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I’M FINE
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Yi-Seo

The police officers collect some basic details from me, and they also ask me to submit a copy of my ID for future use, if the need arises. They ask me a series of questions about how, why and when I happened to see Taehyung collapsing, and, to be honest, the interrogative tone of their questions makes me feel as if I am responsible for his current state, when in reality I’m innocent, and the officers are just doing their job.

After instructing me to contact them in case of any further complications, they have a word with the emergency doctor too and leave the spot, and I’m more than relieved to see their backs at the moment.

Once I’m on my own again, I peep into the emergency ward and see that Taehyung is still sleeping, and there’s no one near him. It’s almost midnight, and the nurses are also resting in their station, and there is only one other patient in the emergency ward, apart from Taehyung, and her I.V. bottle is nearing its end. So, she might be leaving soon as well.

I take slow steps and approach the bed where the once famous idol is sleeping like an abandoned, homeless drunkard, and it actually pains me to see him this way. The photos of him that I saw earlier on the internet keep plaguing my mind, and I find it nearly impossible to swallow the fact that the man in front of me is the same handsome hunk in those pictures.

His life has definitely been hit by a few massive curve-balls, and the after effects of those impacts are taking a toll on him.

I wish I knew some way to help him out.

Sighing, I take a seat on the small plastic chair that’s placed next to his bed, and I give him one long glance before I pull out my phone to pass some time before exhaustion knocks out my senses. I make a mental note to find out about his emergency contacts later so that I could let them know in case of any such occurrences in the future because I’m pretty sure that he wouldn’t have paid up for his health insurance, and I don’t have the capacity to afford his bills either.

I mean, why should I even pay his medical bills in the first place?

Leaning back in the small and uncomfortable chair, I stretch out my legs in front of me and open up my notes to try and complete a chapter of the story that I have been trying to finish writing for the past three months. I haven’t been able to write more than ten words each day, and it is frustrating to say the least because I have the entire plot inside my head, all figured out. Yet, putting down my thoughts into words seems like such a mammoth task at the moment.

I can’t exactly put my finger on one particular reason for this slump—it could be lack of inspiration or motivation, or it could be distraction, but I don’t at all like what I’m writing these days. Despite my repeated attempts to curb my tendencies to get distracted and lose focus, I still end up being that way, and the best part of all this is that I recently quit my full-time job so that I would be able to dedicate more time to writing and eventually take it up as a full-time career.

Passion before money, says the loser.

And I’m that loser.

As always, no words make it to the chapter that’s still hanging midway, and I groan in frustration before I close the app and put my phone away.

Maybe I need to find something more interesting to write about. Maybe I wasn’t ever meant to be a fiction writer. But technical writing isn’t my thing at all, and I suck at it.

Children’s novels? Nah!

Self-help books? Please, I myself need help.

Philosophy? Well, if the Guinness book had a category for sucking at philosophy, then I’d be the world record holder, for sure.

But I’m really not such a bad writer, and I know it myself. I only need a muse, I need inspiration to write, and it’s sickening to think that my currently bland and pathetic life has nothing that inspires me to write.

Ugh!

A faint shuffle of sheets diverts my thoughts and draws my attention to the man next to me, and I watch him as he squeezes his features a little and squirms in bed before his large right hand lands on his forehead.

I turn around a little to sit facing him, and then his eyes flicker open as he squints at the fluorescent lights studded in the ceiling while his hand keeps rubbing the apparent ache that’s pounding inside his skull.

I watch him quietly as he lifts his left hand and looks at the needle injected into it, and then his gaze trails up the tube that’s sending the medicines into his veins, after which he emits a painful growl that resonates from deep within his chest.

He still doesn’t notice me sitting right beside his bed, and I’m contemplating whether I should talk to him first or inform the nurses first that he has woken up from his drunken slumber.

