MOVED TO @BYUNBOOBS

Normally, you’d be self-conscious of how you presented yourself, not wanting to look like a mess. But now, none of that mattered. You’re in a venue, hidden away from society and most importantly your boss — your corpo-rat life on pause. An underground rave situated in an abandoned opera house, not too shabby and mostly covered in colourful, obscene graffiti. A mixture of the old building’s elements: Red velvet carpets, chestnut spiral staircases with gold coloured railings. All of it blended in with the modern modifications of multiple light fixtures and the current state of decay it’d been facing, slowly disintegrating with time. The scent of numerous drugs and sex drifts through the air, sifting out with the exits as it filters away into the outside world.

The mixture of the ever-changing, kaleidoscopic strobe lights make your head spin. You can’t even see straight, not without tripping over your own feet and colliding with the sweaty bodies of the crowd. Pushed against the cement wall, your hot body fails to cool down against the slick, cold surface. Pondering, you try to remember how the events of the night fell into place. Starting from the beginning, you’d long lost your friends — from the moment you’d walked in actually. All of your clasped hands, separated almost immediately by the personal desires of each person as their alter egos come alive. Walking into this rave was nothing more but a death wish for some and for others, a sense of freedom.

At first you felt lost, you didn’t participate in any pre-game shots on the way here. Walking into this darkness like a complete virgin but you’re sure a few drinks would loosen you up. Starting with one, your nerves tingle as you down the jagerbomb, ignoring the burning sensation in your throat. Requesting for another, you barely realize you’ve jumped from two drinks to five. Your nerves no longer itch at your brain making you uneasy, they’ve become non-existent. You aren’t worried about finding your friends, neither are you thinking about work, you’re simply letting go of it all.

Completely releasing yourself once you’ve mixed in the THC from the thick blunt in your purse, one of many actually — blunts you’d rolled on the way here, inside the backseat of your friend’s company car.

With a flicker of your baby pink lighter, your thumb rolling against the metallic gear, it’s fuschia flame ignites brightly. Burning the tip of the blunt you’ve got clasped between your lips, the hue of the flame makes half of your face glow. Turning the joint around in a circular motion as it heats up, slowly roasting it. Once it’s been lit enough you take a few short puffs before inhaling it slowly, trying to keep it in your system for as long as you can before releasing it through your nose.

The process repeats as you spend a couple more minutes alone, slowly drifting into oblivion. Once you’ve gone completely blank, your emotions harvest nothing more but a clean slate. Your body begins to fall in tune with the music, your soul is claimed by the dance floor as the half-smoked blunt rests on the ceramic ashtray.

Like sardines in a tin can, there’s many people, almost too many to count. All barely visible until the strobe lights momentarily flash on their faces and each time it does, you’re standing in front of a new person. Mingling with the crowd, it almost feels like you’re speed dating except there are no words exchanged, just sly touches from one to another. You like that it changes so fast, wishing how your sober life could pass by just as quickly instead of the usual, slow-burn days that tended to drain you of any energy. Although, after what seems like hours you’re finally breaking free from the chasm of subconscious minds, drifting away from their mindless bodies.

Just like that you’ve managed to recap a few hours in one sitting. Sure, you’re alone now, yet again — the blunt in between your fingers serving as your only company. Funny isn’t it? A huge room filled with people and you’re still singled out. It just always seemed to play out this way, drunk or not. Scoping out the setting, you watch the different scenes play out. The stories of many individuals, unique or not, you didn’t really bother to judge more than the situation they’d been encapsulated in. At the bar you’ve got people either drinking their problems away or trying to introduce issues to the innocent, unknowingly spiking their drinks.

Down the corridor towards the bathrooms, you’ve got people making out intensely against the wall. Completely animalistic with no sense of passion at all. Shoving their tongues down each other’s throats, hands groping at places that shouldn’t be seen publicly. Coke-induced individuals with freshly powdered noses stumble out of the bathroom, pushing roughly past them with their eyes nearly sticking out of their skulls. The dance floor is a mixture of both, the sexual tension is thick amongst the crowd. Everyone’s bugged out of their minds, all emotions and hormones heavily induced by the substances shoved through any orifice of their bland faces.

Even your body is tirelessly running on the effects of weed, alcohol and a quarter of the acid tab you’d microdosed, plopping it atop your tongue at one point. Committing all the “drug don’ts” by mixing those three. As a result, your heart rate is abnormally high and your pulse is beating in sync with the electromagnetic rhythm of the club’s music. The dark pupils of your eyes are enlarged, swallowing up your irises as they move around rapidly — it’s impossible for you to focus on just one thing. Eyelashes barely batting against the grain of your eyelids, you can’t remember the last time you blinked that night.

You’re convinced you don’t look your best, the pristine presentation of yourself when you first walked in differed to the hot mess you were now. Your hair is loosely hanging against the sides of your sculpted face, eyeliner smudged from rubbing your eyes after being surprised by the club’s smoke machine — you’d accidentally turned around at the wrong moment getting blasted in the face. Which in all honesty, didn’t look too bad, creating a smokey eyeshadow look that brought out the colour of your eyes.

Your black, sequined dress still hugs the curves of your body but no longer remains comfortable, the edges chafing against your skin. The tights on your legs are ripped in multiple places from tripping against numerous objects, revealing the purple and blue bruises that painted your skin. It wasn’t too great but it wasn’t like anyone was watching you. No one could judge another in a place like this, everyone was fucked up.

Although you’re wrong, someone’s been watching you for quite some time now. Incredibly drawn towards your appearance, they’re eager to have a closer look. Especially at your face which looks rather dim from where they’re positioned but nonetheless, the distinct features of your visage seem to glimmer underneath the lights, equally contoured by the shadows.

