Mystery Girl

Home 2

Hot. Too hot. Still in a trance from sleep, y/n kicks off the covers and rolls onto her side. Pressing her face into the pillow, she attempts to continue her peaceful dreaming. Despite her earnest attempts, consciousness starts to creep back in; alerting her back to reality and all the worries that she had fallen asleep with. 

Unable to contain her frustration, a sigh escapes from her lips, pushing the hot air away. Before she realises what she is doing, she is sat up, staring at the light peeking from behind the blind. 

The night air is suffocating, but there is no escape from it. It seeps into her and causes beads of sweat to sit on her skin, a layer of discomfort. 

Sitting in the dark seems to be the only option, drowning in the haze of humidity. 

Maybe it is only two minutes, maybe it is two hours that y/n stares into space going in circles in her mind, a carousel of thoughts. You're being ridiculous, you have to move on, what were you expecting? This isn't a dream, this is reality. 

Light blinds her as she checks the time in vain, willing the arrival of a new day. 4:03am the phone displays in mocking brightness. Ugh, whatever. 

She is up in an instant, scrambling for the light and a scrap piece of paper to desecrate with her ranting. 

Dear piece of paper,

My dreams came true momentarily only to have them all crash down around my in splinters of hope. If there is a divine power out there, is this the punishment for all of my sins? Will I ever see Jungkook again? No, I'm being dramatic. I literally have his number. STOP COMPLAINING. Really, can I ever be satisfied? I just don't know how I am supposed to function normally after all of this, how can I just go back to the way I lived before?

Her head slams down onto the desk, mild pain distracting her momentarily. 

What even is the point of sitting here moping when she could simply get some rest and work towards making her way back to Korea? You're not stuck in this reality. She reminds herself desperately. Everything will work out. Whatever is meant to be will. 

Despite the useless affirmations, y/n hauls herself to the kitchen, raiding the cabinets to see what they hold within. "Perfect." she whispers, holding a bottle of wine up to her face. Trawling through the kitchen, she grabs a glass haphazardly, almost dropping it in her tired state. 

Lowering herself into a chair blindly, y/n reaches over to turn the lamp on and relishes the warm glow that emanates through the room. Carefully, she pours the sparkling liquid into her glass, watching the bubbles fizz to the top. 

Placing the glass down on the wooden surface of her table, y/n screws the lid back onto the bottle, conscious of spilling. With the bottle on the floor, y/n lifts the glass to her lips, tipping her head back and swallowing the wine in bitter gulps, feeling her body repulse. The warmth that spreads through her skin feels like a comforting blanket and she smiles to herself, her head beginning to feel lighter.

What an earth is this piercing light? Has the alien invasion finally arrived? Y/n rolls onto her front in confusion, blinking heavily and feeling a pounding reflecting the rhythm of her heart. Ughhhhh. 

Once somewhat conscious, the realisation sets in that the blinding light is plain morning light filtering through the window and the banging in her head was not part of some background song, but a side effect of the illness consuming her body. Lying face down in despair, regret was the only emotion that she was capable of feeling.

Why was this a good idea again? On what god forsaken earth would drinking myself to sleep help with anything? Could there even be anything more pathetic? 

It was all so ironic, all so pointless, that in trying to forget she had left herself a reminder for the rest of the day.

I have to get back to work soon.

This thought haunted her mind, pushing her further into her mattress, wishing that she would never have to move again; that this would be her permanent residence, wallowing in regret and spite. She had today and tomorrow to recover before having to face those children she had left so excitedly. Y/n wanted to do what was right for them, to give them the quality teaching that they more than deserved, but how could she pull herself together in such a short amount of time? Did she even have her teaching notes organised? 

I'll never escape the dread of homework.

 For all the joys of teaching, writing up teaching plans and marking essays were not on the list. They had to be done. They surely would not do themselves. Disappointed and uninterested faces of children when they have to sit through another loosely planned, lack-of-passion class would be devasting to witness, y/n simply couldn't face that. 

Just two more hours. Two more hours of sleep. Please lord above grant me this rest. 

Picking up her phone lazily, y/n shoots into an upright position. 

Fuck.

Author's Note

Well hey there! It has been a hot minute lol. I have been in my exam year at school before university so do not have the free time that I used to have. I still intend on finishing this story even though I am not who I was dreaming about BTS at 13 years old. I hope that there will still be people around to read and that my absence will be excused :)