love is bittersweet || ryeji

이 - Ryujin

Today was definitely the day.

Shin Ryujin looked over at the familiar desk beside her bed to the bowl of macaroni and cheese that was probably cold now. But her stomach told her it didn't care. The longer she stared at it, the more the self-doubt started to kick in. What if she broke the bowl? What if she falls off the bed? What if the nurses come in and see her trying to move and board up the bed so she can't even move at all?

She knows she can't do it, but she at least wants to try. She wants to show the nurse that had left it there without feeding it to her that she really could do it. All it would take was a good few minutes of wiggling to the edge, right? Eating it with the small plastic spoon that was stuck inside was way past her now, she didn't feel like using her arms.

Alright, maybe that's not all the way true.

Ryujin felt a little guilty. Guilty because she hasn't been doing the exercises that her parents always think that she's doing. But really, she just sits in this room and stares. At the ceiling, at the walls, at the huge television her parents bought that she doesn't care much for. She knows this room inch for inch by now, every piece of peeled paint, every speck of dust in the corner. If her arms were stronger, she'd be able to draw it from memory without reference.

She busies herself with her thoughts about the world outside. She wonders sometimes, what's her best friend, Yuna, up to? She hadn't visited Ryujin in a long time, so long that two birthdays had passed. She gave up on the comfort that maybe, just maybe, she was dead, and that's why she hasn't visited. But when she was told that Yuna was finishing up highschool early to study in the States, her heart dropped. And that's when she realized that the only friends she's ever going to have are the nonexistent dust bunnies – because the room is super clean – under this bed that she can't even move from.

But she's really okay. She doesn't dwell too much on the sadness aspect of Yuna. She wonders things like if she has a boyfriend, what she's going to study in college. What she remembers most though, is when she introduced Ryujin to what is now her favorite thing. Yuna used to come into her hospital room almost every day, and simply sing to her. It was a new song each time, exposing Ryujin to all sorts of different styles and genres, it kept her hope up when she still thought she was going to get out of here.

Her one wish in life isn't even to get better. She knows she's too sick and can't recover properly, but she doesn't really mind that. Her biggest wish is to stay alive long enough to watch Yuna sing her own song in front of an audience to wow them as much as Ryujin's been. She checks every day too. Searches up 'Yuna' every time she goes to listen to music. She knows that it'll happen one day. It has to happen.

Besides that, Ryujin really wants to be independent.

She hates it when she's fed, when she's bathed, when she's dressed. She wants to do all of those things herself, yet she knows it's impossible. Still, it frustrates her to a point where she ends up refusing to eat, refusing to bathe. It's not like she likes being dirty or anything, but she feels so full of shame that she can't do it. She can't even ask the nurses to take her outside for some fresh air or tell them what kind of food she wants because she knows it'll make her feel like more of a burden than she already does.

She's absolutely useless. And that feeling makes her ask herself everyday: "Why do they still want me around anymore?"

So if she could just eat this macaroni and cheese, she could keep it up a little longer. The self-doubt begins to wither away as she stares harder at the bowl. I can do it.

Ryujin scoots a little towards the edge of the bed, using her elbows to help shift her top half closer and closer to the bowl. I've done it!! Her head is resting on the desk, one arm hanging off the side, and she can smell it. The tangy scent of salty butter and creamy cheese thrown onto soft pasta noodles just makes her mouth water so much that she has to swallow back the saliva and remind herself of what she has to do now. I just have to prop myself up on my arms, stick my head in the bowl, and eat. It was simple, really. At least, the thought of it was.

The short-haired girl grabs onto the handle on the side of the bed and stabilizes herself before straightening out her other arm and resting her weight softly on it. Now, she's able to see the pasta in the bowl clearly, and it looks delicious. She leaned her head down into the bowl, ignoring the way her limbs wobbled.

But before she could take a bite, her arms buckled beneath her, and she began to slide slowly, but uncontrollably, down onto the floor.