the smell of an empty home. I hear Jongin walk over, his hand placing itself on my shoulder.
“Are you okay, Baekhyun?” He asks and I shrug my shoulder, his hand falling down from it.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask and he clears his throat.
“They asked some… interesting things in that interview.” He says and I look up at him, leaning into the fridge more. “It’s their job, isn’t it? They have to ask the hard-hitting stuff to get views.” I say and he sighs with a solemn look. “It’s not anything new, to ask a twenty-two year old. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” I say and he gives me a reluctant nod. I walk around him and out of the kitchen, going into the bathroom to shower.

Nights with rain are something I both love and loathe. Good things can happen in them, and bad things can happen in them. Bad things were winning lately.

I lay in bed, the heavy-sheet covering up to my waist; my head rests on the white-covered feather pillow. I stare out of the large window that creates most of the wall to the left of the bed. It acts as some sort of accent to the rest of the room. The walls were painted dark with a bit of grey overlapping to create a crisscross pattern. I liked it that way, dark and a bit gloomy looking. It didn’t match the persona those that saw me through media saw, but I liked it more than anything.
I sigh softly and sit up, my mind was wide awake, and it didn’t want me to rest. I sit against the bed’s backboard, looking out at the busy night. Cars speed by in a blur, steam blows out from buildings and lights twinkle brightly into the dark streets.
I sit up a little more as the smell of something sweet finds its way to me. I slip out of the warm sheets and closer to the large window.

I press my palms onto the cold glass, looking down a bit as the smell gets stronger. I swallow back thickly; it was getting harder to breathe – my vision blurred and things started to spin. I had to close my eyes so I didn’t feel sick. I breathed out harshly, trying to bring in fresh air to fill my lungs. I step away from the glass as I open my straining eyes. I collapse, my legs going weak from something, my body feels pressure all over, like I’m being stepped on by multiple people.
I start to shake from a heavy-coldness; I puff out a hard breath, fog clouding it. My throat begins to itch and I start to cough, trying to clear my throat – something heavy settling inside of it. My hands form fists as I hold myself up on the floor, trying to keep awake as my eyes get heavy. My nose is blocked with a sickening-sweet scent that turns things into blobs of colour.
I take one last breath in before I black out, falling forward onto the floor, lying flat as I blink away the darkness of my bedroom.

My head pounds as a bright light shines into my eyes, I blink and roll over, falling out of a bed I wasn’t in. I land on hard-wooden floors with a soft thud. I sit up and blink a few times, looking around. I breathe in deeply as I slowly realise I’m not in my apartment, on the floor in my room.
I stand slowly, glancing into the mirror that I spot. I stare at myself – younger, hair black and untouched from dyes and bleach. I step closer to the mirror and slip on a book that was messily placed on the floor – after a moment I take it all in, the bedroom I grew up in.
My heart jumps a few beats as I hear her yell my name, telling me to hurry up – to get to high school, my mother - I glance at a calendar that hangs on the door, I almost fall over at the date – it was backwards, five years, I'm seventeen, standing in my messy room - I thought I was dreaming, but when my stomach growled for food, I knew I wasn't.