NOVA
“This way.” A waitress beckons to us. We follow her inside the restaurant, full of golden light and the tantalizing aroma of ramen.
“You work here?” I ask Amber.
“Yup.” She nods. We walk past a sake bar to the back, where dangling lights are multiplied in the mirrors on the walls, and a pink neon sign with the restaurant name, ‘Shinka’, beams. “The pork ribs and kakuni baos are the best, you guys have to try them. I’m starving.” She moans.
“I’ll be back with the water.” The waitress gives us menus.
“Thanks.” Chloe says. Once she leaves, I look down at the menu, and we sit in silence.
“What’s wrong? Why are you guys so quiet?” Amber asks.
“Do you not remember anything?” I say. I’m still high, and I can’t think clearly, but I can still recall the paralyzing fear and the feeling of David’s hand on my leg.
“I know the guys came over and I fell asleep. When I woke up, they were gone and you two were acting weird.”
“We weren’t acting weird, David-” Chloe pauses and looks at me, silently asking if we should say anything. I nod. “David was touching you, and he grabbed both of us.”
Amber’s eyes widen. “Touched me? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know exactly because I was high too, but he was feeling you up when you were asleep on the couch, and he grabbed my leg and tried to force Chloe to kiss him.” I explain. Just saying that aloud repeated the whole experience, and I have the urge to hide under the table.
“Do you need more time?” The waitress returns with three glasses of water.
“No, I’m ready.” Chloe says. “I’ll have the tonkotsu.”
“I’ll have the beef bone marrow gyukotsu, and two orders of pork ribs and pork baos for the table.” Amber says.
“One smoked duck ramen with an egg for me please.” I say. The waitress nods and walks away.
“Wait, so David really did that?” Amber lowers her voice. “David? He’s always been really nice.”
“Yeah, the guys are with him right now trying to get him back into the right state of mind.” Chloe says. “Are you sure you’re okay, Ambs?”
“I almost can’t believe it, so I’m a little shocked, but I don’t remember any of it. How are you feeling though?” Amber asks.
“It was so scary.” Chloe says. “I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know how you dealt with him alone, Nov.”
“That’s the thing, I didn’t deal with him. I had no idea what to do. It was like my body wouldn’t move, no matter how hard I wanted it to or tried. I was terrified that I was trapped in one of my nightmares, and it was even scarier when I realized that it wasn’t a dream.” My hands start shaking, and I curl them into fists underneath the table. I feel like crying and screaming, but there’s a block in my throat, and everything roils inside, looking for release but finding only walls.
“Nov?” Amber says gently.
“Something happened.” I don’t know what I’m saying, but I need someone, anyone, to be here for me right now, and I can’t be strong anymore. Everything hurts, and I want it to stop. Please, stop.
“When I was in Korea, my friends and I would go out clubbing every weekend. One night I woke up in a motel room. I didn’t know where I was, who he was, and how I got there.” I stop to catch my breath. My voice is shaking, and I don’t want to start crying.
“Oh my god, Nov. Did he hurt you? Were you cut or bruised anywhere?” Amber says.
“What? No, um, my knee was scraped from when I fell on the sidewalk, but I wasn’t cut up.” I’m confused by her question, and I don’t really know what she means.
“Whew, that’s good.” Amber says awkwardly.
“How did it happen? Did he drug you? What did he do?” Chloe asks.
I know she’s asking out of concern, but all of these questions are making everything worse. I feel like I’m back in the hospital, being interrogated by the police all over again.
“I don’t know if I was drugged, but I think I was. Parts of the night I completely blacked out.”
“Then how do you remember being in the motel room? Do you remember anything he did to you?” Chloe asks.
“Yeah, I can remember bits and pieces, but that’s it.” The blurred image of his face over mine resurfaces from the depths of my memory that I’ve been repressing for weeks, and cold, sharp pin pricks crawl on my skin.
“Do you remember how far he went?” Chloe gestures vaguely in the air.
“What?” My breaths are coming in and out so fast, but it feels like there is no air in the room.
“I mean, if you can’t remember that much, do you still know what happened?”
Something snaps in me. There is something I want to do, but I have never felt like this before. What is it? As I look at Amber’s awkward expression and Chloe’s questioning stare, I realize I want to slap them. What was wrong with them? My closest friends now feel as distant as the nearest stranger. My disbelief quickly dissolves into resignation, and the gnawing loneliness that had slowly been consuming me all week sets in again. My head hangs heavy.
“Yes..” My jaw clenches, and I lose all interest in talking about this.
“Here you go.” The waitress places the food on the table. Smoke rises in the air when she takes the cover off of my ramen, and the smell of rich, fatty meat and broth surrounds us. When I inhale, the food goes straight into my brain and I am lifted up above into clouds of heavenly, forgetful bliss.
“Thank you.” We say to her, and immediately dig in.
It could have been five minutes, or maybe an hour, but for that time when we are eating, I forget all about everything that has happened. As ridiculous as it is, eating is the only pleasure that I can still feel.
We pay the bill, and walk out into the cold night streets. My high is wearing off, and the euphoric sensations come crashing down, leaving me in a puddle of exhaustion. My phone rings.
“Hale?” I pick up.
“Hey.” He says. “I just got off work. Are you still out?”
“Yeah, Chloe, Amber, and I just finished eating.”
“Who is that? Is that Hale?” Amber jumps at my shoulder.
“He just got off work, so he’s around.” I tell her.
“Tell him to meet up with us.” Chloe says.
“The girls want to see you.” I say to Hale. He laughs.
“What about you? Do you want to see me?”
“Just get over here. We’re on Hester and Bowery.” I hang up, rolling my eyes as I imagine his insufferable smirk.
“So he’s coming?” Amber asks.
“Don’t look so excited, but yes, he’s coming.” They both smile at me anyway.
We shiver in our dresses for a few minutes before I see Hale cross the street towards us. Even with a long black hoodie and loose joggers, he’s all hard angles and planes. He throws his hood off and shakes his hair out.
“It’s so hot out.” He stretches. “That walk had me sweating.”
I look at his hoodie enviously. He knows we’re freezing, and just wants to see who will cave first and ask to wear it.
“Can I borrow that then?” Amber points at the hoodie.
“For sure.” He smiles at her and takes it off, his t-shirt riding up and exposing the pale skin on his stomach, and hands it to her. I turn away, but not quick enough that Hale doesn’t catch my gaze. His eyes dance, laughing at me for being cold, and for being too proud to ask him.
“Where to, ladies?” He asks.
“Do you have any bud?” Chloe asks. “These two buffoons have been high the whole night, and I want to join in on the fun.”
“What, did you call me over to get free weed?” Hale says. Chloe blanches.
“Of course not, I just thought it’d be a fun idea. I can pay you, if you want.” She says hurriedly.
“I’m kidding.” Hale laughs, bumping her shoulder with his. “I don’t have any on me right now, but if you want to come back to my apartment, we can roll up there.”
“Sounds good.” We all agree, and head to the subway.
I almost fall asleep on the ride to his place. The rumbling of the train is oddly calming, and the car is empty besides from one homeless man at the other end. Amber is already passed out on Chloe’s shoulder, who is showing Hale something on her phone. Before I know it, my eyes get heavier and heavier until they droop closed.
