I can hear the clattering of pots and pans, the hissing of a boiling kettle. Something's tickling my hand, disturbing my sleep. I wanted it gone, so I tried and batted it away with a flick of my wrist.

 

"Gaho," a deep voice said, "leave Dara alone."

 

My eyes snapped open and I'm wide awake, remembering where I am and what I should be doing – the English project. But instead, my head's resting against the table, my arm and a spread of papers acting as my pillow. My other arm dangled limply beside me, pointing towards the ground. My hand's wet and sticky. I realized Gaho's sitting beside my chair then, wagging his tail, his tongue lolling out. I scrunched my nose up in disgust, realizing what's spread across my hand. Eeew. Dog saliva.

 

I wiped my slobber-coated hand across my jeans, and a blanket slipped from off my shoulders in response to the movement. I frowned, not remembering wrapping myself in a blanket.

 

A small cough startled me into looking up then. Jiyong's casually leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, a small smile playing on his lips.

 

"What time is it?" I asked, rubbing my tired eyes.

 

"Quarter to seven," he answered, "You dozed off around five."

 

I frowned. "You should have woken me. We haven't finished the project yet."

 

He shrugged. "I finished it. There wasn't much left to do anyway." He grinned suddenly, my heart skipping a beat in response. "Anyway, you looked kind of cute, so I didn't want to disturb you."

 

WHAT?

 

The grin stretched even further across his lips. "You look a lot different with your mouth shut. It makes a change."

 

I glared and stuck my tongue out at him.

 

Jiyong laughed, shaking his head. "What? No witty response?" he asked.

 

I rested my head on my hands and yawned loudly. "It's too early."

 

"Your standards are slipping, Dara. I'm very disappointed."

 

He covered his mouth with his hand then, suppressing a yawn himself. I frowned, noting the dark circles underneath his bloodshot eyes.

 

"Haven't you slept?" I asked, concern tingeing my tone.

 

Jiyong waved off the question and began shuffling papers together, clearing the table. "I wasn't that tired," he replied, his eyes suddenly locking with mine. "I had a lot on my mind." The look left no doubt in my mind that he's referring to more than just the revelation of Seungri being bullied, provoking a blush to blossom on my cheeks.

 

I broke the eye contact, feeling immensely uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

 

I don't know what to think or feel anymore. I'm in complete disarray. We can't act like the kiss never happened, because it had – it was irrevocable.

 

But how can I face Jae knowing I've cheated on him? How can I tell him knowing the pain it would cause? I don't want to hurt him.

 

"Are all our prompt cards finished?" I asked. I don't want to talk about the kiss now – I want to forget it, erase it from my mind because we have a presentation to deliver and a project to submit today. It would also involve talking about mushy feelings – I hate sentimental talks, I loathe emotions that could render me vulnerable, and I don't want to get hurt. But I don't want to hurt Jiyong either.

 

Instead of replying to my question, Jiyong handed me our completed project. I pretended to read it, all too aware of his eyes on me.

 

Eventually he retreated into the kitchen, leaving me in the dining room alone.

 

I groaned, and rest my head against the back of my chair. What am I going to do?

 

 

 

 

 

 

After dropping Dami and Deukkie off at school (Seungri would be staying at home today – Jiyong had left him sleeping, having assured Seungri the other night that he wouldn't be returning to school until they'd had a meeting with the school about the bullying), I'd then driven home to quickly change. Fortunately, I'd called mom last night, giving her a brief outline of the night's unforeseen events, so when I arrived, still clad in Jiyong's clothes, she isn't too surprised.

 

Durami, however, took sheer delight in making quips. "Now Dara," she said, as I furiously brushed my teeth, "I hope you and Jiyong weren't getting up to anything."

 

My eyes went wide, and I'm sure I'm blushing, remembering the kiss.

 

I shook my head furiously, frowning, as I spat into the sink.

 

"No!" I shouted, "we were working, you know we were. Nothing else, ok?"

