The Grim Lover

I woke up. And that's the problem.

 

The biggest problem, and one I don't think is possible, is that I'm certain that everything that happened wasn't a dream. I really went up to the rooftop, and I really let myself fall. The cold wind on my face and the dizzying sensation in my lower abdomen are still vivid. So, logically speaking, I should have been crushed into pieces on the concrete in front of the condo, not lying here in my own air-conditioned room like this.

 

I lay there staring at the ceiling for several minutes, slowly moving my body part by part, composing myself, focusing completely, and realising that every organ in my body was still functioning normally. I could still breathe fully, although there was a fleeting, empty feeling in my chest, a feeling I didn't even know how to describe at the moment.

 

All the lights in my bedroom were off, but the room wasn't completely dark because the curtains were still open. Light from outside filtered in, allowing me to see dimly enough to make out the silhouette of someone reclining on the long sofa at the foot of my bed.

 

Who?

 

Not only did I not get my wish to die, but now I have to wake up and deal with burglars breaking into my room? Or is just jumping off a building considered too easy a death? How sinful must I be to deserve this?

 

"Are you awake?"

 

A shiver ran down my spine when the mysterious young man broke the silence. He remained seated, his back to the bed, yet he sensed that I was awake, even though I remained motionless, neither sitting up nor making a sound.

 

"You woke up earlier than I thought."

 

But come to think of it... His voice sounds so familiar.

 

"I thought you’d be weaker than this."

 

This is it....

 

I carefully pushed myself up to a sitting position, my gaze still fixed on the man's back. My mind was racing with conflicting thoughts. What should I do? Should I call for help? But where was my phone? Or maybe there was nothing I needed to do. If I wanted to die anyway, let this thief do whatever he wanted with my belongings, my money, my life; I didn't need to fight.

 

So, should I be scared or not?

 

"Who are you?" I asked in a flat voice, my hands gripping the blanket tightly until they trembled. "How did you get into my room? And why am I here?"

 

"You ask a lot."

 

"I have the right to ask."

 

"But that doesn't mean I have to answer, does it?"

 

"You have to answer," I tried to keep my voice from trembling. The other person didn't argue further. He stood up, then slowly shuffled towards the bedroom door. His shadow was tall and imposing. I thought that if he decided to do anything to me, I'd be utterly defeated. Preparing to die would be easier. "If you don't answer, I'll call the police."

 

He remained silent and stood still. I tried to focus my gaze on his face, but a dark shadow fell across it, obscuring my view.

 

"Let me warn you, think carefully before you do anything. Even if you kill me, I won't feel anything. I want to die anyway. But if you kill me hoping to take my money and belongings, you won't be able to live happily. My boyfriend was a celebrity; he just passed away a few days ago, and it's still big news. I'm about to be sued by a politician. If something suddenly happens to me, do you think..."

 

Paek!

 

The room suddenly lit up before I could finish my rambling. The light revealed the face of the mysterious man, hidden in the shadows. He stood there, in front of the door, his hand still on the light switch, staring at me with a neutral, slightly annoyed expression.

 

"That's nonsense, it doesn't sound like someone who wants to die at all."

 

I finally understood why his voice sounded so familiar. In fact, it was unbelievable that I didn't recognise him at first glance. Perhaps I was confused and disoriented, my brain not functioning at its full potential. What I should have remembered only felt vaguely familiar. But honestly, it wasn't just the sound that was shocking.

 

"Brother...Fah," my voice trailed off as if something was stuck in my throat. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear the thumping in my ears.

 

I blinked repeatedly, secretly pinching myself, but I only felt pain. It didn't wake me from this delusional dream. No matter what I did, he remained standing there, staring at me with a blank expression that, P’Fah, had never shown before.

 

"Stop pinching yourself," he said wearily, shuffling slowly back to the same sofa. He stopped behind me, leaned back against the armrest, and stared at me. "You can pinch me all you want, it won't make me feel better."