Gentle squeezing of my hand wakes me up.
“We’re here.” Hale says. My head is leaning on his shoulder, and my hand is in his. I jerk myself upright, bumping my head against his.
“What was that for?” He rubs his head ruefully.
“Sorry.” I say and help him up.
“You don’t sound very sorry.” He grumbles.
We run out, the doors already half closed, and walk to his apartment. Chloe stands by Hale’s desk as he grinds and rolls the joint, while Amber and I choose a record to play. We were still arguing between Marvin Gaye and Frank Ocean when Chloe calls us over.
“Light me up.” She hands me the lighter. She breathes in, exhales out of the window, and passes it to me.
The smoke burns its way down my throat and into my lungs, leaving my airway tingling and tight, stirring my blood and going straight to my head. It is a good kind of burn, one that sets my thoughts aflame and leaves me with peace of mind in its wake.
We pass it around until there is nothing left but the burnt stub of the filter. Hale tosses it in the ashtray on his table, Chloe flops onto the couch with a happy sigh, and Amber dances around the room.
My head is spinning. I am so high that I do not trust myself to move, so I sit as still as possible by the window sill. Objects and surfaces that I had never paid much attention to before suddenly take on moving patterns, so that the floor, couch, posters, and even the ceiling is wriggling around like little snakes. I am so overwhelmed, but even when I close my eyes, the darkness bursts with tiny explosions of color and moves around like oil in water.
“You alright?” Hale asks me.
“Mmm.” I try to give him a thumbs up, but give up halfway through.
“You guys doing okay?” He says to Chloe and Amber, who are watching videos together on Chloe’s phone.
“Yup.” Amber beams.
“Come watch with us.” Chloe says, patting the space next to her on the couch.
“In a bit. I’m going to take Nova outside for some fresh air. We’ll be back.” Hale puts my arm around his shoulders and helps me stand up. We walk to the elevator and climb the last flight of stairs to the rooftop. I can’t feel my feet, and every nerve in my body is buzzing and numb at the same time.
Hale sits me down on the ground.
“What’s wrong?” He sits next to me.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. You think I don’t notice how high you’ve been getting?” He gives me an exasperated look.
“Then why do you keep letting me get high?” I turn to him. His face hardens, then he sighs.
“Because I can’t stop you. Even if I refuse to give you weed, you’ll just get it from someone else, and who knows what will happen. At least if I’m the one giving it to you I can be there if you need help. If I had to choose between turning you away to feel like a good guy, or leaving my morals behind to keep you safe, I would choose you.”
I stare at him. His words reverberate in my mind, ricocheting through my veins to the timbre of my bones. When did he stop being that little punk who ran around throwing poppers at pigeons and starting fights with anyone who looked his way? Then I realize he has been grown up for a long time, but I haven’t noticed until now. It is like I am truly seeing him for the first time.
“You’re not half bad, Halcyon Lei.” When he looks back at me, I swear he can see past the mask I have been wearing and the walls I have been building. And for some reason, I know he sees the wounds on my heart and the darkness in my soul, and accepts it.
“That is probably the nicest thing you have ever said to me.” He says.
“Shut up.” We laugh. Quieting down, we look out at the twinkling lights of the city skyline.
“So can you tell me what’s wrong?” He says.
I am scared of his reaction, or worse, that he will respond like everyone else. I remember Chloe and Amber’s reactions from an hour ago and I shudder. But I’m so tired of caring, of controlling myself for everyone else’s sake.
“A man hurt me while I was away, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
I search his face for awkwardness or pity. Instead, I find anger, and such unfathomable sadness.
“Is there anything you need from me?” Under the moonlight, his skin glows silver and his eyes glitter like hard diamonds, blinding in their brilliance.
“Just be here with me.”
He closes the space between us and hugs me tightly. He smells sweet and musky, like that quiet peace after a storm. In his arms, I finally relax for the first time in weeks.
HALE
Nova fell asleep a few moments ago. It’s getting cold out, but I want to stay for a little bit longer and take in the view. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can finally breathe. Looking at her sleeping face, even with drool dripping from her half opened mouth, I cannot help but admire how softened her features are. When she is awake, there is so much tension in her face, always a scowl, smirk, or grin, that it is so hard to decipher her true feelings. It is only when she is asleep that I can read the pain she keeps locked away from the world under her mask of normalcy, which is only another form of suffering.
Maybe that is why I am drawn to her again and again. If everyone is a light burning in the dark, then she is a supernova of white hellfire, living brilliantly and fiercely in the emptiness of the night, as if she was born to die. Even though she comes in the form of hidden catastrophes, she is a damned beautiful disaster waiting to happen. I know I cannot catch her as she falls, but my one comfort is knowing that when she does, I will be there to hold her tight, and fall together.
I cannot stop thinking about what she told me. The words replay in my head, over and over, like a prayer that never reached God. A man hurt me a man hurt me a man hurt me. I want to kill him. I want my hands around his neck, his blood on my hands. I wish I could have protected her, but there is nothing I can do. Absolutely nothing will make this better. Even if I killed him, that would not reverse what he did, or the damage done to Nova.
This overwhelming helpless and useless feeling makes me want to scream. To whom, I do not know. But my rage and sorrow are consuming me, suffocating me from the inside out.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. A reminder pops up that I need to head out now if I want to get to Jersey by 7. I sigh. It is 5:24 right now, and I have zero desire to visit my dad’s house. All I want to do is shower, eat some food, and sleep, all of which I have not done since before my shift at 5PM. Nowadays, my diet mainly consists of weed and whiskey, and my sleep schedule is nonexistent. On the bright side, my grocery expenses have gone down to almost nothing.
I lift Nova up from the ground as gently as possible. She stirs, nestling her head against my chest. Her skin is ice cold to the touch, and she feels lighter than I last remember. I carry her down back to the apartment. Chloe and Amber are sleeping on the couch, so I go into my room and put Nova on my bed. I won’t be sleeping tonight anyway. I put the blanket on her, and with one last look at her curled form and hair spilling onto the white sheets like ink, I close the door and leave the apartment.
The subway is like a ghost town at this hour. The train platforms are eerily empty, and anyone who happens to be here appears half dead with exhaustion. I try to keep a low-profile during the hour long ride. By the time I arrive in Hoboken, the sun is rising. After making a few wrong turns, I find the house and ring the doorbell. I shift on my feet nervously, trying to heat up in the morning chill. A woman wearing a salmon pant suit opens the door.
“You must be Halcyon. I’m Abigail, it’s great to finally meet you.” The woman, most likely my step-mother, says and leads me to a living room. “Wait here. He’ll be out in a few minutes.”
I sit down at the table. My stomach is in knots. It’s been fourteen years since I last saw him. I never knew I would get the chance to see him again.
“Halcyon.” That deep voice from my deepest memories calls me. Instinctively, my head snaps up. I don’t recognize him, but I see bits of myself in his face. It’s disconcerting.
“Dad.” My body responds against my command. I imagined this moment many times throughout the years, but I never thought I would feel comforted. Regret maybe, or anger. But seeing him alive, after being dead in my mind for years, creates such relief that I’m taken aback.