Given your posture, you seem blue or rather literally, you look blue with the multi-coloured spotlight fixated on you. However, with the dark backdrop of the wall behind you, it seems like you’ve been birthed from within the darkness. The title of saddest girl in the room is rightfully yours. With your legs crossed, one elbow on your thigh as you cup your chin with your palm — the dim flicker of your lighter flashing on and off.

Your voyeur, Haechan, continues to watch you from above on the upper balcony. All his friends are sprawled about on the circular, rough lounge chair with hooded eyes. Too tired to dance, too dumbed out to even act normal as they burst out in laughter from time to time. He’s iffy on whether or not to leave them behind for a few moments so he can go talk to you. Would that be okay? I mean they were adults but he was also the most sober of them all. Which meant he felt a strong sense of responsibility in taking care of them. Mostly because of his strong tolerance towards most substances otherwise he’s sure he’d be right there, flopped on the couch next to them.

Besides that, he’d definitely toned it down tonight — the only thing coursing through his veins was the two cups of whiskey and a few cigarettes, nothing too heavy. Looking back at his friends, he can’t help but softly smile at their dazed expressions, their heads drifting up in the clouds — he grants himself a few minutes while they continue to hazily daydream.

Dashing down the stairs, his leather ysl wyatt boots click loudly against the floor as he grips the sticky railing so as to avoid face-planting onto the floor. His eyes don’t lose sight of you, silently hoping you don’t get up and disappear into the crowd. Shuffling his feet, he makes his way past many people even pressing himself against the wall to prevent getting sucked into the abyss of a dance floor.

After what seems like a mini-journey of pushing people away and trying to regain his personal space, he finally arrives. Standing a few feet away from your still body, your head gazing downwards as he towers over you.

Haechan feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, gazing down into a canyon with a pitless bottom. Fuck, he didn’t plan anything after this, everything was pretty much spontaneous. He wasn’t drunk enough to push past his nervousness and walk up to you with a cringy pick up line. Instead, he’s stuck here hovering over you like a fool. Brushing the dust off his leather jacket, he accidentally flaps the opening of his jacket extinguishing the flame of your lighter with his sudden movements.

Only then does your head slowly begin to tilt upwards. The moment your eyes meet with his, the strobe light hanging over the two of you switches to bright red. Illuminating the both of you in a crimson hue, he feels like he’s on fire. The sheer amount of your powerful, yet painful emotions all clogged up within your eyes is enough to make his knees grow weak. He feels as if he’s gazing into your soul, peeking at something he shouldn’t be allowed to see. His mind runs blank as he can’t help but think, who hurt you?

You’re ethereal, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. Raw, you’re so fucking raw he feels like you’ve been stripped naked in front of him with nothing else to show but your feelings. Haechan no longer feels like he’s standing inside a rave, instead he feels as if he’s been transported to an art gallery where there’s no one else but you and him. He’s standing there alone gazing into this renaissance painting, one that perfectly expresses despair.

Depicting the story of an angel, clad in all black, not a speckle of happiness present. You’re like an angel banished from heaven, the wings on your back have been ripped to shreds as you fall from grace. You think you’re fogging it all away with the weed he smells on you but it’s all tragically plastered on your delicately, poised face.

Haechan feels like time has officially stopped when he watches you furrow your eyebrows together in confusion, your lips part as your jaw moves in unison — you’re saying something but he can’t hear you. The music is just too loud. Either way, he’s somewhat thankful that everything is so amplified because he’s pretty sure he could hear his own heartbeat thumping loudly, perhaps even louder than the dj’s bass beat.

Slowly rising upwards to meet his gaze you lean in closely — the concept of personal space no longer matters to him. Not when he feels your hot breath fan over his ear, his breath hitching as a result.

“Can I help you?!” Yelling out loud, you snap him out of his daze. You’re awfully unaware of how loud you’re being, especially since you’re so close to his ear drum but he isn’t phased. Everything in this hellhole was boisterous.

Turning his head to face you, he feels slightly flustered by how close you are. The tip of your nose is merely inches away from his as you stare at him with big, bright eyes. The scent of your perfume and faint smell of indica blows him away as he takes in a deep breath. He needs to pull himself together, first impressions mattered.

Pursing his lips, he tries to say something, anything at all. The thoughts inside his mind have gone completely haywire, running around and blaring loudly as they try and put the words together. Forming a sentence as sober as he was proved to be incredibly difficult for some reason. Shit, this was a first for him. He watches as you take a step back, crossing your arms, your eyes divert from his looking at everything but him. Was he scaring you away? Or perhaps were you bored of him? I mean he was standing there like a complete loser with a loss of words so it wouldn’t be surprising.

“C-can I buy you a drink?” He quickly shouts back, randomly sputtering the first few coherent things that come to mind. He watches you anxiously, fiddling with the silver ring on his finger as you take a moment to consider his offer before shaking your head, politely rejecting his offer.

“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t be drinking anymore than I have tonight.”

Once he’s heard your response loud and clear, the look of anticipation drops from his face. You can’t help but feel a little bad for turning him down. He was pretty cute with semi-long brown locks that nicely complimented the shape of his face. The honeydew tone of his skin was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. With broad shoulders and long limbs, he dressed rather nicely; the combination of his leather jacket and ripped jeans was simple, yet to die for with his physique — he knew what looked good on him.

Besides the fact that he was pretty much eye candy, it’d been the first time in a while since you’d been hit on. The fact he offered to buy you a drink despite looking the way you did at that moment felt sweet and he didn’t seem to harbour any bad intentions. Observing how he bites down on his bottom lip, awkwardly nodding his head as he runs a hand through his hair abruptly messing up his curtain bangs.

For some reason you couldn’t bring yourself to push him away, not yet at least. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to have some company once in a while right? Noticing how he’s gazing up at the balcony, you assume he’s going to take his leave since you’ve already rejected him. Halting him in his thoughts, you stop him from bidding you goodbye and leaving.

