CHAPTER ONE,

PART X

Crimson, Indigo and Obsidian

⎝CONTENT WARNING
strong language, graphic content⎞

Crimson and beige, the only two colors that swirl and merge within my vision. The disorientation that accompanies it is suffocating me, the horrid smell in the air not making it any better. I'm drunk and dizzy under the guise of hatred and anger, my hands commanding my inner weapon more than it needs to. More than it should be.

The argent reflections between our bodies bounce and clash, the sharp edges characterized by our blood and sweat driving us further into the waltz of insanity.
Yes, because this is a waltz—a dance. A dance where only one can survive. Though our weapons come into contact, it creates a timed beat that our bodies follow and have no choice but to complete.

Two dogs, fighting to death. I'm the bigger dog—fur scarred and shaved, canines sharpened with the experience and betrayal of time. He has a collar around his Golden Retriever neck. He bites back as best as he can, not fully understanding that this isn't a playfight. Eventually, the weaker dog gets overpowered, but the larger dog doesn't simply walk away.

The larger dog snarls over his body, hovering over him with silvered canines and an overwhelming, primal sense to kill. To destroy what's in front of him.
This time, I don't want to hesitate, but I also don't want to use the weapon in my hands. I drop it. Our breaths coincide, neither of us able to say much. I'm two breaths away from throwing up my breakfast, the colors in my vision leaking into each other like a drunkard having his tenth drink of the night.

"You look like you're out of it," Jaeyun huffs out, his mouth stretching outwards to force a smile, even with the expression ripping the cut on his bottom lip further. "What, are you all out of energy?"

I expel the liquid in my throat, coughing and spluttering out a warm fluid. The coal-black solution leaves my lips and trickles down my chin, some of it splattering on the blades of grass just next to the human. The movement hurts. Each breath I take feels like my lungs are punctured, like there's no oxygen left in the air for me to regulate. I feel like I'm being squeezed by the splinters on the planks of this shed, or at least, what remains of it. Light is glaring through the strands of hair that cover my vision, but it all blurs together in a bright mess.

"I'll kill you, even with no breath left," I vow, my words pinched and weak.

He laughs, but stops amidst his giggles to grasp his breath. I can't see it, but he's reaching under his shirt. Grasping for a last, desperate attempt.
"Do you know why I said all of that earlier, Kim Sunoo?"

I don't respond. I'm trying to save my energy, but it's quickly depleting itself anyway. It seems that he doesn't want the question to be answered, however. He continues talking, the tired glare in his eyes contorting to a different emotion; a different energy altogether.

"It's simple, really. Who will believe you?" He outstretches his occupied hand to his side, placing an item on the grass. I feel it brush against my knee, but I'm too exhausted to even move out of the way. I'm more focused on trying to stay awake, trying unsuccessfully to grasp my fleeting consciousness.
"I've been here for almost two years now. You've been for just under a month. If you told anyone at all that I work for the authorities, that I'm one of three spies placed to observe the shelter? They'd laugh in your damn face."

"Jihyun, you and who else?"
That's all I'm able to get out before coughing up a storm, choking over my own blood. I can taste the bitterness, the overwhelming metallic tang poisoning my taste buds and my nostrils. I'm swaying under my delusions, slowly but surely. Though I'm attempting to resist, the harder I do so, the further I sink into fragility.

"Eui, obviously." He clarifies his words, the sharpness coming from nothing but the lisp on his tongue. "Who else d'you think distracted you while I shot Ren?"

I expected myself to be shocked by the information, waving my arms wildly to attack him with the supernatural. But instead, I throw my head back and laugh with an absent mind. I can hear myself through the air current, a shallow, breathless chortle of sourness. I'm pathetic. I should have known that she wasn't to be trusted, that she was feeding me a fool's tale—but I'm too empathetic. I always believe those that convince me with the salt that flows from their cheeks, with the reddened pain in their eyes, only to gain another scar because of their fabrication.

Painted with another human's blood and the canvas being my own face, the smile and eyes of a lost jester taints me. That's all I'll ever be considered: the Fool. Anomaly or human, dead or alive.

My eyes are burning. I'd hoped that my laugh would save me from the embarrassment of tears, but nothing ever works in my favor. Jaeyun doesn't care, and I don't expect him to. He's here to egg me on, to throw concrete blocks in my way until I trip over them. He's here to break me, to weaken me enough to handcuff and capture me like the animal I am.

"It's been fun, Kim Sunoo." He says, aptly flicking something off of the item he's been holding. The quickness of the motion shows that he's prepared for this moment, and he flexibly slides upwards from underneath me to stand.
"I have to go now, my girlfriend Eui is waiting for me to see if I've taken you down like I promised. Have fun explaining your innocence."

