it's all about (u)s
it’s all about (u)s
eunji/naeun; pg-13, au, 3997w
i don’t trust (you, they, we, us)
a/n; unbeta-ed and the monstrous product of 2am writings sobs heavily
Long lithe legs are swinging swing swing down the ledge, flimsy fingers outstretched in the air tracing shapeless figures and lets the balmy breeze caress her; spectrums of sunshine colors the long hair cascaded down her shoulders (red, yellow, golden, orange ablazed). Heat burns her crouched back but she is numb, indifferent and drowns in her own bubble; counts something, nothing and the occasional flocks of birds that traffics upon her eyes, catches their fallen feathers when she is lucky and compares the purity of each strands to her tainted soul. Waits, waits and waits for something she is not even sure of.
And then Naeun hears a sharp voice immediately popping her sanctuary bubble; if her ears do not betray amidst the gust of wind, faint honks of vehicles and the bustling city down below, this is what she thinks she heard: ‘If you want to kill yourself, don’t do it in front of me’. Whips her head around and squints when strands of hair slap greets her with a slap in the face (makes a mental note to self to cut her god damned untended locks) and sees another woman. She tries to guess the other’s age but she is never good in Maths to begin with and she hates the guessing game. Regardless of that, she notes on how leisurely this stranger is leaning against the wall with bruises and patches of dried blood on exposed skins that looks like it hurt but wears them like they are some sort of a hardcore adornment anyway.
“What’s wrong? Haven’t seen a human being before?” Naeun’s face contorts in displease at the sarcasm, turns around and decides to not entertain the stranger. Her eyes shift to the tiny blotches of people walking across the street and suddenly feels awkward, not knowing what to do to distract herself, forgetting all the things she had done alone on this lonesome rooftop before. “Scared to jump?” she hears it again, the voice now coming a few breaths behind her and sees from the corner of her eyes when the female hops onto the ledge to settle beside her (inwardly screams in secondhand fear because this person does it so casually as if there is no possibility she would not slip and fall for her death). “Yes,” Naeun mumbles and really is scared to jump even if she considered to but the female beside her seems fearless that she could picture her jump just for the fun of it.
“Boring,” Naeun watches her snicker through cut open lips and wonders how it is possible for her to even talk--not to mention even move her whole body with such injuries but shrugs it off, none of my business, her mind whispers but still can’t seem to stop the nagging curiosity inside her head. “I fell off a building once, wasn’t this high though, ‘else I would have died already,” chuckles but with a hint of dry bitterness. “It was fun, you should try sometime,” she suggests it like it is the most normal thing in the world, looking up at Naeun who reciprocates with an incredulous look.
“I love the view from here, but not enough to jump off and kiss the ground, you know.” Naeun argues and is surprised when she does not hear any comebacks; opens her mouth to speak again--
“Better not waste my time and bleed to death here,” the stranger cuts the air about to escape through her lips and hops off; no limp, no wince, must be used to the pain.
“Who… who are you…” Naeun manages to slightly murmur the question that did not seem to end with a question mark, this half curiosity and half hesitation and faces away from the stranger, gets ready for another sarcasm or whatever for being a nosy wimp who sits by the ledge every day but is too scared to jump and does not even have the courage to ask mundane questions. She hears the female stop in her tracks but receives no solid replies (‘none of your concerns’ she thinks she hears); maybe the wind swallowed the syllables of her name before it could reach Naeun’s eardrums but all she could decipher aside from the footsteps of the other leaving is, ‘but they call me J, if you must know’.
//
‘You have reached the voicemail box for the number, please leave a message after the tone.’
“Hey dad, call me back when you finally remember you have a daughter.”
//
Naeun stares into the plane of mirror in front of her, wondering how an inanimate object could asphyxiate her with strings of never-ending morbid thoughts and asks herself questions like aren’t shiny things supposed to make you look pretty but why why why do I see every single one of my flaws protruding out like an unwelcomed guest but you still have to serve them out of common courtesy although that’s kind of a different case because you would not have the urge to kill the guest and god I want to fucking kill myself--tries to slam her fists against the devil in the disguise in front of her when it gets too much to bear and wants to smash it to pieces with any objects within reach but ends up falling down on her knees instead; clutches her chest, screams and wails and cries until the hurricanes of instability racking her internals slowly numbs down. Soft whimpers from her parched throat from all the paroxysm soon turning into a sick routinal lullaby that puts her to sleep. If she is lucky, her brain doesn’t make her go through another nightmare.