“Wait! I mean...Could I buy you a drink? Sure, it’s not very traditional but we’re past those times right?” You offer as his brown eyes lighten up, pupils dilating. He blinks a few times, eyelashes fluttering against the grain of his skin, it was somewhat hard to believe you weren’t pushing him away. Throwing his hands in the air, he flashes you a bright grin.

“Of course, I’d love that!” Bringing his hand forward, he offers you guidance towards the bar. However, you don’t brush your fingers against his and intertwine them. Instead you opt to cling onto the cuff of his jacket, you’d only just met him anyways.

The perimeter of the bar table is filled with miniscule crystalline lights, illuminating it’s glass surface. Drumming your fingers against the table, the two of you are seated on the leather bar stools that feel miles apart from each other. Despite the distance really not being that far, it still made the aura between the both of you rather awkward.

Leaning on your elbow, you eye all the different labels of drinks lined up against the mirrotic wall. Rows and rows of bottles of everything really from vodka to whiskey, seltzers to champagne.

The reflection of the wall showcases yourself and Haechan with the roaring crowd behind the two of you. Although, you can’t bring yourself to face him directly, your eyes never look away from his figure as you stare at him from the mirror. Watching how he pulls out a green, crocodile skinned cigarette case from the inside of his jacket. Removing a single Marlboro red and placing the cig in between his lips as he leans back, feeling his pockets around for a lighter. However, you wordlessly beat him to it, igniting your lighter with your left hand. Holding it close to his face, he cups his hand around the flame, igniting the tip and taking a quick drag.

“Mm-thanks,” Flashing you a soft smile, you reciprocate the action.

Taking that as the ice breaker for the situation, you pivot your stool to face him, “What do you usually drink?”

“I mean anything from old-fashioned tequilas to straight up bourbon,” Running his fingers through his hair, he takes another drag momentarily pausing before tapping some of the ashes away onto the ashtray, “Not a fan of seltzers and you know, martini’s and shit like that.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you admire his tastes, “So I take you as a classic man?”

“I guess so? I mean it doesn’t hurt to have a beer once in a while without blowing a hole through your wallet,” Pausing, he takes another drag. Tilting his head back as he blows the smoke past his lips, his fingers blindly find the ashtray, tapping away at the excess ash, “Although recently, I tried sake and shit—”

You watch as he throws his hands in the air, gesturing them around as if he was absolutely mind blown by the drink — you could tell he was quite expressive.

“...It’s amazing,” He finishes, the cigarette finding its way back to his lips.

“Can’t say I’ve tried it before,” You shrug as he freezes in place.

“Really? We should head to an Izakaya sometime and try some,” He nonchalantly offers as you snicker at his suggestion. As if you’d have any time outside of your hectic work schedule to do so.

His dark, caramelized orbs widen in confusion, light brown eyebrows rising upwards in awe, “What does it sound that absurd to you?”

“Sorta yeah. I mean you don’t even know my name and yet here you are...asking me out on a date,” You jokingly explain. You didn’t mean to come off as rude or anything but you did have a valid point.

The silence that ensues makes you slightly nervous. Were you being too rude? However, when you realize that Haechan’s begun to slowly inch forwards closing the remaining distance between the both of you. His body language reads something completely different, he isn’t offended nor is he annoyed — if anything he couldn’t be bothered any less.

That darn cigarette is loosely dangling from his lips, the red and orange embers ignite from the tip as he slowly inhales the nicotine. The left corner of his lip tugs upwards holding the cigarette in place as his lips slightly part, puffing the smoke out.

The smoke blows past your face, the scent of nicotine flowing through your nostrils as you sit there relatively unphased. His hand reaches for yours, overlapping it as he hovers in closer and closer, “Enlighten me then.”

“Not so shy now are we?” You refute. Allowing your hand to flip on it’s back, intertwining your fingers with his slowly. Squeezing his hand tightly, you bring your other hand to rest on his thigh, brushing against the bare skin visible from the ripped segment in his jeans.

His eyes flicker towards your teasing hand as he takes up the challenge, allowing his free hand to wrap along the side of your waist. Hopping off the stool, he tugs you in close as you follow his lead. Looking up towards his face, you feel the warmth radiate off his body. Your heart pacing roughly, thumping against your chest as you fall curious, what would he do next? You couldn’t wait, you couldn’t allow yourself to turn into mush in his grasps. Dragging your hand from the side of his waist, your fingers dance up to his stomach before reaching the expanse of his chest.

Roughly grabbing at his collar, you fist his t-shirt in your hand, dragging him in closer. His eyes widen at your boldness and you can feel his breathing become heavier. Turning him around, you push him against the bar counter. Wrapping your arms around him as you rest your head on his broad shoulders.

“My life at night differs drastically from who I am during the day,” You start, whispering the words into his ear ever so slowly as you feel his larger hand rest against the small of your back, “I don’t exist like this during the day.”

Confused, he brings his hand to tilt your head upwards. Brushing away at the stray hairs, gently tucking them behind your ear, “What do you mean?”

Sighing, you allow yourself to indulge in this moment. Combing your fingers through his hair, the texture is incredibly soft allowing your fingers to brush by with ease.

“Hey, c’mon talk to me,” He softly pleads as you stop your movements. Removing your hand from his hair, you rest it atop his shoulder. This would be hard to say to him. Would you regret doing it though? You wouldn’t know until it was done.

“You won’t see me again. So there’s no use telling you who I am,” You watch how the soft expression on his face drops once more — it’s the second time you’ve disappointed him that night, “I’m just not who you think I am right now and I’m not sure I want you to find out.”

