Mirror

A m I W r o n g

|| e d i t e d ||

"Am I wrong? Where am I going? The world's going crazy" ~ BTS, Am I Wrong

And though it's not BTS:

"I'm in blurred thoughts. Why is everything getting harder again? . . . Come back to me again. Cause without you, there's no me anymore . . . Sorry, for this selfish self of mine. Sorry, even if I'm late already" ~ The Rose, Sorry

내가 잘못

A m I W r o n g

~ Jae-hyun ~

MINE AND JI-HAN'S ROOM SMELLS OF SMOKE.

I don't think the lingering parasitic scent is from me. Within the maze of truth and white lies in my head there is no memory of ever lighting or smoking a cigarette. Of course, I usually don't remember any of that anyway, regardless of whether it occurred or not. But I can't ignore the nagging feeling that despite being unable to tell reality from the many scenarios my thoughts create, I am not the one behind this.

That would mean that our mother was in here, carrying the suffocating stench of nicotine around with her the same way she carries her long-lasting disappointment in me. She won't have been here for me though. Nothing she does is ever for me. She would have entered this room for Ji-han. Whether to collect him, ask him something, or mourn over his departure, I don't know.

Just like I don't know if Ji-han is here. I don't even know if such a thing is possible. But the hand that dangles loosely over the edge of his bunk - nothing but a solid shadow in the dark - proves otherwise.

"Ji," I murmur into the silence, unable to hear his familiar, steady breathing. It's odd but there is no sound audible other than that of my own heartbeat ringing in my ears. It's not raining for the first time in weeks, too, and the comforting sound of water droplets pelting the window is unheard of tonight. The lack of noise sets me on edge. I'm probably imagining it, but our room seems unusually quiet. Too quiet.

Ji-han doesn't answer. Although as if to soothe my conscience, a faint buzzing picks up. Like the gentle, incessant hum of cicadas in the summertime, it echoes off every available surface. However, something feels off. The noise is centered around my brother's bunk.

Running my stubby nails along my uninjured forearm, I fling my legs over the edge of my bed. The carpeted floor doesn't feel like carpet beneath my bare feet. Instead, the dust ridden strands are compact like damp dirt. I shake my head, desperately trying to ignore the growing sense of uneasiness worming its way around my gut. Something just doesn't feel right. Ji-han is here, isn't he? If not, then who lies without breath above me?

My hand throbs as I stand. I must have bumped it on the edge of the ladder while reaching blindly to use it as leverage to haul myself up. If what I remember is correct - which it very rarely is - it's been a week since I inflicted the gash myself. A week filled with calls from Jimin that I have yet to answer - my phone having been fixed since being drowned when I collapsed on the street just outside this apartment. A week composed of memories that like two puzzle pieces that don't quite fit together, just don't match up. And another whole week spent living - well, surviving - without Ji-han.

If that's all it takes for me to lose my head, I doubt I'll survive long enough for Ji-han to return. That is, if he hasn't already returned.

"Ji," I call again into the dark. I'm desperate now. Like a lost soul urgently searching for the body that holds them to reality before they fade away entirely. Perhaps he never enlisted? Maybe he never left? Am I wrong about everything that has happened in the world over the last few months?

Atop his bed lies a figure, but I can't quite make out their face. It could be Ji-han, it really, honestly could be, but I can't yet see any of his distinguishing features. Surrounding him like a thundercloud, there is a sweeping black haze that shields him from my view. It shifts about, swirling through the air the same way water does when you pull the plug from the sink and it is dragged down the drain. Squinting, I try to get a closer look, hoping to be able to guess at what it is.

An almost tangible combination of regret and pure horror send me stumbling back and bile rises to the back of my throat.

Flies. The black moving mass is a swarm of flies. Hundreds of them buzzing around the could-be body of my brother.

I throw up, doubling over to vomit on the floor. It burns. Tears sting my eyes and trail down my cheeks, and there is a hot, bitter aftertaste lingering on my tongue. I cough, spluttering as pockets of air get caught in my trachea. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

I understand now why the ground feels like dirt rather than carpet; why I couldn't hear his usually even breathing.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I stare at the corpse lying where my brother should be. It has his face: his slightly rounded cheeks, his full lips so alike my own, and his dark, almond-shaped eyes, glassy and vacant as all eyes appear to be after death. It wears his uniform, the name tag sewn onto the fabric just above his right breast pocket - above his still heart - reading his name. But it's not him. It can't be.

Somewhere, someone is screaming. Not words, but a high pitched siren of gut-wrenching dread. My hands fly to cover my ears, pressing them violently into my skull as if somehow the pain will deafen the noise and the frantic alarm of my thoughts. It isn't until my father throws the door open with enough force for the handle to mark the wall that I realise the person screaming is me.

He reaches for me, but where his hands touch my body, all I can feel is the cold, lifeless grip of a corpse. Shuddering fiercely, my knees give way. It doesn't matter how many times I blink, the dead body is still there, the eyes, Ji-han's eyes, still staring into nothing.

"Jae-hyun!" My father barks, shaking my shoulders lightly, his own dark orbs wide with fear. He must not see the body who looks exactly like his favourite son and lies in his favourite son's bed. If he did, I'm sure his fear wouldn't be directed towards me. "What's wrong?"

His words are lost to the loudness of my own mind. Everything is. Ji-han or the dead man who bears his face. The acidic, putrid smell of vomit. The swarming, black cloud of flies. I can no longer see or hear anything but darkness and my panicky thoughts, arriving in waves of brutality and surging uncontrollably through the confines of my head space.

Am I wrong? Am I wrong about my brother? Am I wrong in thinking he is gone forever? Am I wrong in imagining that he will never return home? Am I even imagining all of this? Am I wrong?

What is even real anymore?