"Oh, and believe me, she was well aware of the circumstance in which she had placed herself in. For she knew that her hands were intertwined with the broken boy himself as they pranced, but that was her fault. A fault in which she decided to see the...
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04: While You Were Sleeping Act 1, scene 4
As told by Reuben
IT WAS, PERHAPS, one of those days. Days in which you are intertwined with nothing but the warm sheets of your bed, eyes sealed shut and closed off from the world. You aren't exactly sleepy, as I should say. But instead, you yearn for nothing more but for your vision to be concealed with darkness. A good kind of darkness, I may add.
While my hearing swallows the sounds of the outside world in which I'm no longer conscious in— for the time being, I'm able to consume the sound of the dim sound of an early morning podcast that floats around the air every Saturday morning and the dim noise coming from the cracked television. It's been nearly two years since my brother had his first drink when he became legal at the pub across from the corner café. For it only took a couple shots of vodka and numerous other hard liquor for him to drown in to be able to invite half of the customers back into the apartment.
I can recall that memory from just gazing into the television in which I saved up to buy for the both of us; only for it to be cracked at the bottom right corner weeks later. I took the bus home from a western civilization class that I've decided to take at night since he was oddly not there waiting for me. When the class was dismissed I remember desperately craving for my black sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and chamomile tea; only found out where my brother really was: sprawled out on the carpet with red solo cups surrounding him and the cracked television hanging off the wooden television stand.
Luckily, nothing was stolen, but my brother cooing with his slurs, desolately pleading with me how sorry he is for being an irresponsible older brother by not picking me up. As an older brother, he was aware of how I feel unsafe alone sometimes and for opening our home to complete strangers. Annoyed by his past and present actions at the time, I briskly forgave him for if I didn't, the redundancy of the word "sorry" would not vanish from the air and he would've followed me throughout the cramped apartment if I ignored him– even into the bathroom.
But although the television was scratched up from his mad party, reporter Yejin's voice of channel five's ten o'clock news was still soothing and therapeutic as her job contradicted with her voice by reporting of robberies, murders, politics, and gloomy weather as I laid in bed.
Just like his voice, I thought.
The remembrance of a melody draws me back to a memory that I desperately want to recollect of, but at the same time, not. I opened my eyes, meeting face to face with the white ceiling. Furthermore with my thinking, I could've sworn that his voice was descended from the angels, a voice filled with such treasures embedded deep within the sand of the ocean, or a voice that manipulates evil; a voice that breaks the rough waves over a sandbar.
A voice I desperately wanted to know, but unfortunately, his identity remains unknown.
I couldn't help myself but blame myself for being weak, again.
If only I opened my eyes a little wider, if only I found the urge to bear the pain that has sprouted in my knees, if only I shed fewer tears to make my vision more clear, or if only I had the courage to turn around to face him. But yet again, the "what if" game always seems to devastate us. But we cannot help but ponder that if we were able to fix those little details in which we think are our faults in our lives, would it modify or alternate the way our life is laid out?
I have to find him, I declared, give him a holiday-themed cookie that Seokjin recently baked. No– give him a hot chocolate. Take him out to dinner?
I grasped my white sheets and pushed myself up from the bed, my cold hands invading my hair. Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Reuben, I reminded myself. Take it one step at a time, find the dude first. Then take it from there.
My thoughts could no longer trail on once a knock is vocalized against my door. "Come in," I sigh, already knowing who it is without a second of doubt.
"Hey," Jimin trails in with a tray of toast and orange juice. He balances one hand underneath as his other hand almost wraps around the back of his body in order to close the door. "I brought you breakfast."
"Breakfast in bed?" I ask with a laugh. I push myself up more from my bed to be in a seating position. "Since when did this happen?"
Jimin smiled, his crooked tooth puncturing his lip. He came over to me, slowly in a cautious way as he steadily balance the tray in my lap. Once the tray of his bearing gifts was balanced on the surface. He stood back as if he was admiring his work as if it was a piece of art. Only for him a second later to snap out of his daze by dragging my wooden desk chair to face my bed. He flipped it around and sat on it, his arms laying underneath his head for it to steady on.
"I also want to talk, too," he mentions, "if you don't mind."
"W-what do you want to talk about?" I gulped, chipping away at my toast with my fingers to form little small pellets. I suddenly became nervous for some unknown reason around my brother, for I knew what he was about to ask.
"Your panic attack yesterday," he trailed, speaking slowly as if he happened to speak too fast, his words would hit me out of nowhere. "I-"
"I don't want to talk about it, please," I implore, fixating my eyes anywhere in the room but my brother.
"I...I wasn't going to go into detail with that," he muttered. "I'm just- I'm just sorry I couldn't be there sooner."
"I-It's okay, Jimin," I reassured him, leaning over carefully since the tray is still positioned on my lap to grab his hand. "Your job is not to always watch over me, you know?"
"But I'm your brother, Reuben," he reminds me, squeezing my hand. "I can't help but worry about you."
I nodded, as soon after silence fell upon us. As I reached for the glass of orange juice to refresh my throat that was burning with anxiety yesterday, he stops me.
"And, Reuben," he says, getting up to head to the door.
"Hm?"
"I'm glad that someone else was able to take my place," he chuckles, wiping the fake golden knob with his sweater. "The young boy wouldn't let go of you so that I can take you home. I stood there for at least ten minutes in the rain with him and you in his arms, trying to convince him through evidence on my phone that I'm your brother," he informs me, looking up to reach my gaze. "He's a stubborn one, that's for sure."
"Jimin?" I ask, my hand clenching around my glass of orange juice. "Do you know anything about him? His name, what he looks like, anything?"
He frowns. "I'm sorry, Reuben. I couldn't see him well. He had a black mask on over his face and it was pretty dark out." I nod at his response, devastated that I have no lead for my "thank you mission." However, I may have found an ounce of faith. For something about the way his gaze fell to the floor told me he was lying.
< END OF ACT I, SCENE IV >
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A U T H O R ' S N O T E
In this chapter, Reuben grabs Jimin's hand. However, some may be confused on why she made physical contact with Jimin when she proclaims that she is uncomfortable with physical contact when it comes to men.
Rueben is comfortable with physical contact with only Jimin. Not because they're siblings, but he is also her savior.