Haechan can’t help but let out a chortle in complete disbelief. Somewhat hoping that you’re simply messing around with but when he sees how serious you are. He can’t help but fall speechless once more. The quiet, lonely girl he’s picked up at the club truly doesn’t want to get to know him further than this.

Now he realizes why you were sitting alone, you voluntarily chose solitude over the familiarity of another. Whether or not you came here with friends, he doesn’t know but he knows you sat there alone willingly. That was your norm and it somewhat made you a loner.

He knows he can storm out on you, angrily yelling many profanities for leading him on but he also knows better than to do that, that just wasn’t him. He’s not built to lash out on people, somewhat understanding what you meant, he’s managed to roughly decipher your code-like message. You just didn’t want him near you, he got that. Removing his grasps from your body, he gently steps to the side. Crushing his cigarette into the ashtray, he decides to respect your decision and not further waste his time.

“My friends are waiting for me.”

Giving you one last, meek smile he leaves you behind. The crushed cigarette served as what would essentially become a forgotten memory, another potential rendezvous destroyed. No goodbye, nothing more but a simple sentence. It was deserved and you’d honestly expected worse, you’d experienced much worse. But he’d left you alone, just as you wished.

Allowing you to stand there like a fool, your emotions completely jumbled up as you stare at his figure disappear into the crowd. Now you understood why your friend group split up so fast in the beginning, you’d abandoned them with the excuse of heading to the bar. Instead of staying grouped with them, you’d allowed the excuses to filter in, those same fucking excuses that constantly pushed the people close to you further away.

Slumping onto the bar stool, you stare at your pathetic expression in the mirror. Your emotions are no longer able to remain bottled up within the window of your eyes. Drifting down your cheeks, you quickly wipe them away with the back of your hand. You couldn’t cry out in the open like this. Silently, laughing to yourself you can help but realize how pathetic you are.

Coming to a place like this with the hope of finding a distraction only to end up feeling more shitty than before. It was useless. If you couldn’t be happy sober, you’d only be tricking yourself into being intoxicated. The concept of happiness only growing further away.

Raising your hand to signal over the bartender, your mind screams at you to order another drink but you push away at your thoughts. Finally gaining control for once, “I’d like to request for an Uber ride.”

Home would be your safest bet for now. All alone where you’d be able to step out of this fleshy facade.

December 17th, 2020.

It was below freezing, your bare skin in the cold — void of any jacket, you felt hollow. With the strong gusts of wind whipping in your direction, you feel yourself getting slapped in the face. Almost as if the earth had already begun to blame you for what had happened.

The tears had no end, having begun merely hours ago as they continued to pour, drifting down your cheeks and hanging on the edge of your jawline before tumbling down towards the snow-covered ground.

Frozen in place, dressed in nothing more but your nightgown. Slowly, you begin to succumb to the cold watching as the house in front of you stands there dauntingly, the front door flung wide open. He no longer stood there, his tall frame absent from the doorway. To be precise, he was currently laying face flat on the living room floor. Sprawled on the handmade, Persian carpet — his pyjamas soaked in dark, crimson blood, his blood.

The very same blood was splattered across the grained canvas of your skin and it almost felt like you could still feel the initial warmth of his blood sputtered on your body. He was dead. Having bled out almost 15 minutes ago, there was no coming back from this. He wasn’t going to stand up and walk out that door.

You were finally safe, far away from him. The distance really being the difference between life and death — it made you feel relieved he was finally gone. No matter the outcome, the details within the quiet corners of your life now forever remain between you and him.

‘Till death do us part? You now drink to that saying, no longer dreading your future.

May 12th, 2021.

The sound of the polished, antique grandfather clock made your head spin. It really had no end, constantly ticking away before loudly blaring at every hour. You’d remind Dr. Kim to get rid of that dreaded clock today but it’d be no use — you complained every time and yet, there it was. Situated in the waiting room of his pristine and rather luxurious office. Accompanied by the annoying clicking of his secretary’s keyboard, her pale face illuminated by the blue light of her computer screen that she never really glanced up from.

This building had become a part of your life, you were here almost four times a week. As a result, you’d grown accustomed to his privately owned building, having walked through most of its corridors with your fingertips brushing against the coral, white walls. Although you'd only been into a number of the rooms in his buildings, the other’s remaining a mystery.

Minimalistic and well kept, his office was very well furnished. The interior looked exactly like a showroom you’d see at Ikea. You figured it must’ve been all organized, designed and chosen by Dr. Kim himself — noted by the numerous home lifestyle magazines shelved neatly in his waiting room. Magazines you’d flipped through multiple times.

Even now, you sat patiently on the brown, leather wingback chair with a magazine in hand. The sound of the obnoxious clock and clicking of the keys echoed through the room. The combination of those two sounds made your mind go absolutely haywire.

Tapping your foot against the hardwood floor, you blankly stare at the clock watching how the small hand moves by the second, counting down the increments till the next minute. In approximately five minutes it would be your appointment which equates to your third session this week.

Glancing down at the magazine, you momentarily avert your focus towards the cute ottoman pictured next to the fireplace on the page. However, when your eyes see the price you suddenly feel appalled by the price tag — nothing that cute should ever cost $900. But then again, your therapy session cost twice that amount per month which meant if you could afford these pricey sessions, you could afford that ottoman. Pulling out your phone, you snap a quick picture for future reference.

“Dr. Kim will see you in his office now,'' Announced the secretary. As expected, her head doesn’t raise to meet your gaze and you merely sigh in response, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table.

Marching across the waiting room and towards the corridor, your suede Celine boots click loudly against the floor. Your footsteps echo through the hall as you pass many doors, some of which you’d seen inside and others that almost always remained locked, hidden away from your curious eyes.

A few long strides and you find yourself at the end of the corridor, your knuckles knock against the door, wordlessly announcing your presence. Waiting a few seconds, you then hear his muffled voice from the other side allowing you to enter.

