Strangers and Decoys

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❝It's always the same. Every time.❞

—Haneul

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Panic.

This is the only emotion I consciously feel as I tear my way down the deserted street. My heels hit the tarmac harder with each anxious step.

Something is following me.

I sense it before I see it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something creeping up behind me. Its shadow was larger than a man's, and definitely more menacing.

I cut across an intersection, narrowly avoiding a collision with a huge, double decker bus. The driver hooted at me angrily, shouting something nonsensical.

My heart hammered in my chest. That was close.

I stood at the curb, leaning against the traffic light. At that moment I surveyed the area for my assailant taking this opportunity to catch my breath.

There it is!

An old, gleaming, black Bentley creeping up on me. It's gaining on me as my strength drains out. Wearing me down for their final strike.

It's a kilometer away. I can do this!

I pick up speed, turning a steady jog into a full out run, hiking the skirts of my dress up, higher. Then, I chanced a look over my shoulder.

It's getting closer.

I can't keep this up much longer. I need to rest.

My lungs burned with each breath I took as the heels of the gold sandals I wore clicked on the tarmac. It's too late to stop now. I need to keep going.

My feet ached in these sandals. I regret picking these to wear today. Every muscle in my body aches. The soles of my feet cramped from the strain of running in these heels. Each step felt like knives cutting into the soles of my feet.

I can't remember how long I'd been running for. Was it half an hour? An hour?

Maybe more.

Sweat poured down my back and between my cleavage, making this an unpleasant experience. The gold straps of the sandal cut into the sides of my feet and my toes.

At this rate, I spied a slim chance at survival.

But I had to keep going. I was supposed to be the decoy, right? This isn't for nothing. I need to keep this up, if only for a little longer.

As if I didn't already have a lot going on, a sharp, stabbing pain resonated through my ankles.

I tried to remind myself why I'm doing this-why I was running away from him!

Almost there, Haneul.

I turned a corner at the school. My legs felt like slabs of lead now. I can't take this anymore.

Begrudgingly, I slowed to a stop.

Bent over, gripping my knees, I gasped for air. Slowly, I lifted my head up and studied the bouquet of white roses I'd been clutching on to. That's when I realized I'm bleeding. The thorns had bit into my palms and at the base of my fingers.

Deciding I shouldn't loiter at death's door, I hiked the layered skirts of my white dress up. My hands were cramping from the strain of holding on to everything as I ran. The bouquet slipped from my grasp just then.

I flexed my fingers in a sad attempt to ease the cramping. It's too late to pick the bouquet up.

Somewhere between the pain and panic, I barely registered the golden glint on my finger. This isn't the time to inspect myself.

I could hear the steady chugging of that damn vehicle. He's here!

The blood in my veins turned icy cold. He knew I'd turn to the school!

My heart pounded in my chest. I hope I can shake him off. I turned around, breaking into a run once more, down the empty road, past an ice cream stall.

Panic struck through my heart once more, the corners of my vision blackening like ink in a glass of water.

"This is it," I muttered as I ran down the road feeling the sharp, stabbing pains in my feet return with every step I take.

I can't do this anymore.

"Oh, but you can Haneul! You're a fighter!" says another voice.

I can't find the source of the voice. But it was a deep, gravelly voice.

My father. I gasped, recognizing his voice.

He'd want me to survive, for me to win this. Whatever this is.

I passed by a small house, the windows were opened wide-an advantage to me, as I caught a glimpse of the same Bentley gaining on me in its reflection.

"I am such a mess!" I cringed, noticing my disheveled hair and sweaty face in the process.

The veil clung to one side of my face.

I tried to pry it off. It's slowing me down. I don't even know why I'm wearing a veil with this stupid dress!

I managed to rip the item off, but that cost me!

The vehicle gained on me, and was about to knock into me-but suddenly, out of nowhere, a group of seven, tall men dressed in black suits, intervened by standing in front of me.

The vehicle stopped dead.

That is some impressive breaking right there. I raised my eyebrows at the vehicle.

Then I looked at the men once more. Their faces aren't visible from my vantage point. But somehow, I know they're extremely attractive.

They're shielding me. I realised with a sigh of relief.

But it was short-lived as a sense of terror quickly replaced the reprieve. Concern for their safety rises inside me. The sense of familiarity shattered my stupor.

I slinked between the two in the middle and spread my arms out in an attempt to protect them instead.

They are mine. No one will harm them. Not now, not ever!

One of the men, however, gripped my waist and pulled me back. He was the tallest from the group of seven men-who now stood beside me.

They're stubborn as ever!

"I need to do this myself!" I pleaded with him to listen.

"No Haneul! Let us do this for you!" his warm smile washes a sense of calm over me.

I returned his smile. His adorable dimples flashed just then, and I gave in to his request letting his arms wrap protectively around me. I felt my aching muscles relax.

One of the others somewhere on my right, a man with a sharp jawline and broad shoulders, raised his hand to shoot. He knocked the revolver out of the masked driver's outstretched hand.

But it was already too late.

I didn't hear the bang.

Instead, I felt myself falling in slow motion. Just as I was about to hit the tarmac, a tall man with an almost symmetrical face caught me in his arms.

The others crowded around me.

"Haneul!" they cried out in unison.

"Haneul, wake up!"

This voice was different. He had a deep, soulful voice. The man tapped my cheek as he held on to me, rocking me back and forth in his arms. I felt a tear fall on my face.

"Don't leave us!"

"Please don't leave us," a man whose voice sounded like a gravelly purr whispered, echoing the other's words.

I felt his lips kiss my forehead. And another tear fell down my cheek.

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Haneul

"I'm fine!" I gasped, my eyes flew open and I sat up in bed, staring at my hands in confusion.

It's always the same dream with the same faces.

Always.

I woke up with my throat dry, again.

My fingers reached up and wiped my cheeks. I'd been crying-again.

Why is it always the same dream?
Especially on the morning of my birthday!

The dream was ridiculously detailed. And it was always in colour! Each time I have this dream, the colours are always sharp, and everything feels as if it's really happening-as if this is a reality, perhaps in an alternate universe.

Maybe it is. Because I don't remember any such thing happening to me in reality.

A fuzzy image appeared in my head. I glanced at my fingers. I'm not wearing a ring.

Where did that gold band come from? And why was I wearing a wedding dress?

But the creepiest part of that dream was the seven men. I do not know those men! And yet, they know my name!

How was that possible?

What could they possibly symbolize? All dreams mean something, right?

Nothing makes sense anymore and the more I try to decipher the dream, the more confused I feel. There were seven men, not counting the lunatic who'd been chasing me. Maybe it's symbolic of the seven colours in a rainbow? The crazy dude in the Bentley is probably the thunderstorm that makes the rainbow-I don't know!

My head aches-there's a sort of pounding inside and I feel as if my conscience is spinning back into my body.

I groaned and stretched. My t-shirt stuck to my body. Argh! I need to shower.

Because just like every other time I awake from this complex nightmare, a layer of sweat coated my skin from my neck, all the way to my arms.

My head is still spinning. It's as if I'd just jumped off a ride at a theme park. The pain in my head feels like someone was banging a hammer inside my skull-even though the actual headache has subsided somewhat.

And if this isn't bad enough, my heart still beats at top speed, you would think I'd just been running a marathon!

And whose tears were those on my face? Mine-or theirs?

Just like every other day, I woke up in an empty room. I am alone, in my bed. All alone in this flat, with nothing but the tick tock of the analogue clock on my wall as my only companion.

"At least I am safe," I muttered to the empty room, not sure why I felt relief at the thought.

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