I most certainly can not destroy you. You are my best friend. My only friend. You are so honest; always reminding me truthful things like how ugly I really am and that I am alone in this world. Such a waste of time and unworthy of the spaces I have touched in this world. People need you more than they need me.
On other occasions, she stares at the mirror through half lidded eyes, wondering how an inanimate object could be a best friend to her and if it means something that she lets it reflect how she dirties herself by letting rough hands implore her bare body; moans elicit in the air but still feels so empty even when she hoped she could find happiness this way because they say you feel loved when you are touched this way. Mirror mirror by the wall, I can’t seem to feel at all; she catches a glimpse of herself in front of her devil in disguise best friend, the pathetic face looking back at her with tears threatening to spill, I just want to feel loved why is it so fucking hard, quickly shuts her eyes tightly and the male on top of her will never know whether the scream ripping past her lips is of pleasure or frustration. She thinks it’s a little bit of both.
You are supposed to feel loved, but merely lust filled touches are never enough to get you by.
//
This time Naeun lays on the floor of the rooftop with both hands tucked under her head, tries not to squint at the blaring sun as she devours the rich cerulean canvas she thinks as her own version of a hanging garden, binded to nothing but hangs up above with unpigmented clouds that decorates. They look as soft as a flowerbed but even better because they move and she likes to imagine the kind of adventures she could take off to on the clouds. She could let them carry her to London, Paris or simply surprise her and she will try to find the beauty even in the cities she has never heard of before and this is who she is. This is Son Naeun, lonely nineteen year old who finds grace in anything but herself and has this ludicrous belief of feeling beautiful when she swallows and digests scapes like one of these. This is Son Naeun, on the rooftop where barely anyone goes up to so she claims it as her own personal space, dreaming of another life up above in the gardens close to heaven and wills herself to forget the hell of a life she is in.
Eyes start to scan around after a while, trying to guess the time through the weather but she is never good at Maths anyway (if this even relates to the weather) and she hates the guessing game but maybe it’s time to check her cell phone so she blindly reaches for it from her pocket hoping for a message or at least something from someone who seems to have forgotten her existence.
‘No new notifications.’
Dials a number and waits for it to hit voicemail, like she always does.
“Hey dad, I...’
chokes between the tears she is trying to hold back,
“I kind of miss you. It’s mom’s death anniversary today. Call me… when you can.”
drops the phone and curls up into a ball, tries to let the tears out but stares into space instead.
So this is Son Naeun, Miss Novocaine, collecting disappointments in between the confinements of her rib cage, trapped inside of her and left to suffocate like a parasite eating up all that’s left of her; in a matter of time she will turn into an empty shell. Nobody would want her then; it’s not like nobody even wants her now. Even empty, cracked egg shells are needed by the crafty kindergarten kids while she is left to die alone, forever craving for things she will never achieve.
//
Naeun meets J for the second time, a week or two after the first, when she steps into the lobby elevator, about to head up and presses the close button only to hear the other scream, ‘it’s okay don’t hold the door!’, still in the mid of marching quickly towards the closing door which confuses Naeun because she feels she should be holding the door for her instead of letting her slickly slide into the elevator through the small gap. But then she hears faint male voices shouting, footsteps following suit and understands that J must have gotten into trouble…
...again, Naeun decides to add when she catches a glimpse of J’s side where her blood-stained shirt is torn and a fresh bruise on the side of her lips but straightens up and dusts herself like they’re nothing but what was it again--yes, hardcore adornments.
“Do you really get yourself hurt often?” Naeun asks, eyebrows furrowed with a tone sounding somewhat in disgust but more to herself when she recalls the shiny blade she likes to kiss the lines of her skin with on some nights; her shiny best friends waiting for her in the apartment, devils in disguise.
“It’s a hobby, yeah,” J answers all casual, licking the blood on her lower lip and cups her side under her palm; no lines of wrinkles that show hurt, Naeun notices and maybe they have something in common.
“Do you live here?” Naeun asks, still hesitating if she should be conversing with the other, presses her lips into a thin line and stares at the elevator floor indicator because her gaze seems restless.
“I don’t. I was running from the guys.” J shrugs and Naeun doesn’t know what came over her when she suddenly blurts out an offer of staying at her place to aid the cuts and bruises at the same time when the elevator rings and stops at her floor.
“Why not.”