Entering Dr. Kim’s office feels like a new experience every single time. The young man’s always got something new stored in his office that honestly, doesn’t even last a few weeks. Your eyes scan the room looking for what might just be his new addition.

Starting from the large window, you notice how the curtains are still the burgundy colour he’d chosen at the beginning of the month. Moving towards his office furniture, his lounging couch where you often found yourself sprawled about was still the same old brown leather. Pivoting on the spot, you find almost nothing new until you spot Dr. Kim himself.

There he is, standing tall with his posture as sharp as a knife. His lean body is clad in a black, pinstripe suit that you presume to be Tom Ford, he’d recently been into the designer lately anyways. In his slender hands are two cups of coffee, one that he places onto the table and the other, he quickly hands to you as you merely gawk at his appearance.

Your eyes seemed to glimmer underneath the dim, office lights. The flash of his newly dyed, platinum blonde hair sparkles within your irises. Your lips fly agape as you fall speechless, “Your hair…”

The tall man smiles brightly at you, running a hand through his newly dyed, platinum blonde locks. Shrugging, he gestures his hand towards the chair behind you signalling you to have a seat. Falling onto the cushioned chair you stare at him with wide eyes, “So this is your— This week's new addition?”

“It was either this or going blonde,” He states while sitting down on his office chair, grasping his coffee in his hand and blowing it gently before taking a sip, “—Needs milk.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you watch him rise from his seat, heading towards the small fridge he had situated next to his espresso machine. Sipping your coffee, you enjoy its bitterness and warmth as your body relaxes, slumping backwards a bit.

“This isn’t blonde?” You ask, pointing towards his hair with your finger in a circular motion.

“To be precise, it’s platinum blonde with a silver balayage,” You watch as he sips his coffee again, this time with the added milk. His expression smooths down, a small smile stretching onto his face as you merely roll your eyes, “What? You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s not that I don’t. I definitely do, it’s just very out of the blue,” Explaining yourself, you take another sip of your coffee before remembering to give your appreciation, “Right, thank you for the coffee.”

“Don’t mention it. I wasn’t sure if you wanted an espresso or a latte but I figured the dark roast would be more of your thing,” Placing his coffee back onto the table, he flips open his leather-bound notebook before looking back at you, “…And how are we doing today?”

Pausing, you bite down on your bottom lip, eyeing the pen that spins between his dainty fingers. He takes note of your averted gaze, your attention focused on the heavy pen that dances with his fingers. Bringing it to an abrupt stop, he manages to divert your attention back towards him as he smiles patiently when you meet his gaze once more.

“…Good, I’m doing good today.”

“Mm, anything happen in particular?” He inquires. Leaning back into the chair, you watch how he subtly winces when the spine of his chair squeaks. You’d probably see a new chair in that spot the next time you were here.

Taking a moment to think, you try and remember if anything eventful occurred today. Which in all honesty, was really nothing, you’d woken up much too late and skipped your meals before you’d arrived at your appointment. But it wasn’t like you were going to be honest about that.

“Not really. I just woke up and now, here we are.”

You observe how he jots down a few notes in his notebook silently. The scratching of the pen against the notebook made your ears itch, you could practically feel every single letter being etched onto the paper.

“What’d you have for lunch?” He asks.

Shaking your head, you purse your lips before vaguely responding, “I woke up at three, showered and made my way here.”

“Still dressing in layers I presume,” Using his pen to point towards your attire, you glance down at the wool Proenza Schouler coat. Underneath, you’d opted to wear a dark, blue organza blouse, topped with a sleeveless knit sweater and black dress pants. “It’s spring,” He adds.

Sighing, you take a sip of your coffee wrapping your hands around the cup, “I’m never warm enough.”

“Where will you go once the snow sets in?”

“A place where the sun will never set.”

He continues to jot a few notes, scribbling in his words as you fidget with the end of your coat.

“Join me for dinner tonight,” He chimes in, not raising his head from his notebook as he continues to write. Confused, you furrow your eyebrows as you question what he means by that, “But I’m your patient, I shouldn’t see you after hours.”

“It’s not about that. You just haven’t eaten in two days,” Holding up his notebook, you catch a glimpse of the cursive writing sprawled across the pages. Of course, he’s always documenting your habits. Forgetting your meals just happened to be one of them. Just like your habit of overdressing in thick layers no matter the season.

Your lips part as you try and find an excuse but he’s quick to shut you up, “I’ll add it onto your tab for your list of appointments.” Nodding in defeat, you take the last sip of your coffee.

“How’s your hearing?” He continues, drumming his fingers against the table as you grimace at the noise. The sound of his padded fingers bouncing against the wood made your head hurt. He knew what he was doing, he just needed to physically confirm it.

“Still sharp as ever. I mean, I hear almost everything — Mostly the smallest things.”

“Such as?”

“Like the sound of that dreaded clock in your office—”

“—I’m not getting rid of it,” He butts in as you sigh in defeat.

“Well, I’ve also become very focused on hearing the quietest things. Like the footsteps marching through the hallways of my apartment or the muffled sound of utensils and dishes clinking inside the sink from next door.”

“Are you sure the walls aren’t thin?”

“No, I know they’re not because I tend to just narrow down on the smallest things. Like just now, when you were writing in your notebook, the blotches of ink spreading onto the paper made me feel incredibly itchy; Like something scratching at my ears.”

Without looking away from you, he jots down what you’ve said into his notebook watching how you look rather uncomfortable by the way his pen glides across the paper.

“Why do you presume you feel this way?” He asks, “Have you always been this irked by the little noises in your daily life?”

Taking a moment to think back, you close your eyes momentarily. Inside the darkness of your confined mind, you’ll never forget his slow and steady footsteps. It only took him twenty steps before he’d found you cowering in fear underneath the bed you both shared. Your eyes flutter open when you remember the horribly, twisted smile plastered on his face when he’d found you.