 

"Just admit it, Dara," she called from over her shoulder, exiting the bathroom, "you love him."

 

I rolled my eyes, running a brush through the knots and tangles in my hair. I'm still frowning when I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My frown softened as I say to my reflection, "You can't love him, Dara. You just can't, okay? Because he's Jiyong, and your Dara, and Dara and Jiyong don't belong together." I put the brush down. "He'd never feel that way about you anyway."

 

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

"Nervous?" Jiyong asked, as we took our seats in class.

 

"What?" I scoffed. I realized I'm ringing my hands together furiously, something I only ever do when I am, in fact, nervous. I sat on them, removing the temptation. "Me nervous? Never," I said, "I'm as cool as a cucumber."

 

Jiyong raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Really? 'Cause you look like you're going to throw up."

 

I elbowed him in the arm. Hard.

 

His eyes widen briefly in surprise, his features taking on a frown as he rubbed his arm, feigning hurt.

 

After a long moment, he broke into my thoughts and said, "You'll do fine. You always do."

 

I turned to him then, a small smile on my lips. "Thanks."

 

The slight upturn of his lips grew into that annoyingly sardonic grin of his. "Of course," he said, "I'll be by your side, so nothing can go wrong, and we'll do amazingly brilliant."

 

I rolled my eyes, about to issue some sarcastic retort when Mr. Yang called, "Jiyong and Dara? Are you ready to deliver your presentation?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

"And so," Jiyong said, "the English language has gone through numerous developments…"

 

"…from Chaucer," I continued, "to the evocative works of Shakespeare and then Austen…"

 

"…to Hemingway and Miller, and so many more," Jiyong finished.

 

His eyes flitted to mine briefly, and he winked, a slight upturn to his lips. The presentation had gone off without a hitch…it had been perfect. We so rocked!

 

An applause swiftly followed, resounding across the room. Mr. Yang was smiling (shocking, right?) and he nodded at us from the back of the classroom, seemingly pleased.

 

I'm sure I'm beaming when we took our seats, and I'm sure the smile still remained when Mr. Yang declared that class is over.

 

"Dara and Jiyong?" Mr. Yang called, waving us over with a podgy hand. We paused before exiting the room, and in unison, turned around.

 

"I'd just like to say," Mr. Yang began, "that your presentation was very good. Brilliant, in fact."

 

I bumped my shoulder against Jiyong's, smiling.

 

"When I first put you both together," he continued, "I did have a nagging worry that you'd clash with each other. During my lessons, you both offer interesting interpretations, but those views have always tended to clash with each other. I feared this partnership may not work, but it did. Extraordinarily well." He clapped his hands together, and smiled. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know how well you've done. I look forward to reading the rest of your project."

 

I practically skipped out of the room, overjoyed, throwing my arms around Jiyong as soon as the door closed behind us. We both tensed up for a moment, neither one of us having expected me to give such a spontaneous gesture. But then his arms encircled, enveloping me in his warmth. He picked me up suddenly, my feet just skimming the floor, and I let out a very un–Dara-like giggle as he spun us round and round.

 

Finally, when we're both still and my feet are firmly on the ground, he leaned his forehead against mine. My arms were still around his neck, while his were still firmly placed on my waist. I in a breath and my heart skipped a beat. His eyes had taken on a perpetual depth: they've darkened, the usual golden flecks absent. I blamed sleep deprivation for my next actions, I really did.

 

I tilted my head to the side and my lips met his. The kiss was sweet and gentle, our lips moving slowly in sync. His hands gradually moved up from my waist to my back, where they finally come to rest at the back of my neck. A tumult of emotions rose inside me. I loved it. I loved the feel of his lips moving against my own, and I loved the feeling of his hands running through my hair. And yet it's all so wrong because I'm with Jae, not Jiyong, and…oh geez, Jiyong and I are kissing.

 

I pulled away from him, suddenly and sharply, colliding with the wall. His eyes widened momentarily, regarding me carefully. He bit his lip and he took a step towards me. I moved from off the wall, circling him, so that his back now faced the wall, while I faced the vast expanse of the hall. "Dara," he began, his voice soft, "we need to talk about this."

