Chapter 51: Fantasy in the middle of the night

-Woong

“!”

The sudden vibration breaks the silence of the night and echoes throughout the room. I hurriedly unlock my phone, but all I see is a message from my homeroom teacher reprimanding me for being absent without permission.

“Ugh…”

With a sigh that feels like the floor is collapsing, I put down my phone, then pick it up again and force myself to write a message for that child who must be deeply hurt.

I’m sorry, it’s my fault, and so on. I feel like I’ve sent similar messages at least 300 times before, but none of them have been answered.

Even if I shout, there’s no echo.

I press the send button, but the “unread” indicator refuses to disappear no matter how long I wait.

I tap the phone screen nervously with my ring finger, but the vibration never comes.

It was something I had anticipated. I knew it would happen, I knew it would happen.

Anxiety and loneliness join hands and settle into the hollow in the center of my chest.

I throw my phone down in frustration and pull the blanket, which still seems to carry her scent, over my head. I inhale deeply and smell the sweet scent of fabric softener.

I know it’s perverted, but what can I do? If I don’t do this, I feel like I’ll go crazy.

Yes, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.

I tear at my hair in frustration.

As I hammer the half-escaped rationality back into my head, coffee-colored blood flows out.

I sing old rock ‘n’ roll with a broken guitar, and the Walkman clicks shut. I, I, I, I, I—such meaningless repetition.

Looking back, only regret stings.

The face of that child, occupying my mind and refusing to fade.

While I’m like this, does that child ever think of me even once? I don’t even hope that the child thinks of me as much as I think of them.

A delusional variety show multiplied by multiples.

Singing alone in an empty park.

In the empty guitar case lies a single 10-cent coin.

Goodbye, Ruth Belt. Eventually, I stop counting naturally, and upon realizing the emptiness for the thousandth time, tears stream down my face.

The pillow is already filled with the familiar salty scent. Dullness, and more dullness, and even more dullness.

“Sia…”

2 AM. Still waiting.

=

“Ah…”

Sitting on the bench, I stare blankly at the sky.

The sun is shining brightly, irritatingly so, and the clouds are drifting leisurely.

It’s midsummer, the sun is high in the sky, and the humid heat gently touches my shoulders.

Suddenly, I realize one thing: no matter what happens in my life, the world doesn’t give a damn. Well, it’s always been that way.

On the other side, Izana was buying ice cream.

Making a noble lady do such a trivial errand, am I really such a piece of trash? Or is Izana just that much of a sucker? I’m stuck in a meaningless loop.

My head feels a bit off today. No, when has it ever been normal?

“Ms. Shia~”
She runs toward me with a bright smile, like a obedient puppy.

Anyway, she looks like she’s about to fall again, and just as I think that, she stumbles forward. I quickly get up and catch her.

I’m so cool.

“Ugh… I’m sorry…”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine!”

“Then it’s okay.”

The spilled ice cream was smeared all over her white blouse, but it’s not a big deal—she can just wipe it off in the bathroom.

She’s not the type to get angry over something like this. She gently strokes Izana’s head, who is in her arms, and brushes off the sticky ice cream.

“Here, let me give you a handkerchief.”

“I don’t need that.”

“What?…Eek!”

She stuck her sticky index finger into Izana’s open mouth.

Startled, Izana bit her front teeth slightly, but her calm expression soon melted into a sweet smile.

Like ice cream, her tongue moves shyly, washing away the dirt on her finger. The blush on her cheeks is as beautiful as acacia flowers.

When she feels she has enjoyed it enough, she pulls her finger out.

A silvery thread stretches between her fingernail and her lips.

“Please don’t do this outside.”

“What’s the big deal? It was nice.”

“It’s bad for your heart!”

I always feel like Izana talks too much.

Instead of saying it out loud, I embrace her.

Her similar build, slightly twisting her shoulders yet unable to resist strongly, is so endearing.

That such a charming person is my lover still feels like a dream. It’s like floating in the sky.

Perhaps that’s why the words I’ve kept in my heart slip out so easily.

“Izana.”

“…Yes.”

“Let’s go to Germany.”

“Germany—?”

Izana asks back with a surprised expression.

I gently tickle her soft cheeks with my fingertips.

“Yes, to your hometown.”

“Really? I’m fine with it, but… what about Shia-san?”

“I’m fine with it too. If you’re okay with it.”

“Then, I’ll try to find a charter flight right away!”

“Huh, there’s no need to get so excited.”

She must be so happy, her lips curled up into a beautiful smile.

I smiled softly and continued to stroke her cheeks. The softness was almost addictive.

Germany—it was a sudden decision I made last night, but well, life there won’t be so bad.

It’s a country with plenty to see and eat, being one of Europe’s must-visit tourist destinations.

Above all, it’s where she was born and raised.

I gaze at Izana, who willingly lets me touch her face, with a gentle expression.

She’s kind. I don’t know how she is around others, but at least in front of me, she’s incredibly kind. And she’ll do anything I ask. Because she loves me.

And I love her too.

Even though my heart is still hardened, I’m sure that’s how it is.

I want to see my sister.

Let’s not drag this out any longer.

The sticky droplets, the deep gaze, the intense expression. If my sister really feels that way about me, then it’s a relationship that won’t last anyway.

Fragile shoulders, stiff collarbones. Sisterly incest, something even the Middle Ages didn’t do.

Because it’s too perverted.

It’s harmful to my sister, to me, to both of us. Soft earlobes, flat Adam’s apples. A tongue that craves.

Then what about me? Then what about me? What about my feelings? Does my heart not matter?

This isn’t about discussing emotions. I’m just saying it’s harmful. Once again, this isn’t just for me, but for both of us.

Maybe in ten years, I’ll look back on myself now with pride. Was the choice I made then really the right one? Really? Really? The mouth of a sinner is always open.

When discussing philosophy, let’s always keep our hearts dead. Our inflated egos always like to meddle.

The drumsticks pound on the chest, and the kick snare stretches out refreshingly.

The hard high notes scatter into pieces. Even if you tilt the cup, the water inside does not spill out.

I, too, am just a person who is drenched in memories, unable to forget or let go.

All we can gain from Dali’s painting is the meaningless pursuit of a desperate cry.

Oh, my beloved, don’t leave me. My outstretched hand is cruelly rejected.

Why? In fact, it is all just an illusion I have created. In front of the sticky, melting sensation, all my flaws collapse.

I tickle with my fingernails, I tear at my flesh with my fingernails. I eat myself, I vomit myself. Even the noisy dog upstairs has stopped barking. I need a chainsaw.

I like it, I dislike it, I like it, I dislike it, I pluck the leaves one by one.

The flower stem screams. But there are too many leaves, so I can’t come to a conclusion.

I don’t expect anything big, just one last look at the face—it’s so pathetic.

That’s really stupid.