“No. But, the final month or so before my marriage ended— I mean…before the incident happened was when I found myself growing terribly weary and paranoid. I had to always hear things before I saw them,” Sighing you scan around the room to focus on something, trying to wipe the memory of his beautiful, cruel face away from your mind, “I guess it’s just never left me.”

Settling on the ottoman situated near his fireplace your eyes widen when you realize it’s the same one you saw in the magazine, “Oh! I saw that ottoman in the magazine you had back in the waiting room.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I thought it was rather cute,” He replies as you nod in agreement. The light caramel toned, a fluffy fabric made it almost look like a small dog.

“It is.”

“You can take it,” He offers as you look at him with wide eyes.

“That thing is $900, I couldn’t possibly—”

“—Since when I have been one to get flustered over a price tag? Plus, it reminds me too much of my dog Obok…if he was dead and upholstered into an ottoman.”

Throwing your head back, you let out a small laugh before falling silent and staring at him with wide eyes. That was probably the first time you’d laughed in over a month. The first time you’d expressed an emotion that was in some form of joy.

“I guess you’re into dark humour?”

Shrugging, you give him a soft smile, “I guess I am.”

The remainder of your appointment went the same as usual. He continued to ask questions, inquiring about your feelings and how they coincided with your past and present. To which, you were rather picky in being completely honest with him.

You weren’t a liar per se but you just didn’t feel like you were ready to become an open book. Despite his job being to help you. You couldn’t let your inner thoughts come forward until you’d dealt with them yourself. Plus, it’s not like he couldn’t read through your motives.

You could tell he had a special way of getting the words he needed to hear out of you, not forcefully but with his slick, talking skills that to an extent could possibly be seen as manipulative outside of the office. But he had no harm with it, he was a psychologist, it’s his job. He was just helping you exert the negativity outwards — without always telling you that is.

Towards the end of your session, you watch as he pulls out a notepad writing down a scrambled mess of words onto it before ripping it from it’s batch and giving it to you.

“I know you didn’t want to get prescribed prescription drugs. But it’ll help bring your appetite back and allow you to get some sleep. Take it if you want but really, ignoring it will continue to make things harder,” He explains as you hesitantly grab the paper.

Obviously, you weren’t going to visit the drug store to pick up these medications. It was something you’d tried in the past — since you’d seen two other therapists before Dr. Kim. They’d both prescribed you medicine that did nothing except continue to dampen your mood.

You found multiple changes in your body; Thinning in your hair, your appetite raged enormously (only making you feel incredibly nauseous) and you’d even miss your period from time to time because of the imbalance in your hormones.

Unlike the previous psychologists you’d talked with, Dr. Kim knew that you didn’t melange very well with the prescribed medications. Opting to recommend other forms of “inner healing” like yoga or journaling and even a keto meal plan. However, he did try every now and then to offer medications when he’d see that your health was declining rapidly.

Only, if he knew you really needed it so it could help you bounce back. This was why you appreciated him, mostly because he always listened to you with concern and never pretended like he cared, he was genuine. Unfortunately, his prescription note would only land atop the pile of other papers you’d carelessly discarded in the recycling bin outside your home.

Interrupting your thoughts, you watch as he stands up from his desk. Collecting a few of his things and placing them inside his briefcase, “Now. Shall we head out for dinner?”

Waiting for you at his office door, he holds the door open for you watching you with soft eyes as you get up and wait outside. Quickly, he locks the door and the both of you silently make your way down the corridor, back to the waiting room. Awkwardly standing by his side, your feet shift against the floor as you keep a mindful distance from him.

Dr. Kim quickly bids his secretary goodbye, mentioning a few words about returning in the evening. Trying your best not to eavesdrop, you find yourself coming face to face with the clock. Watching how the large hand strikes the new hour, ringing six times and announcing that it was in fact, six o’clock.

“Why does it have to be so terribly loud?” Turning around with a scowl on your face, you openly express your distaste in the clock, yet again.

“The faster we leave, the faster you don’t need to be around this clock you hate so much,” Signalling his head towards the exit, “Did you drive here?”

“Took an Uber. I don’t think I’m ready to be driving again.”

Taking out his car keys from the inside of his pocket, he dangles them in front of you. Grimacing in response, he quickly stops the motion when he realizes the chiming might just be a touch too loud for your hypersensitive hearing, “My bad.”

Shaking it off, you give him a soft smile, “Let’s get going then?” He returns the gesture in confirmation but before the two of you can depart, he lingers behind momentarily heading towards where you were previously seated in the waiting room.

Picking up the lone magazine you’d abandoned on the coffee table and placing it onto the rack with the other magazines, specifically leaving this edition of ‘HomeSense’ with the other ones of the same publishing company.

You made a mental note to properly leave the magazine back in its proper spot next time.

Dr. Kim couldn’t drive.

Well, he could but he couldn’t do it in a manner that felt safe. The two-seater McLaren Senna felt like a spaceship on the road. It certainly didn’t help that he felt the need to speed up instead of slowing down at almost every yellow light, barely making it in time before the colour switched to red. Frozen in fear, your heart pounded madly within your chest making it hard for you to open your mouth and beg him to slow down.

Jungwoo, well, Dr. Kim on the other hand was having the time of his life, loudly singing to the tunes that played from his personally curated playlist. Occasionally, his hands would fly upwards in protest, dancing along to the song for a few seconds in which you’d find your hands flying to the steering wheel so you could maneuver for him.

Luckily, his dangerous driving skills and speeding did make the trip to the restaurant much faster. You found yourself in front of the restaurant in essentially no time. However, when you stepped out of the low-riding car you couldn’t help but feel like you’d already lost your appetite. Whether it was knowingly or not, he’d brought you to the restaurant where you first had dinner with your ex-husband.