“I knew you would come see me. It only took over a decade, but with Tommy as your guardian, I can’t say I’m surprised. I never gave up on you though.” He sits down. I feel like punching him.
“Don’t insult Tommy.” I clench my jaw.
“I’m not. I’m just saying, the man hates me. Rightfully so, but still, I wish he’d brought you over to visit. A father has a right to see his son, don’t you think?”
“Tommy has been more of a father to me than you ever will.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“Watch your mouth. I may not be looking after you right now, but I will always be your father, whether or not you like it.” He pounds his fist on the table, hard. “Why are you here? I won’t delude myself into believing you’re here for a nice father-son reunion.”
“I want my share of what Mom left for me in her will.”
“The money? I thought you didn’t want it.”
“Things change, and I need it to get me through school.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still wasting your time on that astronomy shit. I know you want to be like your mom, but look what good that did for her. All of those years studying in school wasted her best years. I keep telling you to come work for my company. You’ll start out in an entry position, but I’ll train you to eventually take over when I retire in the future.”
“I don’t want to work for you. And it’s not “astronomy shit,” I’m becoming an engineer because that’s what I love doing, and has nothing to do with wanting to be like Mom.”
He goes quiet. I’m getting worried that he won’t say anything, but he finally looks at me.
“If you want it, it’s yours. I’ll send you the paperwork this week.” He says. He has a funny look on his face, like he wants to laugh and cry at the same time.
“What?” I say. He sighs and shakes his head.
“Last time I saw you, you were this tiny six year old, always running around and scraping your knees. Everyone said you looked just like me. But when I look at you now, all grown up, you look just like your mom.”
I take the picture of my Mom Tommy gave me out of my pocket. His eyes widen.
“Where did you get this?” He picks the picture up gently between his pointer finger and thumb, his hand shaking ever so slightly.
“Tommy gave it to me today.” He looks up at Tommy’s name.
“We used to be buddies, you know that? Some would even call it best friends.”
“I thought you said he hates you.” I point out. He laughs, loud and deep.
“He does now, and I don’t blame him. I’m surprised he has this picture though, after all these years. I still remember how beautiful she looked when I took this photo. It was her eighteenth birthday, Tommy came home from college to surprise her, we threw the best party of the year, and I gave her that necklace.” He points to the jade pendant and gold chain around her neck. Now I know why it looked familiar; she wore it everyday, up until the last day I saw her. “It’s been in my family for generations. My mom told me that the best way to cherish and keep it safe was to give it to the girl I was going to marry. I didn’t tell Eden that then, of course.” He laughs. “What about you? You have a girl?”
“Not really.” My mind wanders to Nova. What is she doing right now?
“”Not really” as in you like a girl but she doesn’t like you back, or “not really” as in there’s no girl?” He lifts an eyebrow, an amused smile dancing on his lips.
“Neither.” I say. The last thing I want to do is talk about Nova with my dad. She feels like my secret little sanctuary, and I don’t feel like talking about my feelings right now.
“You don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool.” He chuckles at me.
I hesitate, then ask the question that has been plaguing me for years. “How did Mom die? Everytime I ask Tommy, he never gives me a straight answer, and just says to ask you. Which I can’t do, because you left me.” I say. He sighs. I’m starting to realize that he does that a lot.
“There are a lot of things that you don’t know, things that I can’t tell you yet.” He looks at me sadly.
“Then when? When will you tell me? Because I can’t keep living like this, Dad. Ten years of my life wondering what I did wrong, why Mom died, why you did what you did. I asked and asked, but no one answered me. They think they’re protecting me, but living a lie isn’t living at all.” It hurts. My chest aches from pulsing blood thicker than tears, from this want of love. “Did you really do those terrible things they say you did?” My voice trails off into a whisper, and I put my head in my hands, running my fingers through my hair, to keep my eyes from spilling over.
“I’m sorry Hale, but I’m just not ready.” He doesn’t meet my eyes.
I clench my fists. I am beyond words, and I know why I did not want to come here today. I can finally admit to myself that I miss him, that I want him to be a part of my life, but the reality that he cannot be the father I need him to be comes crashing down. I get up to leave.
“Halcyon.” I turn around. “You can hate me, but I will always be your dad, and you will always be my son.”
Loud music pulses through the floor, through the soles of my worn-through shoes and up my bones. The bar is packed tonight. I have five minutes before my shift begins, but I already want the night to be over. Kayden passes me a tequila shot under the counter.
“You look like you need it.” He says.
“Yeah, fuck you too.” I say, but I take the shot. I’m off the clock anyways, not like it matters though. Kayden gives me a pat on the back.
“Hurry up asshole and clock in, they’re getting impatient.” He says while serving a cocktail.
I punch my code into the computer in the back and join Kayden behind the bar. The night is just beginning, but half of the people crowding around the bar look wasted already. The club across the street is running a promotion, so there are more customers here today than usual.
Every night, they play different music. Some days it’s EDM, some it’s hip hop, and sometimes they’ll even do a “throwback night”, when they play 80s and 90s music. Today, it’s techno.
“Two mojitos, please.” A woman with huge, dangling earrings says. As I make the drinks, three more people give me their orders. I move from ice, liquor, syrups, juices, glasses, taking as many orders as I’m working on and serving. I take a shot every time someone asks me for “something sweet,” and before I know it, my body moves on its own, using muscle memory to make drinks, and the alcohol sneaks up on me and catches me in one fell swoop.
Now I feel it. Technicolor lights and music with a heartbeat cuts through the dark, the glass of the bottles cool solid in my hand, the chilled sweat on the metal shaker welcome slick on my skin, the frosty pale pink lychee swirling through crystal vodka.
The buzz from the drinks creeps up on me, and I cannot avoid my own thoughts anymore.
There is still so much that I want to ask my dad, so much more I want to know. A burst of warmth shoots through me every time I think about the memory he shared with me. I like imagining young Tommy, smart and off studying at college; my mom, happy, young and alive with friends and family on her birthday; and my dad, giving her his heart.
Dangerous. This reminiscence is dangerous, wet and glistening and slick. If I’m not careful, I’ll get my hopes up just for them to be destroyed. Do I finally forgive him for walking out of my life to live with my uncle?
I want to. But he’s right about me really not knowing anything, and it is driving me mad. What really happened ten years ago? And now I am right back where I started.
Damn, my head hurts. Time for more tequila.
NOVA
“How are you today?” Mr. Whittaker crosses his leg on his knee, clicking his pen.
“I’m fine.” I say. “How are you?”
“I’m good, thank you for asking. Is there anything you want to talk to me about?”
“No, not really.”
We sit quietly. The clock ticks steadily, filling the awkward silence with rhythm, a beat without a tune.
“Nova, I want to remind you that therapy only works if you want it to.” He says after a few minutes. “So let’s try this again. How are you feeling today?”
“You really want to know how I’m doing? Okay, how about this. I wake up every morning feeling like shit, and when I try to think about why I feel like shit, I feel even worse when I can’t think of specific reasons why. Because it’s everything. Everything is shitty, so I am shitty; or maybe, I am so shitty that everything is absolute crap. And how do I tell people that? I can’t. So instead, when people ask how I am, I tell them, ‘I’m fan-fucking-tastic’.” I glare at him, waiting to see what he will say.