But as always, my timing is shitty, and before I could decide and rise from my seat to go and talk to the nurses, Taehyung’s head snaps in my direction, and his eyebrows come together when his eyes find me.

My eyes freeze on him, and my mouth opens and closes like a goldfish, feeling stripped off of all my words, unsure how to react now, and I have no fucking idea why I’m being this way.

“Who are you?” His voice is a guttural rumble, a little strangled and rusty at the same time.

Wrong timing, but I have to shamelessly admit that I actually listened to some of his popular songs earlier while making dinner, and although I had a mental estimate of how he would sound, the reality is way more flattering and even extremely seductive, I would say.

But, well, to be honest, these aren’t the first words that I was expecting him to say to me.

What was I expecting anyway?

Shaking off my senseless and scattered thoughts, I prepare to reintroduce myself to him.

“I live next door to you, and I brought you here because you collapsed at your doorway, and I happened to be there at that time. You were sleeping all this while. I’ll go and inform the nurses now,” I speak in a hurry and rush out of the area without waiting for him to respond.

The nurses and the duty doctor scurry to his side and examine his tongue and irises, and they check his pulse and blood pressure, after which they also ask him some questions to which he responds weakly with just one-word answers. I stand by awkwardly, feeling intimidated by his powerful stare that is stuck on me and making me nervous for no particular reason.

None of the discussion reaches my ears, and before I know it, the duty doctor speeds up the flow of his I.V. liquids, and then she walks up to me.

“He’s fine now. I’ll update the police that he is okay and also prepare his instruction sheets, follow-up notes and prescriptions and hand them over to you. You can leave when the I.V. fluid is completed,” her eyes crinkle a little, and it tells me that she is smiling in relief inside the surgical mask that’s covering the lower half of her face.

“Thank you,” I bow to her and divert my eyes back to Taehyung when I’m left alone with him once again.

His gaze is unwavering, and he is staring at me as if there’s something written on my face, and I’m starting to feel a little uneasy.

“Uhm- the doctor said that you’re good to go back home now. Is there someone you could call? So that they can take care of the remaining formalities here?” I ask him hesitantly in an attempt to break the unnecessary ice that’s forming between us.

He remains silent, and his eyes finally leave my face, and he chooses to look at his hands instead, finally helping me release the rush of breath that was tangled at the back of my throat. But I just asked him a question, and he isn’t answering it, and I’m still waiting here only because I might have to face him again when we both go back to our homes, and I don’t want to come off as rude.

“Excuse me? I asked you something,” I repeat after a few more seconds of profound silence, by which time the I.V. liquid drips its last into his prominent veins, and the nurse arrives right on time to disconnect it and remove the needle attached to his hand. She then puts a plaster over the pierced spot on his wrist and walks away.

Taehyung’s eyes move to meet mine, and he throws his legs out of the bed, pushing himself up.

“I can manage on my own,” he croaks in his scratchy voice and tries to get up from the bed, but his legs give way, and he stumbles a little, making me stretch out my arms to hold him.

He acts resilient and avoids holding my hand for support as he weakly drags his bare feet and makes his way out of the emergency ward. I pick up a jog and follow him, fetching his papers from the nurses’ station on my way.

Taehyung waits at the billing counter to pay up for his treatment, and I stand at a distance from him, observing what he is doing. I’m actually surprised to see that he has cash with him. After paying his bills, he starts walking towards the entrance of the hospital building without bothering to collect the payment receipts.

“Taehyung-ssi,” I call out to him, bringing his steps to a halt right at the hospital entrance. “I’ll call a taxi for us,” I don’t wait for his answer, and I proceed to book a taxi for us to go back to Silver Springs.

“Call for two taxis.” Taehyung states in an indifferent tone, deadpanning, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers, and it takes everything in me not to scoff and roll my eyes at his arrogance. He could have at least said that more politely after I’ve practically spent my whole night by his side waiting for him to wake up.

What an ungrateful, arrogant prick!

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Published on : 01/03/2023