‘Doot Doot Doot’

The restaurant had a rather peculiar name but it was incredible in all aspects. The interior decoration had this gorgeous, overhanging chandelier consisting of many golden-hued light bulbs that covered a large portion of the restaurant's ceiling.

The cuisine itself was definitely the highlight, always leaving you speechless as your tastebuds exploded with flavour making this place, absolutely everything. However, this was your first time coming back in almost a year and it soon proved to be much too soon to do so.

“Go ahead and get comfortable. I’m just going to use the washroom first,” Says Dr. Kim.

Getting seated, the waiter quickly greets you, handing you the menu. Your fingers gloss over it, sweaty fingerprints squeaking against the coated cover. Nothing had changed drastically, they’d added in a few new meals but most things remained the same.

There was your favourite meal and of course, there was his. You remembered the way his face would light up when he’d read over its ingredients. The way his deep voice seemed to smoothen over when he’d order the dish, adding in a bottle of red wine for the both of you as well. He never failed to get excited coming here, especially with you. It was your favourite date night spot.

You couldn’t agree more, at least back then. Dining with him here was an experience, taking your time savouring the food and sharing small, warmhearted conversations. Melting into the aroma of sweet and savoury delicacies, slowly moving your shoulders to the music that resonated in the background. It was an immaculate vibe, something you’d never want to forget.

Even now, you couldn’t help but drift off in remembrance of this nostalgic moment. With a soft smile plastered on your face, your shoulders fall back as the muscles in your body relax. Swaying your head from side to side, you skim through the contents of the menu deciding to choose something new.

Your eyes catch a glance of this one dish, primarily an escargot dish. Pondering for a few minutes you debate with yourself on whether or not you wanted to be adventurous with this meal choice. In the past you’d always chosen something easy on the stomach, however, this choice would be a mystery.

You didn’t know how you’d react to it, I mean snails? But it felt nice to try something outside of the box, French cuisine seemed to be harmless. Either way, you’d confined yourself way too much to the things you knew best, sticking to comfort but what harm could something unknown do? Settling on the escargots, you close the menu and leave it on the corner of the table.

Glancing at the empty seat in front of you, your gaze switches over to your surroundings. Jungwoo still hadn’t come from the washroom.

‘What could be taking him so long?’ Letting out a quiet sigh, you don’t linger over his absence for much longer. Allowing yourself to simply wait in peace, cherishing the fact you’d been able to sit in this restaurant for way longer than you’d expected. Truth be told, you thought you’d turn into a crying mess or you’d feel beyond anxious coming back here. Especially, since you shared so many positive moments with the monster of a man you’d fallen in love with.

“Sorry! Did I make you wait long?”

Looking upwards, you see Jungwoo’s finally returned as he sits down in front of you.

“Oh no! Don’t worry about it,” You reply. Silently, watching how he pulls out a wet wipe from his briefcase, wiping the menu before touching it with his bare hands. Upon choosing his order he places the menu atop of yours — then proceeding to sanitize his hands again. He seemed to be quite the germaphobe.

He notices how your eyes linger on his hands, sliding them away under the table — he’s careful not to prop his elbows on the table. His table etiquette is rather proper.

“What’d you decide on getting?” He asks as you divert your attention back towards him. Meeting his light, brown eyes, the look on his face makes you feel comforted, he radiated warmth. “Escargots.”

“Oh? Have you had it before?”

Shaking your head, you lean back into your seat, “It’s my first time. What’d you choose?”

“The truffle risotto, I’ve been craving Italian lately,” His posture never falters, sitting completely straight he purses his lips, it seemed like he wanted to say something but was reluctant to do so. Cutting him to the chase, you quickly butt in, “How’d you come to know about this place?”

“From you.”

The nonchalant tone in his voice makes you frown, his words repeating in your head as you try and think as to when you’d mentioned the restaurant to him, “…From me?”

“Mhm, you’d mentioned it a while back. I wrote it down — figured we could put it to use someday.”

Unimpressed you let out a sigh, this wasn’t fair. He should’ve let you know ahead of time but then again, you would’ve looked for a way out of this. Avoiding this place, him bringing you here was placing you into an uncomfortable situation.

Although, it seemed like he was confident in you being able to overcome this obstacle. He did say having dinner with him was on the tab for your appointments. This was an appointment, not an outing with a friend, not a date but an appointment intended to heal your crumbling mental health.

Ignoring him, you wait until the waiter comes to collect your orders. Neither of you chose alcohol; He was driving and you weren’t mentally stable enough to be dabbling with alcohol, not yet at least.

The silence remains between the both of you, he can tell you’re not too happy with him bringing you here but he’s not going to apologize for it either. He was going to help you move away from your past so you could enjoy living in the moment and look forward to the future. Perhaps, when the two of you start eating you would open up to him again.

However, when the food comes the silence ensues. You’re busy with the pronged, escargot fork trying to dig them out of their shells. Meanwhile, he’s quietly chewing on his risotto, a napkin is fastened against his neck like a bib — he doesn’t want to get dirty.

Once, twice the fork slips from your grip, piercing into your own fingers instead of the snail. Wincing in pain, you bite back the tears that were mostly welling up because of your frustration. Nothing could go right for you, trying something new only went wrong.

Jungwoo wants to speak up, to interfere and tell you that it’s okay to be frustrated and that he could help you scoop out the snails. But when he sees how you're gritting your teeth, eyebrows furrowed in immense annoyance he decides to give you a few moments to gain your composure, otherwise, you’d probably lash out at him. His reluctance allows someone else to jump in.

“That’s not your usual.”