“What do you think you can do to change that?” He says.
“I don’t know.” I say. “Hell, if I knew, I would do it.” Useless. This is so, utterly useless.
“Well, why do you feel that way? Has anything happened this week?” He asks. Did I not just say I don’t know why I feel this way? Anyway,
“Three days ago, my mom asked me if I wanted to do a cross questioning over the phone.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said ‘sure,’ which somehow means ‘yes.’ But do I want to? No, of course not.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I? Can you explain to me why I would want to be interrogated again, then have my story held up against his, and on top of that hear his voice? Why in the world would I want to talk to people that I have to prove my innocence to? Even though I pressed the charges, it feels like I’m on trial. And I didn’t even want to file a report.”
“If you didn’t want to go to the police, then why did you?”
“Everyone kept saying it was my choice. It’s up to me, whatever I want, blah, blah, blah. At the same time, the first question everyone asks is, “Did you go to the police?” as if they know best. But how can they, when they’ve never had to live through the worst day of their lives, and then be forced to make a decision that is so painful either way that I have to live with it for the rest of my life? If I didn’t report what had happened, then I would be condemned for doing nothing; and if I did report it, then I would have to relive that trauma all over again. What kind of choice is that? It’s like society’s test, as if the police and the court are the proof of whether or not you are a true victim, or just a slut.”
“I can certainly see why you would feel that way. Was it hard for you? Going to the police, I mean.” He says. I look at him in bewilderment.
“Of course.” I say. “Harder than anything I have ever done. What he did, I had no say in the matter. But filing a report, checking into the hospital for examination, and testifying were all things that I did. And maybe it is because I chose to do these things that they were so difficult. I don’t know which was worse: the powerlessness of what happened, or the pain of reliving it all, and the knowledge that I chose to.”
He looks at me, twirls his pen between his fingers, and clears his throat.
“That sounds like a very hard thing to do. Would you want to join a support group? It is not mandatory, but I think it can be helpful for survivors to speak with others who have had similar experiences.”
“I’ll think about it.” I try my best to smile.
“Well, Nova, why don’t we pick this back up next week?” Mr. Whittaker clicks his pen, his hand already on his leather bag.
“Sure.” I see him out, breathing a sigh of relief as I click the lock shut.
I check the time. 6pm. Three more hours until the cross examination, and I am so anxious that I feel nauseated.
Calm down. I pace back and forth in the foyer. Get a grip. This is your chance to put him away, to make this all worth it.
“Fuck!” I yell aloud.
“Everything okay?” Dad pops his head out of his study.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” I glower, going back up to my room. I was trying to be optimistic and look on the bright side of things, but I ended up stressing myself out even more. Now, I feel an enormous pressure to get this right, and I can feel myself breaking apart at the seams, coming undone stitch by stitch. The fear that I’ll have gone through all of these lengths to incarcerate him and that he might walk away free knocks the breath out of me. Suddenly there isn’t enough oxygen in the room, and I have to lean against my door so that I don’t collapse. I rush to the bathroom down the hall and kneel over the toilet, but nothing comes out, and I clutch my stomach in pain as I dry heave until there is no strength left in my body.
Lying on the bathroom floor, unable to get up, I feel powerless and weak. No matter how hard I try, my body won’t respond to me, and I can’t stop hyperventilating. I need to get out of here. I search my pockets for my phone, then text Chloe to meet me at the gym.
I change into leggings and a tank top, grab my wallet, gym pass, keys, and a sweatshirt, shout that I’m going out for a little bit, and start Mom’s car. I blast some music, put both hands on the wheel, and drive. As usual, traffic is clogging up the streets, but I don’t mind; it just feels good to be a little bit in control, even if it is only through driving a car.
Chloe is already warming up on the treadmill when I arrive at the gym. She takes her airpods out when she sees me and waves me to come over.
“You texted at the perfect time.” She says, slowing her pace to a walk. “My last client of the day finished his session fifteen minutes ago.”
“Wow, that’s amazing that you’re finally a personal trainer. You’ve been talking about it for so long that it almost felt like you’ve been doing this for years.” I start the treadmill and walk beside her.
“I know! This is still my first week, and I’m still getting used to working here and getting to know everyone, but it’s been great so far. What’s up with you?”
“Actually, I’m pretty stressed.” I say.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
“I’m supposed to do a cross examination over the phone in an hour or so, and I’ll have to hear that man’s voice. I know it’s just his voice, and that I won’t have to see him or even be in the same room, but I’m still scared. Like what if I hear it, and I get so distracted that I mess everything up? What if he says some things I don’t want to hear?” I look over at Chloe. She turned up the speed while I was talking, and she’s now sprinting so quickly that I can barely hear myself speak.
“Chlo?” I say.
“Yeah.” She nods vaguely. “Oh! Do you want to squat? The bar is finally free.”
“Sure.” I shrug. We grab our things and jog over before anyone else can take it. Chloe starts squatting the bar to warm up.
“I know I was the one who reported him to the police and began the whole investigation, but I just wish everything I told them the first time was enough. I mean, they literally questioned me for hours, and they got the whole thing in tape. I feel like I was pressured into testifying, and now I can’t say no to this second questioning, or it would make my first one pointless. I just wish I had more of a say in everything.” My eyes are welling up, but I brush it off and take over the bar as Chloe finishes her warm up.
She laughs.
“What’s so funny?” I ask incredulously.
“I just remembered something. Do you remember Melissa? We went to middle school with her. But anyway, turns out she and Andy used to date, and we ran into her at this tiny dive bar in the Village we went to last night. When I tell you that it was awkward, whatever you imagine, multiply that by one hundred. That’s how bad it was.” Chloe says, adding 25 pound weights on each side of the barbell.
“Sounds awful.” I say, biting my cheek to keep my sarcasm in check.
“It was, you have no idea.” Chloe says. “On top of that, my mom found out I dropped out. She got off work early today, and when she came home and saw I was still asleep, she started looking through my room and realized that I didn’t have any textbooks or homework anywhere. I thought she was going to murder me right then and there.”
I want to tell her that I don’t care so badly, but I grit my teeth and shove the words down.
“At least she knows now.” I say, and begin my set.
“Yeah, that’s what Andy said too. I swear you two are so similar. If you hang out with us more, I think you’ll really like him.” We switch the 25 for a plate.
“Eh, after last time, I don’t know.” I wince.
“What happened last time?” Chloe furrows her brows. “Oh, you mean that whole thing with David? Don’t worry, we sorted it all out.”
“What did you do?” I ask.
“Nothing really, we just keyed his car and left it by a junkyard. Maybe he found it, or maybe it’s scrapped by now.” She giggles.
“Has he apologized?” I ask, curious despite myself.
“Nope. Not a word.”
“Sorry for the wait, he will be here in a few minutes.” The translator says. I sit on the edge of my seat, my body tense as a board as I look at my phone on my desk. I don’t know what to expect, I don’t know how long this will take, but I know that this is battle. Every muscle fiber is alive and livid, standing at attention for this war I am waging.
