n i n e t e e n

                                    

                                          
  Suejin jolted awake, heart beating out of her chest. 
  Lies, she thought. All lies. She crumpled the sheets in her fists, and buried her head deeper into her pillow. Her racing heart was immediately followed by an excruciating headache; this one, worse than all the others.
  She clenched her teeth, trying her best not to wake the sleeping figure beside her. She felt like searing-hot daggers were digging into her head, and a rush of memories began to flood into her mind.
  "No," she whimpered softly, clutching the sheets even harder. "No, please, no."
  Her previous dreams came to life, almost as if they were dancing tauntingly before her eyes. They seemed to break through the walls of imagination and laminate itself into the reality of truth. The nameless boy now had a face.
  Minho.
  A rush of forgotten feelings poured into her senses—a shared kiss, a warm glance, interlaced fingers, intermingled tears, a rush of shared euphoric laughter—she felt a range of emotions in seconds: passion, joy, regret, and relief. She desperately tried to decipher each one, trying to connect the dots of each feeling to its memory. 
  And then she felt it.
  The worse pain of all. 
  It twisted like a knife into the deepest abyss of her soul. The lovely emotions faded—all that was left was grief and utter loss, and it felt like she was trying to reach for something that already gone. Her heart was breaking, held together by the thin strings of hollow promises. The metaphor was real, there were no possible words to explain the harrowing pain that seemed to pierce her very being. 
  Then, as soon as it came, everything left—leaving nothing but the taste of salty tears on her lips.
  She tried her best to stop crying, but it was nearly impossible. She dug her face deeper into her drenched pillowcase, muffling the sounds of her sobs.
  She wanted her memories back. Even if they were painful, somehow she felt like it'd be worth it. Such beautiful, cherished, memories—it was like they had left at the snap of someone's fingers. Her mind was now an empty husk, leaving room for nothing but perfect confusion.
  "Why?" She whispered bitterly, speaking to no one in particular. "Why?"
  Because Suejin, someone seemed to say. 
  Suejin whipped her head up and looked around the room. She paled when she realized it was all in her head. It was an older female's voice—calm, poised, and eerily familiar.
  You don't deserve it.
  "That's stupid," she muttered in response. She thought she must be crazy, talking to the voice in her head. "They're mine." She insisted stubbornly into her pillow. 
  No. The voice resounded in her head, and Suejin immediately felt herself shrink back. This familiar voice carried an air of authority, and somehow she felt embarrassed to even have questioned it. The voice laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant one. If only you knew, then you'd know you didn't deserve anything you had.
  "Why are you playing this game with me then?" She mumbled, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. For some strange reason unbeknownst to her, she felt like she had to maintain a posture of submissiveness to this unknown being. She detested it, but she felt like this was the only way she would get the answers she sought so desperately. 
  You don't deserve to love. Not yet, anyways. I wonder, if you remember the day you ruined everything?
  Suejin didn't respond.