And this is how Naeun ends up pacing in her bedroom, trying to internalize the fact that she has invited a stranger into her apartment (‘but she is in need’ tries to argue with her own conscience), peeks out through the slightly ajar door and sees J sitting on the couch, wrapping bandages around her body and hopes the couch is not stained with drops of blood. Naeun has had enough of cleaning her own blood ever so often because she hates even the slightest sight of it. She backtracks, steps onto the pair of jeans she discarded earlier and flops onto the edge of the bed; legs outstretched and looks at the trail of thin lined scars on each of her thighs, scrutinizing them and tries to recall the stories behind each one but chuckles instead. How can she remember when there are too many.
“That’s not a wise thing to do.” Naeun’s head perks up and sees J standing under the doorframe. Tries to retort but nothing comes out, frowns and quickly pulls both of her knees to her chest and buries her face in shame, embarrassment, she isn’t quite sure but feels thankful when J leaves right after.
//
On the fourth week, it has become a routine to see a sweating J running to the rooftop to escape the men chasing after her. Naeun tries asking about it once, but she is lucky enough to get a vague answer and decides to not meddle with her business again. She doesn’t have anything to complain about the short conversations they share by chance.
“What’s your name?”
Exhales fumes of red smoke (her favorite color Naeun learns from their previous conversations; a color Naeun despises) from her flavored cigarette before answering, “J.”
“No. Your real name.”
Silence, puffs smoke and Naeun coughs, not really expecting an answer.
“Eunji. J. Eunji.” Eunji (Naeun tries to ease herself into the new information) finally answers.
“Pretty name.”
“Say that again and I’ll burn you with this,” squeezes the cigarette between her fingers, glares and drops it onto the floor, squashing it with her boots.
Naeun chuckles anyway and rambles on about things that Eunji never really pays attention to because she always drifts into a slumber, leaving Naeun to stare and wonder upon too many things--like who she really is, why she has a gun hidden under her shirt, the plethora of bruises on her skin and just about everything about J. Eunji.
Sighs and faces the sky again, takes out her cell phone and dials a number.
‘This is the voicemail...’ Naeun could practically mouth the whole thing every single time.
“Hey dad, I’m okay… if you’re even wondering. But come visit soon? A friend said she’d love to meet you,” glances at the sleeping Eunji, “well, call me… whenever. Whatever…
...why are you so selfish?”
Clicks end and lets her mind wander to another universe in her head.
//
Naeun swings the door to her apartment open one day, drenched from top to bottom; lips trembling from the result of trying to keep up a strong facade on her way home, calmly acting as if she is washed from a rain that never poured when she really is just another weakling bullied in school. She never really pays attention to the spiteful words thrown towards her even when they pierce through her like a knife cutting through the pieces of her already broken heart:
‘i heard her father lives with another tramp because she’s not really her real daughter’
‘a wealthy businessman like him shouldn’t have to deal with a disgrace like her’
‘she’s just a mistake’
‘mistakes like her shouldn’t live in this world’
Mistakes like her deserve to be shoved into the girl’s restroom and sprayed with the water hose.
She wants to slam the door shut and quickly head into her room, grab hold of her shiny best friends, devils in disguise but even these devils help make her feel better compared to the devils at school and she just wants to feel better again but stops in her tracks when she sees Eunji standing in the hallway. She is about to ask her how she got into the apartment, but she’s been in here once or twice and knows where the emergency key is and she really is in no mood to talk, tries to get past her but Eunji takes her by the hand, halting her in her tracks.
“What happened?”
“It’s none of your business.” She tugs her hand away from Eunji’s grasp and marches into her room, searching for the sharp metal but slides onto the floor when she sees her reflection in the mirror. Starts crying, wailing and all kinds of noises as she breaks down, rocking her body back and forth. Screams and shouts when Eunji tries to pull her up, refusing to move from her spot soon joined by the other female who now sits beside her and stares or glares, she doesn’t really care.
“I hid your blades.”
She (doesn’t want to) couldn’t answer through the tears but manages to choke out, ‘why i don’t even matter’, or something that sounds along the line.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” Naeun isn’t sure if Eunji is asking or merely stating but notices the tone of her voice raised a little higher. “The self torture, the self degradation. Why do you tear yourself down to pieces and let others trample all over you? I don’t understand. Why are you so sad all the time?”
Naeun wishes she could answer but even if her blubbers have died down by now, she will never have the answer to the questions; it feels as if the sadness has embedded inside of her, a stubborn stain that no bleach could ever clean and it will be there to ruin you for the rest of your life. She remains silent, even when Eunji starts peeling her clothes off of her and she has never recalled seeing the female touching or treating something so delicately as how she feels her gentle strokes over her damp, bare body and complies when she is guided to stand.