"Fuck you..." I strain, on my hands and knees as if I'm about to beg God for my life. I try to push myself up as he struts away, even with the debilitating pain that shoots through my limbs. The attempt is unsuccessful. My hands slide in front of me, my palms being sliced by the weeds in the ground.

My eyes meet the item that Jaeyun's left behind. It's not what I expect, the grooves in the small iron casing highlighting danger. Something's been pulled out from it, and I only realize this much too late.
The grenade explodes. My ears are ringing incessantly. The blast burns through my skin, piercing through my nerves and numbing them. I can't feel my arms. I can't see a thing in front of me—nothing but vague refractions of light. My entire body feels like I've just been run over by a train, and my senses are all overwhelmed with the intense agony and confusion of the situation.

Instead of wheezing out for air, my chest rises and falls slowly. Quietly. My eyes flutter shut as the exhaustion seeps through the pain, comforting my momentary misfortune. For a brief moment, I could hear the winter breeze, whistling past and brushing my hair into multiple little fractions. The refreshing air is frigid as it cups my cheeks, the moist dew of the rain washing me away with each droplet that mixes with my blood. It's comforting, eerily soothing.
Is this what it feels like? To be free without any chains holding me physically?

If so, why do I still feel every inch of my injuries, the sensitivity being ruthlessly amplified? The water is sending me into shock, the cold air numbing my face, and the wind is so strong that it's blowing me away.

Possibly, I'm still too naive. I'm beaten and tortured for believing fabricated truths, because of that faith that I'll find something much more beneath the shallow, gold paper. I need to stop. I need to put all of this to an end, even if it's me. Even if I'm the problem. But if it's the world I've been forced to revisit—the physical world is the only world that I could possibly belong in, it's the poison that tainted my blood black in the first place. It's the reason why I live my life with so much hatred, and yet, a small part of my heart still wants to find an oasis.
A paradise that might not even exist.

I feel a weight next to me. Someone's sitting down by my side, disrupting my peace as I sleep. I don't want to wake up, but my closed eyes scrunch from the light that shines through my eyelids. They part on their own, and I stay still as I comprehend what's in front of me: who's in front of me.

Her hips sink into the side of the mattress, shifting some of the weight off of my body. She's sitting on my pillow, which is probably the reason why I felt a significant shift in my sleep. Having the pillow under my cheek makes me more comfortable, but also a lighter sleeper.

My eyes identify my left arm, outstretched and bent over her lap. I can feel a sharp stinging pain on my forearm, which means that it's recovering from the explosion.
I can vaguely feel the skirt of her dress, thin and smooth with the golden and blanched fabric of cotton and chambray. I stare up at her back, still half asleep. My blinks are slow as I wait, not really wanting to make my presence known.

"Stay still if you don't want me to throw this alcohol in your other wounds," Jiwon warns. "You twitched, so I know you're awake. I'm cleaning up this one so I can wrap it back up to heal."

I hum dismissively, the humming resembling more of a cat's low purr. I raise the other arm to swipe back my hair, but pause after seeing the tight gauze that's wrapped from my elbow, all the way to my wrist. I gaze at it, my hand just hovering in the air. Jiwon, reasonably, looks back with knitted eyebrows, her eyes alternating between me and my injured arm. She places the alcohol down on the mobile surgical tray to her left, a small clang making her movement known.

"How long have I been out?" I ask, testing the mobility of my hand by tightening it into a fist and loosening it a few times.

"Just over two days. You were a mess when I found you."

I shoot up from the pillow, only just seeing the blanket that covers my torso and legs. The navy blue sheet is neatly folded into the sides of the mattress, the slight wrinkles in the surface signalling that it's been moved once or twice. Jiwon's urging me to stop, the pleasant modulation in her voice replaced with shrill panic.
I pull off the blanket, hissing from the grip that Jiwon has on my arm. She apologizes, but it's not genuine.

"You're not supposed to get up yet!" She scolds. "You weren't even breathing two days ago, and now you expect to be all prim and proper to get back up again?"

"He got away." I mumble to myself in frustration, eyes unfocused and dizzy. I bring the edges of my palms to my closed eyes, massaging them in a circular motion to aid my disorientation. "I let him get away."

"Let who get away? What are you mumbling about?"

I can feel her gaze in my mind. I attempt to keep my thoughts silent, out of fear of ripping a huge bandaid off that was meant to stay—to heal and repair her broken pieces. But if I don't rip it off, someone else will. Do I really want that?
Come on, Sunoo. You promised yourself, you promised us. Why should you care anymore? It's not like she shares the same sentiment with you. Nobody does. Nobody will.

Even with the thoughts in my head clashing against my actions, what I should and shouldn't do, what's right or what's wrong, I whisper out the answer before I become overwhelmed. A soft, whistly and delicate tone, one that I never thought I'd make. It's only when I hear myself say it, that I realize it's too late.
"Jaeyun."