 

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.

 

"We can't pretend nothing is going on," Jiyong continued, annoyed.

 

"Nothing is going on," I snapped. Hurt flashed in his eyes, it's brief and fleeting, but it's enough to send a pang of guilt shooting through me.

 

"Are you trying to tell me, that when we've kissed, it meant nothing to you?" he asked quietly.

 

"I…" I began to ring my hands together, wishing I could be anywhere but here, wishing I could immediately revoke my actions. "I've cheated on Jae," I finally stated, "and he doesn't deserve that. I shouldn't have done that… it's not fair on him."

 

My phone suddenly rang then, and I've never been so thrilled or relieved as to accept a call in my life.

 

"Hello?" I said, turning my back on Jiyong.

 

"Dara, it's mom. You need to come home immediately, honey."

 

A knot formed in my stomach in response to the urgency in her voice. "Is something wrong?" I asked.

 

When she didn't respond, I continued, "Are you and Durami okay?"

 

"We're both fine. Don't worry. It's nothing really, but I just need you to get back as soon as possible, okay?"

 

"Yeah," I answered, "I'm coming back now."

 

I turned to Jiyong then. He's schooled his expression, I can't discern any emotions, and I knew that I'm the cause for the mask of stolidity.

 

"I've got to get home," I said, "Omma wants me back straight away."

 

He nodded.

 

"If you want a lift back…"

 

"No," he interrupted, "I'm going to stay here for a bit. I better let Daesung and Bom and the others know that you can't make practice."

 

"Thanks," I said, "let them know I'm sorry."

 

He nodded stiffly, and I'm surprised at the urge I have to go over and hug him, just so that I can try and make him feel better, although I'm sure the contact would have just the adverse effect right now.

 

"Bye, Jiyong."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An extract from Chapter 18 of Ambiguity

 

Naomi lingers outside the doorway of the care home. Ace is beside her, watching her carefully as she repeatedly wrings her hands together. She's nervous because she hasn't visited her Dad in over three weeks, and she's worried as to whether his condition has deteriorated further since her last visit. But would more frequent visits really matter? He wouldn't recognize her as his daughter anyway. His condition has slipped to such a stage now that he no longer recognizes any of his family: they're all strangers.

 

"Should we go inside?" Ace asks softly, gently placing his hand on Naomi's shoulder. She starts, surprised at the sudden contact.

 

"Y-yeah," she stutters.

 

Tentatively, she pushes the door open, holding it open for Ace. His comforting hand never leaves her shoulder, until it slips lower and captures her hand with his. He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back in response.

 

A nurse greets them straight away, asking who they are here to see. "I'm here to see my dad," she says, "Jack Porter."

 

"Oh," she says, "he's just inside the main room. He's having a good day today. He'll be pleased to have visitors."

 

Naomi gives a small smile and nods her head in thanks. A 'good day' just meant he hadn't yet become distressed to such an extent that he'd had to be restrained and induced with further drugs to calm him down. His loss of memory always frustrated him, especially when he couldn't remember the most trivial of things: where he was and his name. His Alzheimer's had not only rendered him absent of his memories though, they'd also brought hallucinations of a man dressed in black, who Jack believed wanted to harm him. Of course, no such man existed, but Jack could not be persuaded otherwise.

 

Naomi knows where she's going, and so gently tugs Ace by the hand with her. Ace's eyes roam everywhere and anywhere. He's never entered a home before, and is surprised at how frail and sickly some of the people appear. Not everyone appears so sapped of life, however. He notes a man with grey thinning hair completing warm up stretches, until finally a career realizes what he's doing, tut-ting, "Think of your back, Alfred. The doctor told you not to outdo yourself."