“I just wanted to let you know that they found DNA evidence.” She says. “He denied it before that, but when the hospital showed the reports, he admitted to being with you, but says it was consensual.” She says. I remember the translator. She is a sweet woman who translated for me back in Korea, when I testified on camera.
“Then how is anything he says believable when he lied and denied it at first? Shouldn’t that invalidate whatever he says?” I ask, disgust growing in my chest.
“I know. But wait until we are on record, then say that.” She says. “We can begin now.” I can hear a woman speaking Korean in the background. “I will be translating what is being said for you. They said, how this is going to work is they will question you, then him, and so on. You may not interrupt or respond to him, just reply to what we ask you. Ah, he wants to say something to you. Is that okay?”
“Okay.” I say, the word bitter in my mouth.
When he speaks, I feel sick to my stomach. Even though I can’t understand what he is saying, just knowing that he is speaking to me once again, brings every horrible memory back.
“He says that he does not understand why you are doing like this, why you are trying to ruin his life. He is an English teacher and must support his family, so please reconsider. Why are you trying to arrest me when it was consensual?” The translator says. Her English is not perfect, but I understand clearly enough.
“How was it consensual if I filed a police report? You must understand the situation, since you denied it at first.” I am so angry. I am so furious that I can barely talk, but that anger is the only thing holding me together.
“We will begin questioning now.” The translator says to me after telling him my response. “Can you tell us what happened on October 19?”
“I was out with a few friends at a club near our dorms. One of the girls and I were drinking together with this bartender’s friend, and when we left the club and went to a bar, the girl started to feel sick. Everyone else was taking care of her, and they said after that, I disappeared. They said I kept saying I wanted to go back to the dorms, so they assumed I went back. I don’t remember leaving the bar, but I remember someone helping me up from the sidewalk. I was sitting down because I didn’t feel well, so when I felt someone helping me up, I thought they would help me get back to my room. I was barely conscious, but I remember throwing up on the street and falling, scraping my knee, but after that, there is a hole in my memory. Next thing I know, I was in an unfamiliar room. It looked like a hotel room. A man I had never met before was there.”
“What happened next?”
I try to take deep breaths. I already know they want me to say it out loud, but it makes me want to throw up. I repeat every detail I can remember from that night for them, being as specific and explicit as possible. My heart is beating so quickly that I think it is going to explode.
“I don’t remember everything, but that is what I do remember from that night.” I say.
“Thank you. We will begin cross questioning him. Describe how you met Miss Lei.”
“He says he found you on a bench on the street. He wanted to help you, and you were very drunk, so he brought you to a motel. You took your clothes off and started kissing him, so he asked you if you were sure, and you said yes. He says that you guys did everything you described, but that it was consensual.”
Everything stops.
“No.” I say. “No. I was barely conscious. If I could barely walk and was throwing up how could I possibly be in a mood to have sex with a man I didn’t know? How could I do those things when I could barely walk? I just wanted to sleep, I did not want to do any of the things he said.” I can’t see straight anymore. The world is red, bleeding at the too dark edges. “And no, I remember him taking my clothes off. I did not take off anything, I was too drunk to move. Why would I willingly sleep with someone older than my dad?”
“They just asked him your question.” She says. “He says he didn’t know you were twenty, he thought you were twenty-two. And when he first met you, you were wearing a low-cut shirt, and you were a foreigner, so he thought you were more open-minded.”
“Does it matter if I was twenty or twenty two? I’m still young enough to be his daughter’s age. It doesn’t matter what I was wearing. I was a foreigner, I didn’t know where I was, and I was vulnerable. He took advantage of that. He is a predator.”
I hear him yelling in the background. Someone yells something back, and then it quiets down.
“They are continuing with the questioning.” The translator says. “He says, afterwards, he went to the bathroom and showered. When he came out, you were asleep on the bed. They asked what he did then? He says he started touching you, and when you woke up, you guys talked. He told you that you were very pretty, like this famous singer, and he showed you pictures of her on his phone. Do you remember this?”
I want to laugh and cry in disgust. If anyone said these kinds of things in the US, that would be enough to prove their guilt. “No, I don’t remember that. I was asleep, so how was it okay for him to touch me? Tell him he is disgusting.”
“What happened when you woke up?”
I tell them that terrible morning as best as I can. I say it all in one go, because I don’t know how much more I can take.
“Thank you, we have everything we need from you. We will continue questioning the defendant, so you can stay and listen, but you are free to go.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. My heart is still aching and pounding, but I made it; I did it, once again.
“He would like to say one thing to you before you go. He says please do not punish him, because it will be his family that suffers.”
“His family?” My blood turns cold. “What about mine? How can he possibly sit here and ask me to think about the well-being of his family, when he can’t even think about the trauma he has caused mine?”
My heart is beating so quickly that I feel light-headed. All of the sudden, time stretches out before me. It has only been a month, but it has been the longest, weariest battle of my life. I see myself standing in my room, so furious at the man on the other side of the phone, and all of the times I have had to experience it all over again just to try to get justice. And it is not even guaranteed. The heat, that rage and bitterness, disappears and snaps. Everything freezes. I wait for time, my body, to unfreeze, but it doesn’t. Instead, I don’t feel anything at all. Just numbness, empty. And suddenly, I am exhausted. I am so tired of fighting, of holding on and hoping for something better. There is no end, and nothing will ever change. The tiredness enters my bones. I don’t care about this. I can’t care anymore.
And it feels good. This whole hour I felt like I was being stabbed repeatedly: little cuts on my face, slashes on my back, a plunging wound into my heart. But now, the pain is gone. His words don’t hurt me anymore, because I don’t care.
I want to laugh with this newfound power. But when I try to stretch my lips into a smile, I am too tired to do that either.
Panic sets in. Or at least, the closest feeling that I can identify as panic, since I have a vague suspicion that I should be feeling a lot more than I currently do. This numbness is terrifying. What is wrong with me? Will I be stuck like this forever, trapped in an emotional limbo of apathy? Will I never be able to be happy again?
But even as I think these thoughts, they feel distant, far away, so detached that I wonder if they really matter at all. Does any of it matter? Maybe not feeling anything is a blessing in disguise, because now, when the memories are flooding my brain, it does not hurt.
I can hear water from the shower running, the hot buzz of the hair dryer, and his voice, asking me over and over again if I want to shower, if I want to get some food. I can feel the numbness in my body that prevented me from moving, see the blurry view of a man breathing heavily on top of me, the horror that I am not supposed to be here settling deeper and deeper until I want to blow my brains out just so I don’t have to be here.
But I am. I was. And nothing can, or will, change that.
I can’t take it. I go to my closet and reach into my backpack in the corner. I feel a plastic corner. There. I grab it. The shrooms look as dry and unappetizing as when Chloe first gave them to me, but I need to feel something, anything. I pop one in my mouth, chew, and swallow. It tastes disgusting, but I do not care.