"What?"
I can hear it just from her voice alone—how the color from her face fades, the shock that prevents her from moving. I know she's solving the puzzle on her own, but she's afraid to attach the pieces.
"What about Jaeyun? What does he have to do with this?"

I don't answer. I pull the blanket over my body after discovering the gauze over my ankles and knees, the fabric hugging my neck. My hands grapple onto it tightly, hoping that it could choke me dead right now. I twist to the other side of the bed, gazing at the infirmary poster as a distraction from her intense stare. I shouldn't care, but I do. Somehow, this hurts more than the injuries from the fight.

"Sunoo. What the hell happened?" She demands, pinching her dress within her fingers. "Say something."

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't like the answer."

"I swear, if you've hurt him—"

"I had no choice."

"Are you insane? He's done nothing to you."

"Funny of you to ask me that."

"Where is he?" She interrogates, getting up from the side of the infirmary bed. "I need to check on him. I need to make sure he's alright."

"Right, because you can always just bandage me and leave? Just because I can heal myself?"
I ignore the concern in her voice for the human. The resentment that sinks through my hands, cold and unwavering, still can't be warmed by the blanket that wraps it.

"Exactly." She retorts coldly. "I'll find him myself if I have to, because you're fine on your own. You've always been, anyway."

Fine? What is being fine like? I wish I comprehended that emotion, a void of boredom that's neither good nor bad. I've been stuck in a burning hell for as long as I can remember, so the lukewarm nothingness of being 'fine' seems like a paradise. A luxury too expensive for the emotionally rich.

"Sure then. Find him, and see for yourself how I got these bandages all over me. You'll get a front row seat."

I admit, my words were harsh, but I feel frustrated from saying everything without clarity. My jaw clenches as I brace myself for her response, already foreseeing the bitter outcome as we stare at each other. Her green and brown flecked eyes, filled with livelihood and charm, widen as she comprehends the outburst.

"Jake attacked you?" She says breathlessly, her voice cracking under the emotional pressure in her throat. The affectionate nickname is something she hesitates to cling to. It's heartbreaking to listen to Jiwon as she attempts to keep her composure with denial, clearing her throat as it closes up.

The eye contact she keeps on me is strained, and she snaps her eyes shut in between deep breaths to calm herself down. "There has to be a reason, right? I mean, he wouldn't just do this, I know him. He isn't—he doesn't..."

She breaks eye contact first, moving her gaze to the floor as if delusioned. The more she tries to convince herself that it isn't the truth, the more her fragile soul collapses. Like pieces of glass, the sight of her mental state is shattering—clanking and breaking into opaque cracks.

I shove the blanket off of my body, and sit up with a groan of pain. Next thing I know, I'm attempting to stand. I wobble by the bedside, but aside from the lack of feeling in my legs, I'm successfully up on my own. I know I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't be getting up with all of the injuries that are still on my body, but the physical pain is more bearable than seeing the crown of Jiwon's head. It's more bearable than watching her try to figure out what's real and what isn't.

I reach out my hand like that day, and I hesitate again. The guilt makes my hand tremble with uncertainty, and the thoughts start flooding in again.
Hesitance, permission, and refusal. Three of the things that my parents have always pointed out within me. I'm too scared to do anything different, so like a servant, I freeze whenever I derail from others' expectations. I pity myself so much, but does that really change anything?

My hand lands on her hair, carefully massaging it in case she feels uncomfortable with the motion. I can feel each thin lock within my fingers, soft and smooth. She flinches under my touch before her shoulders fall, relaxed and relieved. Without a word, she hugs me. I wince from the movement. Her embrace is tight and she hides her face away from me, her chin resting on my shoulder as her body trembles. I can hear her quiet sniffles and sobs as her legs give up on her, and I support her carefully as we move to sit on the floor.

"You're okay," I say softly, and a bit clumsily in nature. "If it helps, I didn't know either. It doesn't make you stupid at all."

"What's the point of me carrying on if I have to keep suffering like this?" She wails. "I can't find the motivation. I can't do it. I've tried to keep it all in, but I just can't find a reason for any of this anymore."

I pause, her hair tickling my cheek.
She's been having the same dilemma as me. That's why I can't say anything in response; no words of comfort or pieces of reality. 

Of course. I've always been so focused on myself, so involved in my own head and drowning myself by not swimming up to the surface. Maybe that's why it's hard to find advice to give. I need to find an answer somehow. We need answers.

"I'll get us an answer. One where we don't need anything—anyone but ourselves." I complete my inner thought out loud.

"Sounds more like a wish than a promise."

"I guess it is, for now." I say, to the both of us. "I'm sorry about all of this, but I'm going to fix it."