Pausing, the pronged fork falls from your hand clinking onto the plate. You recognized that voice. In fact, you’d never be able to forget that voice — you could be born a hundred times over and the sound of this voice would be forever ingrained within your memory. A sense of dread washes over you, petrified you don’t want to look upwards. You can’t look upwards and yet, you feel your body moving on it’s own magnetically drawn to this voice. His voice.

In slow-motion, you tilt your head upwards. Your eyes are the last to peer at the voice. Internally, you’re begging that it’s just a vision, a dream. That you’re only imagining his voice — a side effect of having come here so soon. But when you finally make eye contact with the man who sits up front, your stomach drops. The colour drains from your face as you fall incredibly silent.

It’s not Dr. Kim, it’s not Dr. Kim.

“Missed me?” He asks.

Your mouth runs incredibly dry, the tears once pooled up in your eyes are dangerously close to spilling. The emotions within your wretched heart begin to go haywire. It was him. Your ex-husband, Jung Jaehyun. Sitting in front of you like it was just another evening -- Jungwoo was nowhere to be seen.

He looked too real, the colour of his flesh was radiant, shining underneath the lights like he’d been bathed in honey. The complexion of his hair remained that soft, caramel brown — the same hair you’d run your hands through, often combing through the strands. He looked more alive than you.

His eyes were extremely dark, his pupils dilated. Jaehyun doesn’t dare blink, staring you down as if he’s mentally counting down the seconds to when you’d abruptly get up and run away. But the smug look on his face knows you can’t bring yourself to do it, you can’t run away because if you were capable of doing so then you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be slowly losing your mind, seeing the man you’d accidentally murdered.

Dressed in the same pyjamas he’d worn that night, he slowly drags his hand from the opposite end of the table towards you. The tips of his calloused fingers brush against yours before slowly interlocking them with the back of your hand. He’s cold, so freezing cold that the warmth of your body feels like it's slowly being drained — he’s eating you alive, sucking out your soul.

“C’mon babe, you can’t be this quiet?” He’s toying with you, a smirk forming onto his face as he tugs at your emotions. However, this expression of his is quickly wiped away. He was just that quick to switch over, his expression suddenly growing incredibly stern, “Don’t tell me you’ve already found someone else?

Closing your eyes, you try your best to wake up from whatever nightmare this was. Although it’s no use when you’re forcefully awakened by the painfully strong grip he has on your hand. Your eyes flicker towards your strained hand, your fingers contorting painfully as he squeezes it.

“You can’t just ignore me. You know better than to ignore me…babe,” Taunting you, he continues to squish your hand with his much, bigger one. The same hand he’d once caressed you with, the same hand that also tried to kill you.

“Ah!” Your mouth gasps open in pain, the tears finally cascading from your tear ducts. Drifting down your face and onto your plate of snails.

“Don’t you dare think that killing me would work,” Gritting his teeth at you, his fingernails pierce into your skin. Your mouth goes agape, no longer being able to vocally express your pain. You watch how his brutal strength draws blood. The veins in your hand protrude violently, the stress put on your hand was beyond evident. He’s hurting you, hurting you just like how he used to.

Your fingernails scratch at the table, knuckles growing pale as you grip onto the edge. You couldn’t minimize the pain, you had to deal with it until it was over. But you thought this was long done, why was he here?

Looking upwards you nearly let out a scream at his appearance, finally, the effects of his deceased visage began to show. He was ghastly, absolutely terrifying, the paleness of his skin looked stone cold. His blood was everywhere, dried and dark red, crusty and disgusting. You can’t look at him, knowing you were the one that turned his once angelic appearance into something so horrible.

“Don’t look at me like that. You can’t look at me like that, you loved me!” His voice booms loudly, your eardrums strain in pain threatening to burst as his face grows red with anger, “You killed me, you turned me into this fucking mess and you’ll pay for it!”

Howling out loud, he momentarily pauses, falling into a coughing fit as fresh blood spews from his lips. However, once he recovers bringing his pale, blue and purple toned hand to his lips and touching the blood he can only laugh.

A cackle falls past his lips as he shows you the blood that dripped past his lips. Like a maniac, he laughs, laughs so hard that he just can’t find it in him to stop. You don’t know what to do, frozen in fear, you can’t even acknowledge the pain in your hand anymore.

With a flick of a switch, his brain shuts off this hysterical fit of his and he’s back to staring you down. The fire in his eyes, however, doesn't die down. You watch his every move, anticipating for the worst.

His free hand dances along the table, drumming his fingers against it like he’s a tarantula slowly creeping towards you. Pausing at your plate of touched but uneaten escargots he can only scoff, “Snails? Really babe? What happened to playing it safe?”

“I thought I played it safe when I married you. Look at what happened?” You refute. The first things you’d said to him in over months since his death felt incredibly hateful and they were, you hated him.

Rolling his eyes, he quickly grabs at the pronged fork from your plate. Plunging it into your hand, he stabs you as you let out a blood-curdling scream. The pain shooting in your hand is too much to handle as your fingers wriggle, blood pouring from the newly created orifices.

“Don’t you fucking talk to me like that you bitch. You don’t forget who owns you, you’re still Mrs. Jung and I’m still your fucking husband, dead or not, you’re mine,” With that warning he’s gone, the only sensation that remains is the cold, wetness you feel slap you in the face. Dripping against your face and onto your clothes, your hair is damp.

It takes you a few moments to open your eyes, you’re terrified to look ahead but when you see your hand twitching underneath the pronged fork you nearly vomit. It happened, it really fucking happened.

Bringing your free hand forwards, you grasp the handle of the fork only to feel a pair of warm, soft hands quickly halt you from doing so. In fear, you gasp looking upwards thinking you’d see Jaehyun but no, it’s Jungwoo. He’s holding an empty cup in hand, the staff from the restaurant by his side.

Thank fucking god, it’s Jungwoo.

When the relief hits you, the reality setting in -- your body gives up, passing out in a cold sweat.