Save Me-A Park Chanyeol Love Story

Alternate Ending

Mari's POV

After Iseul explained what had happened, he called the doctor in to check on me. He said that I was fine, but I would need to stay over night just in case, and then I was free to leave first thing tomorrow morning. Iseul insisted on staying the night but I told him to go home and get some sleep, he needed it. I wanted to be alone anyway. Finally, he relented and left, promising to be back early the next morning. Jaehee stayed a little later with me. I told her to go, but she started crying about how she hasn't talked to me in six months and she needed to catch up, so I agreed to let her stay a little longer. She told me how she came every day with Iseul and she would play her music, much to Iseul's annoyance. She played all of the songs by some band called EXO, that she's obsessed with. When I asked why, she shrugged and said that EXO was the cure for everything. That made me laugh and she went on to tell me how she was told that comatose patients can hear everything around them, so she would also play their variety shows all the time. She said she wouldn't be surprised if I was familiar with their names, but of course, I don't know any of their names. How could I?

Finally, she left and I was able to drop my happy façade. The hospital grew quiet and dark as evening passed into night. The nurses came in to check on my i.v. and other things a few times, before bidding me goodnight. I sat in my bed for a moment, before pushing the scratchy sheets aside and standing on shaky feet. I grab onto the pole that the i.v. fluids are attached to and drag it with me to the bathroom. I stand in front of the mirror, shocked at my appearance. My hair is a tangled mess, sticking up in all different directions. My cheeks are sunken and my skin is a sickly pale color, the only contrast being the dark bags underneath my eyes. I don't understand how one can have bags underneath their eyes when they've slept for six months. I splash some water on my face, leaning on the sink, letting my messy hair curtain around me. After a moment, I glance back up at the mirror, and place my palms on my stomach. With shaky hands, I lift my gown enough to get a clear view of my stomach. There is no mark, just clear skin. I let my shirt drop and glance down at my forearm, which is also free of any blemish. I back into the wall and slide to the floor, my vision blurry.

How can this be? I remember everything so clearly, how could it all be a dream? A story made up to entertain me. The boys don't exist. Chanyeol doesn't exist. I created a character who was almost perfect. A man to love, but now he's gone. He was never even there to begin with. None of them were. A chocked sob escapes my lips and after that I find it impossible to stop the rest from bubbling out. I curl up in a ball, sobbing loudly, the pain in my heart almost too much to bear. I lost my family and the boy I love. Is this my punishment for not dying with my brother and parents? Am I meant to live, mourning over the loss of a fictional character created subconsciously for my amusement? Why does it hurt so much, to know that he isn't real? Why does it hurt more to know that I can never hear his laugh again, than the pain of losing my family again. Why is he plaguing my mind? Can't he leave me be? What did I do to deserve this misery? After what feels like hours of crying, my voice is hoarse and my throat aches, but it's nothing compared to the ache in my heart. I feel my puffy eyes swell shut and I slip into an uneasy sleep, my mind plagued with dreams of imperfect boys, in a strange mansion.

"Miss, please wake up. Miss!" I'm shocked awake by a short haired, young nurse, who looks worried. "Are you ok? What are you doing on the floor?" she asks, helping me up.

"I'm fine," I croak out, my voice hoarse from all the crying I did last night. "It was too hot in my bed so I slept in there," I lie as she places me gently on the bed.

"If you were hot then you should've called a nurse! They would've turned the heat down for you," she says and I shrug.

"It's ok," I say and she drops the subject. She takes the i.v. out of my arm and covers up the area it had been in with a bandaid.