I thought I hated the rage that almost split my chest open, the misery that swallowed me whole, but now that I am empty, I almost miss it. It feels like my head is submerged underwater, the weight of the world holding me down, and every breath I take is full of liquid. I am drowning in myself, in a dark pit in my mind, and everything seems pointless; I can’t see a future for me. I never knew what I wanted my future to look like, but now, I can’t even think of something worth living for, or what happiness even looks like. I don’t want to keep living if it feels like this.
I open my desk drawer. My pocket knife sits wedged between the side and a pencil case. I pick it up, feel the comforting weight of it in my hand. I open it and run my finger along the jagged blade. It is dull, but sharp enough to hurt, to draw blood. I press the cold metal against the pale skin of my inner wrist.
I want to slice my skin open and bleed myself dry, but my hands are trembling too much.
I slam the knife into my desk. Everything hurts, and I can’t make it stop. I wish I stopped myself because I am strong, but I know it is because I am a coward. And because of that weakness, I have to keep existing. Not living, existing.
When the shrooms hit, it cascades over and in me with the force of enlightenment. And at first, it is amazing. My whole body seizes up in a rapturous spell of pleasure so intense and awesome that all I can do is marvel at my flesh and my bedroom walls and the world.
It is around 11 pm that the divine inspiration enters me, making my tongue heavy with accents (British, Australian, Southern, and so forth). All I can do is breathe and let the feelings of physical transcendence wash over all of my senses as lines warp and touch is music. Breathing is an act of self-love and devotion, honoring this human body and life. Laughs rip from my chest and ripple through my limbs.
Suddenly I am shocked out of this first-hand perspective and dissociated into helping spirits of the Under, the Unveiled. I am Nova’s captor and jailor, but also her, but also every other person in my life. The present, past, dreams, and reality collided into a mind-blowing Truth of time and sanity, revealing that everything is connected in this giant loop weaving images and visions from fictional stories, movies, media, dreams half forgotten and then fully remembered, and memories. All of this elevates my mind to a spiritual level so sophisticated and high that I am going insane and losing my mind, but I lean into it and the thrill of it. Losing myself in the pleasures of this world is as easy as it is hard to live. My state of mind is like the prolonged state caught between sleeping and waking, clarity woven through the golden threads of unreality.
I keep trying to communicate these wonderful visions to my phone by making voice memos and typing in notes, but there is simply no way of doing so effectively; Truth slips in and out of my consciousness, like fleeting and ephemeral daydreams.
Time moves so slowly; at one point I believe I am time traveling. Each minute is as long as an hour, and I just want my heart to stop beating so quickly and my body to stop trembling and my stomach to stop hurting. I am dying, and I know it. I fight through the confusion and the madness, holding onto bits and ends of nothing to keep Nova’s body alive.
I am scared of some bigger presence, as if I know I am tripping hard and someone might catch me and call the police and bring me to a hospital all for me to die…slowly and madly. Since I am one with everything and everyone, people such as Chloe and Grace start to seem more and more unreal, and the loss of myself seems greater and more profound.
I am the Truth. The Truth is in me. I lose it and find it, then lose it again as I dissolve and melt into a puddle of knowing.
There is a message for Nova, that this life is a gift that I chose, a beautiful hardship and lesson for my soul. This new creature, it’s so poetic. How it feels to be alive, in this city, in this time, never again will I be alive like this, no, not like this. I am so in love with that feeling. What feeling? That feeling that these wings were born to fly, not born to your sins, so let me be free. Now. Now, now, now.
I just keep trying to sleep but it is like super-meditation and survival – my thoughts are in a southern accent right now and I need sleep but I don’t want to die. I just keep repeating names like a savior grace even though I don’t have a religion, but by god I love a good story.
Shhhh.
I am still alive and going nowhere. Maybe I will regret this later (I know I do now) but it’s too late for all of those types of doubts. No more. I am already this far, look how far! I can finally see, I have my vision back. These hallucinations are perfect in how bullshitted it is.
I am okay. It is going to be okay. It’s getting better, thank god. Why won’t it turn to day already?
It is 3 am, but my body is not tired. Quite the opposite. I can’t sleep, nor do I want to. I put on the softest sweatpants I can find that are still clean, a tank top, and my biggest, fluffiest sweater. I don’t want to think about what else I need to bring, so I leave with nothing but myself.
Sneaking down the stairs to the empty and dark foyer is scary. I keep thinking I am going to wake my parents up, but I make it out of the door.
Outside, the world is asleep. Everything is bruised black and blue, with the occasional yellow or white light shining through the dark. The streets are eerily empty, void of any movement aside from trash blowing in the wind and bare branches swaying. Feeling daring and nostalgic all at once, I walk in the middle of the street, my feet gliding over the pavement and my arms swinging, and wish I brought my phone so that I could listen to A World Alone by Lorde. I laugh at myself. What a fucking cliche.
“Get out of the street! Are you crazy?” A taxi driver honks me and zooms past, flipping me off and shaking his head as he glares at me from his rear view mirror.
I get back on the sidewalk. When I left the house, I had no idea where I was going, or why I left in the first place. But my feet know, and they are taking me to Hale. I want to see him, and have him tell me that everything is going to be alright. Because I am still fucked up and sky high, and maybe I walked into the middle of the street wishing that a taxi would hit me.
What seems like a few instances later, I stand outside of Hale’s apartment.
“Hale.” I say, cupping my mouth to the door crack. “Open up.”
I press my ear to the door. I hear scuffling, and a faint thump.
“Hale.” I repeat. “Please.”
I turn my back to the wall and slide down, putting my hand over my face. Why did I think coming here in the middle of the night was a good idea?
The lock clicks open.
“Nova?”
I look up in excitement, then confusion.
“Grace?”
“Are you okay? What are you doing here?” Grace asks, helping me up from the floor.
“Thanks.” We go into the apartment. The bedroom door is closed, and one lamp light is on.
“He’s not here, just in case you were wondering. He’s at his uncle’s place.” She sits me down on the couch.
“I wasn’t looking for him.” I say.
“Sure. That’s why you showed up at his door at 4 am.” She rolls her eyes. I scowl. “Nova, you’re freezing.” She touches my arm. “How long were you outside?”
“I am?” I touch my face and arms, but my hands are numb. “I think I walked here, but I’m not sure.”
“D-?” She gets up and goes behind the counter to the cabinet. “Nova?”
“What?” I blink.
“I asked if you want some tea.” Grace says. “Are you okay? You don’t look okay.” She comes back and sits down next to me, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. I want to tell her she looks like Bert from Sesame Street, but I think that might offend her.
“I’m feeling great.” I say. “Never been more fantastic.” I wave my arms around the air like airplanes. “I’m in outer space.” I whisper. I don’t understand why she looks so concerned.
“Okay, I’ve decided I don’t even want to know what you’re on right now, but you’re coming with me.” She lifts me up.
“Where are we going?” I ask. “And also, why are you here?”
“I just needed some time alone before going home to face my parents, and Hale said I could stop by. I’m taking you to a shrink. Not really, but she’s amazing, you’ll see.”
“You’re avoiding your parents? You? Did you get in trouble, or are you hiding something? Either way, I’m shocked.” I look at her in wonder. “Wait, you have a shrink?”
“What, is it so unbelievable that I have problems?” Grace looks at me.
