I kind of want to see her, Taeyeon tells me out of the blue.
My eyes flicker up to her, slightly wickedly, since I realized that I have control in this.
More control than last when her possession burned my flesh.
It is nothing now, I have triumphed.
She tells me this, not in any kind of pleading voice, because Kim Taeyeon does not plead.
But she tells me, and now I know everything.
I want to see her, she repeats.
She's resting, I nonchalantly say.
Taeyeon stands up abruptly; I do not lift my head from my notebook to peer at her, because I can already see her face.
A mix of anguish and frustration that she does not have the freedom to hurt anymore, or do I say, love, anymore.
I still keep silent as the guards settle her down and I can hear nasty language being tossed in my direction.
Even so, I say nothing.
Tension rises.
What else did you do to her, Taeyeon?
I speak slowly, my question slithers in the tall grass of uncertainty and will sneak behind Taeyeon for a strike.
She no longer has the power, and I suppose some of her sadistic blood has seeped into my bloodstream, for I enjoyed her twisted face.
Her helpless eyes growing larger at the fact she has been overthrown in the grand scheme of life that she used to have control over.
Because that life is safe from her hands forever.
But Kim Taeyeon does not back down at the first sign of danger, no, she uses it, and she uses it well.
I cower slightly in my seat, involuntarily, as she answers.
Everything is a twist and a turn into a surprise, negatively.
She asks herself my question, what else did she do to Tiffany?
She pleased her, she says, she pleasured her.
My skin heats up at the implications and suddenly my pen feels slippery between my fingers, I do not arouse easily, but the way it slipped off Taeyeon's tongue.
There was something off, it was queer.
There would be times where she knew that she didn't like Jessica as Tiffany thought she did, she thought Tiffany was more beautiful.
Beautiful in a way that you want to destroy, yet it will hurt you when it is stationary.
Like a rose, beautiful in a way until the person who sent it to you is drained of their significance, and you want to toss it away.
Alas, a prick to your finger and you do not forger who you are and sleep for a century, but you feel that sharp sting on your finger for a century.
A reminder that memories stay with you, no matter how much you try to tape them down to the word forget.
You will remember them.
It's the way the human mind works, there are things that cannot be explained, there are too many thing to be explained that no amount of years would be enough.
We can only know what happens right now, this very moment, the rest is history, the rest is the unknown.
You can only remember and anticipate your fate.