“The only one that could save you from your own hell is no guardian angel,” Eunji says in a half whisper, standing behind her in front of the mirror; brushes her long hair to the side; closes her eyes when she feels dry, chapped lips pressed onto the bare blade of her shoulder, “it’s yourself,” she feels the words against her skin, meant to be planted deep into the roots and wishes for it to infect the whole system; she wants to feel better again, she is desperate to feel better.
Her bare back snug against the mattress, head in the clouds but there is no hanging garden, no nothing, just pitch black with her eyes closed but she could feel--she feels Eunji chart the contours of her body; a whole topography of skin and bones explored by feathery touches. Through her half lidded eyes, she catches a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the mirror but just that, nothing more, nothing less; no devils trying to poison her mind.
Maybe this is enough.
//
Click.
“You’re so selfish. I thought we were family. I thought we were going to have each other to hold on to after mom died. It’s all about your dignity, huh? It’s all about you. Selfish.”
Click.
//
There are no mirrors in this room. Nothing that reflects, just dark and it reminds her of her own self but tries to focus on the hurried, sloppy lips of some man she followed home. She doesn’t usually do this but decides for a change this time, not wanting to stain the spot where Eunji once laid on in her own bed. It is when she is being undressed that she realizes she should not even be here in the first place, kissing the wrong person who will never make her feel better or forget about hell because you can’t kiss the devil to escape the pain. Tries to shove the man off of her but ends up being slapped, beaten but quickly gathers her clothes and makes an escape; blood, bruises and all. No winces, used to it, Miss Novocaine.
But comes home to a bleeding heart when she sees her estranged father standing in the living room with Eunji holding a gun pointed directly to his head. A million of questions start rushing into her head and she doesn’t know how to digest the situation in front of her but recalls of the message from her father she had gotten earlier that said, ‘I’m sorry I will make it up to you’, and maybe he is here because of the last voice message she had left him but she still doesn’t understand why Eunji is trying to kill him.
“W-what’s going on?” Naeun sputters out words almost incoherent, fearing the purplish blue spots on her father’s face are Eunji’s doings and she still doesn’t understand what is going on and is afraid of the truth.
“I was here waiting for you. Just my luck that he decides to pay a visit.” Eunji explains with a smirk, pressing the tip of the gun harder and Mr. Son flinches in return. “I’ve waited too long for this.”
And in that moment, Naeun feels as if the universe could swallow her whole as the truth is unraveled and she feels so betrayed somehow to have someone so deceitful make her feel so happy only to rip it all apart again but ends up twisting her own mind and blames her own self for being so darn naive--she is the one who invited someone who was chased for breaking into private tenant files of the apartment into her own home; unknowingly provided clues on her father’s whereabouts when no one else really knows where he is so they paid a high rank assassin to do the dirty job and she happens to be the stupid, disgrace of a child who fell for the enemy but then again she isn’t sure who is the real enemy when her father has abandoned her for so many months and the only one who made things feel right again was Eunji.
Knocks out of her trance when she hears her father yell about the gun that toppled to her feet, realizes his arm is hooked around Eunji’s neck, cheeks all red from the choking and stares; what is right, what is right when all my life everything has felt so wrong, what is right when you are the wrong in the family, what is right when the wrong thing makes you feel right what is right
Naeun crouches down and slowly grabs the gun before straightening up again, eyes locked with Eunji’s watery ones, choking for air and dying and Naeun couldn’t bear seeing her like that because she was the one who helped her breathe again when she was choking for air and she was the one who made everything feel right again; holds the gun up, aims for the head and shoots. Drops on her knees, looking away from the dead body of her father’s, feels the waterworks turning but never coming.
“I don’t know why you did that...” looks up and sees Eunji kneeling in front of her, taking the gun back in her hands. Blinks and tears stream down her cheeks but smiles when Eunji cradles her cheek; palm wet and warm but enough to make her feel okay, she feels better, she shouldn’t feel hurt anymore because Eunji is here-- “...but you shouldn’t have trusted me.”
And shoots her right through the heart, drops onto the ground and eyes still watering as the last remnants of her life slowly drains out, why, why, why, she tries to voice out but nothing sounds.
“You’re too damn naive.” Eunji leaves the apartment with Naeun painfully watching; but isn’t this what you wanted all along to fucking die, she reasons with herself and doesn’t really know why she is still defending Eunji even at the last few seconds of her life. It has always been about you hasn’t it Eunji never us never me just you, she tries to deliver through the ragged breaths.
Selfish, so selfish; human beings are too selfish.