“A little, yeah.” I say. “Ever since we were kids you’ve always been better at me at everything, and you always felt the need to shove it in my face. You literally just got accepted into medical school.”
“I don’t even know if I want to be a doctor. Did you know that? All my life, I feel like I have never had a choice. There is this pressure to achieve with no regard for my own happiness, only stability and success. You sit here and complain about how you don’t know what to do, there are so many options, you’re so overwhelmed, well guess what? The pursuit of happiness is a privilege that you aren’t even appreciating. You get to major in graphic design and even consider becoming an artist, a profession my parents would never allow me to even think about because it “doesn’t make any money.””
We are back out on the dark street, but I barely notice. We look at each other, both of us so angry, so livid with frustration and pent up resentment. Suddenly, I want to laugh.
“Do you know why I drew so much?” I ask. She shakes her head. “I drew because it was the one thing you couldn’t beat me at. You just moved from Taiwan, and you told me you didn’t know how to draw because you were so busy. Art was my superpower, and as messed up as it is, it made me feel better than you.”
Grace tightens her arm around my waist and lowers her head.
“Why did you want to be better than me?” She asks.
I pause, taken aback by the question. It always seemed so obvious that I never asked myself that, but now that I have to answer, I can’t think why.
“I was jealous.”
“Jealous? Of me?” Grace says incredulously. “Why?”
“I don’t know, you were everything I wished I could be more like. I felt like you were outshining me, and that I didn’t stand a chance. I guess I felt like I needed to prove something to you, or my parents, or everyone, I don’t know.”
“Nova, do you know how badly I wanted you to like me? I didn’t do all of the same things as you to compete with you, or make you look bad. I wanted to be your friend. You were so cool, you always had so many friends, and I didn’t understand why you didn’t like me. At first I thought it was because we had nothing in common, so I asked my mom if I could do ballet with you. But every time I tried to get close to you, the more it seemed like you hated me. Do you know how hard being so lonely is? You start hating everything about yourself, because something must be wrong with you for no one to like you.”
“I’m sorry, Grace.” I don’t know what else to say, but I mean it. “I don’t think there is anything wrong with you, if that matters.”
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
“I just wish we could’ve been closer, you know?”
“Yeah, that would’ve been nice.” I look up at the sky. I want to see the stars, but that is asking too much from New York City. Fuck light pollution.
“We’re here.”
In front of us is a closed noodle restaurant. Grace opens a door tucked into the side of the wall, and we ascend into the darkness.
The thick scent of incense lingers in the stairwell. The exit sign casts a red glow on the walls and my skin, and I feel like I am dissolving into the floor. I grip Grace’s arm tightly.
“One more flight.” She says.
At the top, we enter through an iron gate and a thin wooden door behind it to a dimly lit room filled with Buddhist relics and large crystals. Plants hang from the ceiling in little ceramic pots, the leaves and vines trailing down to the floor; geometric tapestries drape over the windows and walls; and the sound of water from a little stone fountain trickles throughout the room.
“Welcome.” A short woman with graying hair and deep blue framed glasses appears from behind a curtain of stringed lights. “I got your emergency text, Grace. It’s good to see you.” Her voice is deep and melodious, like if an opera singer smoked weed daily.
“My, my, what do we have here?” She circles around us, looking me up and down. “You’ve got quite a woman with you, dear. Come, sit.” She gestures at a mound of throw pillows on the floor.
“I am Dr. Wu, a spiritual healer who has a professional background in holistic and traditional medicine. I understand you’re going through a tough time right now.” She looks at me empathetically. “What you went through must have been so hard.”
“How did you know?” I ask, amazed.
“I can see it in your face. Your mouth and eyes are so stiff, like you’re used to controlling and hiding your emotions.”
It is as if I had been waiting for this moment, for someone to see my suffering and comfort me, not criticize or avoid the topic. I was not aware I was doing it, but once she points it out, I realize she is right. All at once, my face relaxes, and the true weight of the corners of my lips bring tears to my eyes. Why does being honest with myself hurt so much?
“There you go, allow yourself to be sad. There is nothing weak about being vulnerable. In fact, it takes a lot of courage, and is one of the most trying things you can do.” Dr. Wu says. “Drink this, and close your eyes.” She hands me a steaming cup of dark amber liquid.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It will help you open up to yourself. Close your eyes, and try to relax.”
I take a deep breath. When I close my eyes, I feel like my body is floating in a black void, and Dr. Wu’s voice is my only tether back to earth.
“Think of your pain.”
Blame, isolation, guilt, anger, fear. I squeeze my eyes against the onslaught of emotions, desperately trying to remain calm.
“Don’t fight it. Feel everything, observe it, and let it go.”
I breathe in, try again. I let the hate in, all of my hate for the world, and all of my hate for myself. In the beginning, the hate was a natural protective mechanism. But when I feel it now, it is indistinguishable from the disgust and self-loathing that has been festering in my heart. The hate is no longer comforting, it is maddening.
Gravity comes crashing down, shoving me deeper into the layers of suffocating darkness. I want to open my eyes, I want to wake up from this nightmarish dream, or maybe reality, but I no longer know how.
Help. I try to say, but my mouth won’t move.
Hello again. The darkness purrs.
Who are you?
Who am I? What a funny question. You know who I am.
What are you?
What am I? Enough with these stupid questions, there is something more important that must be asked, and needs an answer. Your very life depends on it. What do you see?
Someone is in the distance. No, a lot of people. Help! We’re being attacked, they’re going to kill us! Please, someone, anyone, do something! Why are you all laughing? Where are you going? Come back, don’t leave me alone. Why didn’t they help? What did I do wrong? The very ground is covered in breathing corpses, and everyone is walking right on us. Stop it. Stop. Please, it hurts, we’re dying!
That’s right, you’re dying. Stop crying, stand up straight, and listen closely. Are you listening?
Yes.
A great darkness dwells within you. Something was stolen from you, ripped from your soul and shattered. That vital thing was trust. Without trust, you will always be alone, and there will always be a place in you where I can live. You will perpetually live in fear of the day you will be made to endure the same pain, and that fear is paralyzing. Stop pretending to be okay, stop running.
But how?
Accept that you will never be the same, but know you alone have the power to determine who you become. Or your demons will eat you alive.
HALE
My legs are about to go out, and I still have three more blocks to walk. It is half past midnight and the city is asleep and full of dreams.
After what seems like an hour, I stagger up the steps, wait for the elevator, lean into the corner as I go up, fumble with the keys, throw my clothes on the floor, and collapse on my bed. My eyes droop closed, ready to fall into deep sleep.
“Hale.”
I jump up, now fully awake. The room is dark, and the only thing I can see is a figure limned with moonlight by the window, swathed in shadows.
“Stay back, I have a gun.” I slowly move towards the door.
“No, you don’t.” She snorts.
“Nova?” I say in disbelief.
“Yes, nerd, it’s me.” She holds her phone up to illuminate her face. “See?”
“You scared the living crap out of me.” I sit back on the bed, my legs going weak.
“I really hope not.” She mumbles under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Nice boxers, by the way.” She looks down at the choking hazard print on my underwear. Of all the days I decide to wear Jack’s stupid gift, of course it had to be today.