 

Naomi stops suddenly, and Ace realizes they've entered the main room. Worn chairs and dilapidated sofas are placed around the center of the room. A TV is set at the back of the room, and the volume has been turned up so high, it drowns out the conversations going on across the room. Books and magazines are spread across tables dotted around the outskirts of the room. The residents lounge in chairs, quietly conversing and watching the TV.

 

Gently nudging Ace to gain his attention, Naomi points to a man in the far corner who sits in a recliner, absently looking outside. Ace notes a couple of discerning traits between Naomi and her father, which hint at their family ties. They both have the same nose and the same stubborn chin, he realizes.

 

"Hi," Naomi says timidly. "Do you mind if we sit here?" she asks her father, Jack.

 

Jack's head snaps towards them. He hadn't heard them approach, but now that he has, frowns. "What did you say?" he asks.

 

"Do you mind if we sit here?" she repeats.

 

He shrugs. "I don't mind."

 

They all sit in silence for a moment, neither sure what to say. When Ace notices the book beside Jack, he asks, "What were you reading? Is it a good book?"

 

Jack frowns again, and a look of utter confusion distorts his features. Confusion swirls inside washed-out-blue eyes. Naomi has seen that look so many times before, that it breaks her heart.

 

"I don't know," he says, "I don't know why it's there. I don't think it's mine." Jack's eyes suddenly lock on Naomi's then. "Who are you?"

 

Naomi swallows hard, trying not to show how his words hit her much like some blunt force. "My name's Naomi, and this," she points to Ace, "is my friend Ace."

 

He nods, seemingly satisfied, until he asks, "Why are you here?"

 

"We've just stopped by to visit someone," Naomi replies.

 

The lines of confusion converge on Jack's forehead once again. "Visiting? Where are we?" His hands go to his head, and he run his hands forcefully across his scalp, as if he has an excruciating headache and is trying to rub away the ache. He scrunches his eyes tightly together. "Why don't I know this? Why can't I remember?"

 

"It's okay," Naomi soothes.

 

"No, it's not," he suddenly shouts.

 

"It's okay, Jack," Ace says, trying to calm him down.

 

Jack's hands tighten in his hair. "Why are you calling me Jack?" he asks, his voice rising in volume. "Who are you?"

 

The commotion has caught the attention of a carer from across the room. She comes over and crouches beside Jack. "Are you okay?" she asks.

 

Jack furiously shakes his head and begins crying, "I don't know who they are."

 

She looks to Naomi and Ace, her eyes sympathetic and sorry. "Perhaps you should come back another day?"

 

Naomi nods tightly, biting her lip to keep the flood of emotions locked inside her. This had been one of her worst visits: she'd barely said anything, and yet it had been enough to send her father into disarray, upsetting him to such an extent that he'd been on the verge of hysteria.

 

Once outside, Ace pulls Naomi into a hug, her hair comfortingly. "He's forgotten all about us," she whispers, "He can't remember me. He's forgotten that I'm his daughter. I know it wasn't his choice to forget us, and that he could do nothing to stop himself from leaving us. I just miss him so much."

 

 

 

 

 

 

When mom opened the door, her face is morose. She tried to give me a small smile, but I can tell it's forced.

 

"Dara?" The voice came from further inside the house. It's a rough, gravelly voice, and one I haven't heard for almost twelve years.

 

The owner of the voice appeared in the doorway then, and my heart sank. For the second time that day, a dozen thoughts and feelings flooded through me, all conflicting and most unwelcome. In the doorway stood my father, Jungmin, the man who had cheated on my mother, left us for another woman, and who had severed all contact with us just over ten years ago when he'd left the country.

 

My heart pounded loudly in my ears. My eyes were wide, and I'm sure my mouth is open wide, agape.

 

I have a crinkled Polaroid picture of him in my old photo album. I'd take it out from time to time when I was younger, trying to revive hazy memories of a man that had been such a fleeting part of my life. The picture had been taken not long after I was born. He'd had a full mop of mousy-brown hair then, but now, his hair has thinned to such an extent that his scalp is clearly discernible on top. He's not as tall and intimidating as I remember either. I'd last seen him when I was six years old, before he'd packed up and left to go to Canadawith his new wife. I took in his aged features, and was disdained to note the physical attributes I'd inherited from him: my pale complexion and hair that still holds light tints, which had once been present in Jungmin's hair also, until age had took hold of him and rendered the strands a dull brown and grey.

 

"Oh, I've missed you so much," Jungmin said. "You've grown into such a beautiful young woman."

 

I took a step back, as if slapped, his words having much the same effect. If he wanted me to tell him that I 'missed' him, he has another thing coming, because how can you miss someone you barely have any recollection of?

 

"What the hell are you doing here?" I shouted. Confusion and shock gave way to boiling rage. I'm livid, and I wanted him to hurt, just like we have.

 

"I came to see my daughter," he explained, surprise barely tangible in his voice.

 

"I'm not your daughter," I scoffed. "Any parenting titles you once had were stripped when you left us."

 

"I'm your father," he protested, more forcefully this time.

 

"No," I declared, furiously shaking my head, "I don't have a father. I have a mom and a sister, and they're the only family I have. You're just Jungmin… a lying cheating bastard, who was naïve enough to think that you could just come back here, and I'd welcome you back with open arms." I gave a bitter laugh. "You were wrong, Jungmin. I… we don't want you here."

 

He took a step towards me, and I took one back in response. "I'm trying to make amends," he said. "I want to apologize…I want to make it up to you."

 

I gave another bitter laugh, shaking my head in astonishment. "I haven't heard from you in over ten years. What makes you think I'd suddenly want to hear from you now?"

 

"I'm back in the city," he said, "and I wanted to see my only daughter. I thought about you every day, Dara. I never forgot about you."

 

"Yes, you did. You forgot all about us," I said through clenched teeth. I'm annoyed and immensely disdained to feel my eyes b with tears. I looked up with my glassy eyes, refusing to let him see how much he's upsetting me. "I'm surprised you remembered you had a daughter."

 

"How could I forget you? I wanted to call you, I really did," Jungmin continued, "but I didn't think you'd want to hear from me. I'd already hurt both your mother and you, and I was worried I'd be doing more damage by staying in contact than by just leaving you both to get on with your lives…by letting you move on without me. I'd already hurt you both so much."

 

I looked to my mom then, noting the tight clench of her jaw, her firm grip on the side table. She wanted him gone, just like I do.

 

"Mom's raised me on her own, brilliantly, for all of these years. I certainly don't need you now," I said coldly. Jungmin didn't have to leave us, but he did. He'd gone on his own accord.

 

My mom smiled at me warmly, touched by my kind words of her. "I told you I didn't think she'd be interested," Mom said curtly, directing her words at Jungmin.

 

He looked towards the ground, despondent. "You have a brother," he continued, unperturbed, "well, half-brother. His name's Ari. He'll be eight in a couple of weeks."

 

"So?" I said.

 

"Maybe you'd like to meet him?" he asked, somewhat hopefully.

 

"No."

 

His face broke into a look of helplessness and desperation. He's deeply dismayed by the rejection, but it's tough, because I'm not going to accept him back. It's just too late. He'd left us because he no longer wanted to be with us. He had a choice, and he'd chosen to start a new family elsewhere.

 

Jungmin rummaged through his pockets, until finally he came across what he's looking for, and held out a piece of paper towards me. "Please take this, Dara," he pleaded, "it has my new address and phone number on. Call me, please."

 

I shook my head, stubborn, and folded my arms.

 

"Just take it. You might change your mind."

 

Not likely.

 

When I didn't budge, he sighed and placed the piece of paper on the side table in the hall.

 

"It was good to see you both again," Jungmin said. "I hope you'll call me soon, Dara."

 

I didn't respond, and neither did Mom. There was nothing left to say.

 

He'd left us.

 

And he'd forgotten all about us.

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

Hi everyone! <3

I read all your comments. Thank you for the love. :')

Please be patient with me... Okay? ><