“You really like them?” I say, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush giving away my embarrassment in the dark.
“No.” She says deadpan. “Anyway, I’m sorry for scaring you.” Suddenly, she seems awkward and shy, and I get the urge to hug her and tell her everything is alright.
“Are you okay? How long have you been here?” I ask.
“Grace dropped me off ten minutes ago, but I couldn’t make myself go home. I don’t know, something about being there makes me feel trapped. I can’t take it.”
“And being here all alone is better?” I sit down next to her.
“At least when I’m alone I don’t need to pretend I’m okay. I’m so tired, Hale. I’m so tired of smiling and acting like it’s not a lie.” She looks blankly at the wall. “Can I stay? Just for tonight.” She turns to me. How can I say no to those eyes, so wide and glistening with unshed tears?
“Of course. Stay for as long as you need, however many times you want.”
“Thank you.” She squeezes my hand.
“Do your parents know you’re here?” I ask.
“No, they haven’t called.” She shrugs.
“You should give them a call. You don’t need to go home, but they’re probably worried sick.”
“They don’t care.” Her voice hardens.
“ Yes, they do, and you know it.” I say. I know she is angry when she gets up.
“Stop. If they really cared, they would ask me how I’m doing, or check up on me when I go out. Why do they need to know where I am now, when they don’t care enough to ask themselves? All I want is their support, but they ignore my problems so that I’m forced to be strong for myself. Don’t they get that they’re making everything worse? I just need one person, one fucking person, to be on my side right now. They make me feel more lonely in a house of three than in a room alone. You don’t understand.” Her breaths are coming out hard and fast.
“You’re right, I don’t understand. I wish I could text my dad that I got home safe, but he’s with his other family in Jersey.” I say angrily. “That’s right, I saw my dad.”
“Hale, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” She says. She sits back down and puts her hand on my shoulder tentatively. “I don’t know what’s going on with me lately.”
I take a deep breath.
“No, I’m sorry. I visited my dad the other day, and I took it out on you.” I run my hands through my hair, and try to breathe as deeply as possible. “But seriously, don’t take your parents for granted anymore. They might not show it, but they love you.”
Nova nods.
“What happened when you visited your dad?” She asks.
“I got accepted to MIT’s aerospace program, but I don’t have enough funds even with the money from working part time at the bar. My dad has my share of my mom’s will in his control, so I went to talk to him about it, and he agreed to give it to me. It’ll be more than enough to cover tuition costs.” The words feel surreal as they leave my mouth.
“That’s amazing, Hale. Congratulations on getting accepted, I know that’s been your dream forever.”
“Thanks. But I don’t know. The conversation didn’t exactly end well, and what if I’m not good enough to make it on my own as an aerospace engineer? Then I’ll have wasted all of my mom’s money when I should’ve just listened to my dad and moved to work for him.” I say.
“But Hale, this is an opportunity. Even if the chance is small, take it. This is your future we’re talking about, not a small decision like whether or not you want coffee today. So what if it leads to nothing and you fail? At least you tried to live your own life, on your own terms.” She says earnestly.
The fire in her words lights a spark in my heart. She’s right. I might end up looking like a fool, but it’s worth the risk.
“You make me do all kinds of impulsive, irrational, crazy things, but you make it all make sense. Where would I be without you, November Yu?” I say. I watch her throat bob up and down as she swallows, the way she meets my gaze, then drops to stare at my lips.
“Don’t look at me like that.” She says. “Not when you have a girlfriend.”
“What?” I ask, confused. “What girlfriend?”
She looks at me as if I lost my head.
“Grace.” She says. “My cousin.”
Oh shit. That’s what she is thinking about? I can’t stop myself from laughing. She glares at me.
“What’s so funny?” She slaps my arm.
“We’re not actually dating. I can’t tell you the details, but we made a deal. I wanted to know how you were doing in Korea, you were still keeping touch with her, and she wanted her parents to think we were dating.”
Nova furrows her brows.
“So you don’t have feelings for each other?” She asks carefully, glancing up at me.
“No, I was just helping her out with a favor.” I say. She raises her eyebrows. “I promise we didn’t so much as kiss. Why, were you jealous?” I tease.
“No. You wish.”
“Admit it, you were jealous.” I laugh.
“I wasn’t!” She says indignantly, hitting my arm.
I catch her wrist before she can slap me again. She struggles against my grip, pushing and pulling at my hand, getting more out of breath by the second, heating the air between us. Just when I’m about to let go, she shoves into me and we fall back on the bed.
I don’t know who moved first, but we crash into each other like waves. Her mouth is on mine, hot and electrified; our bodies mold to each other, fitting together in perfect symmetry. The smell of her hair stirs my blood, and the intensity with which I want her is so overwhelming that it terrifies me. We kiss with the ferocity of desperation and hunger, as if whatever has been holding us back has finally broken down and we can’t contain ourselves anymore. Nothing but the weight of her body on mine matters in this moment. I pull her closer, and flip her onto her back, kissing the soft spot on her neck. She arches into me, digging her heels into my back and gripping my hair. I run my hands over the length of her body.
“Halcyon.” She says against my lips. My name in her mouth is the utter undoing of me. Circling her waist with my hands, I make my way down between her legs.
“Is this okay?” I stop and look up.
“Yes.” She sits up and kisses me, pressing her chest against mine. “Wait.” She says. I pull back. She stares at the ceiling, her breaths coming in and out fast, curls into a ball and squeezes her eyes shut.
“November.” I move away to give her space. “It’s me. You’re safe.”
Trembling, she hugs her knees. I slowly sit next to her and stroke her back.
“Are you okay?” I ask. She shakes her head. “Do you want to talk about it?” She shakes her head.
“Should I stop?” I pause, lifting my hand from her back.
“Don’t stop.” She whispers. “I want to see your face.” She says.
It’s a strange request, but I want to do everything I can to make her feel better. I lay down next to her, so that we’re facing each other. She studies my face, like she’s checking to see if it’s really me, then shuts her eyes forcefully. A tear slips out.
I pull her close in a hug and cradle her head to my chest. Her heart beat is fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings: quick and light.
“I’m sorry.” She mumbles, hiding her face in my chest.
“For what?” I stroke her hair.
“For being broken.”
Sharp pain spears through my heart.
“Don’t say sorry. You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, okay? You’re not broken. Someone hurt you, and that says everything there is to know about what kind of person they are, but that doesn’t reflect anything about you.” I hold her tight, as if I could press the parts of her that are falling apart back together. But I know that is only a fantasy, and that I shouldn’t try to fix her. She isn’t something to fix, but what I can do is give her the kind of space that allows her to express how she really feels, no matter how hard it is for me to witness.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. And I can’t help but wonder if there was something I could’ve done differently so that I wouldn’t be tormented like this. What did I do wrong?” She says.
“You did nothing wrong. It’s not your fault.” I say.
She shivers, then finally sobs, like those were the words she needed to hear.
“It’s not your fault.”
Her whole body shudders in my arms as her tears drench the sheets beneath us, and I hold her in my arms hoping that I can be her island in this deep ocean.