 

This is real. I'm not imagining things, I'm not dreaming, and I'm not hallucinating, even though everything in front of me seems illogical.

 

"If you wake up then-"

 

All of a sudden!

 

His voice trailed off, but I knew he wasn't surprised at all that I suddenly jumped out of bed and ran to hug him. A tight embrace, feeling the warmth of his body, trying to smell the familiar scent—none of it was there. This hug was one-sided and not as warm as I remembered.

 

But does that even matter? He's standing right in front of me. He can move, stand up, walk around, speak coherently, and is aware of my presence. That's what matters. I don't care how this happened, whether it's right or wrong. As long as I get P'Fah back, nothing else matters.

 

"What are you doing?" he grumbled in his usual slow tone. "Let go."

 

"P'Fah." I hugged P'Fah tighter, ignoring his complaints, even though I knew perfectly well that P'Fah would never say that. He would never refuse my embrace. But I still wanted to hold him. I would never let him go, not a second time. 

 

"P’Fah, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being selfish. I'm sorry for pressuring you, knowing how you felt. I won't do that again. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do."

 

"I'll do everything you want, P'Fah. Please don't leave me again. Please... please."

 

Finally, I cried again.

 

This is the best I can do since all this crazy stuff started. I can't think straight, I just cry and cry. Just talking about P'Fah—no, just thinking about him—makes my tear ducts start working again.

 

"I've agreed to everything, P'Fah. Please don't go."

 

"That..." he said, his voice indifferent, a stark contrast to the overwhelming emotion I felt, "sounds like a terrible relationship."

 

After he finished speaking, P'Fah pushed me away. I tried to resist, but to no avail. He pried my arms off him, slipped his hands under my armpits, and lifted me like I was a small puppy weighing less than a kilogram. He lifted and lowered me a few times, frowning, before finally letting my feet touch the ground.

 

"He's so light! Is he stuffed with internal organs or just cotton?"

 

This is so strange (as is everything else that's happening right now). Normally, P'Fah is considered very strong; he can easily lift me, but not like just now. The usual P'Fah carried me like a person carrying another person, but now he's carrying me like someone playing with a puppy. He's unusually strong.

 

"Stop crying. I know you're happy to see my face, but I'm not the person you miss," he said calmly, walking over and sitting down at the edge of my bed. This P'Fah acted as if everything was normal—his words and actions were so natural. But in reality, if you removed my intense longing, nothing about him was even remotely natural.

 

"P'Fah-"

 

"Stop calling me that," P'Fah said sternly. "I'm not... P'Fah... or anything you call me."

 

He seemed uncomfortable saying his own name and kept staring at me with an annoyed look, as if he had been forced to be here.

 

"How can it not be? Stop messing with me!" I argued back. I wasn't so insane as to not know cause and effect, but I believed what I was seeing. I had seen it with my own eyes and felt it firsthand—that the person in front of me was real. He was my P'Fah. 

 

"Whatever games you're playing, make sure they're within reason, P'Fah. I'm not joking."

 

"Swear to God you really think I'm him."

 

"So what is there to believe that it isn't?"

 

"You know very well."

 

An uncomfortable silence crept over us. My body stiffened, feeling as if invisible hands were tracing over it before holding me firmly, forcing me to stand there and face him.

 

"You saw his body with your own eyes. You saw them carrying him into the coffin. You know he's dead," he said in a flat tone, a chilling aura emanating from him. I'd felt it since the hug just now. He didn't have the warm, safe aura that P'Fah had. "And the way you're looking at me now, you know that he and I aren't the same person."

 

He has no empathy at all. This P'Fah is heartless, unlike the old P'Fah, who was overflowing with compassion, surrounded by warm sunlight, not the cold, desolate depths of the ocean like the man standing before me.

 

"You may not know me, but there's no way you wouldn't recognise him, right?"

 

I was forced to see things I didn't want to see, hear things I didn't want to hear, and think things I didn't want to think. I tried to block everything out and focus only on the fact that P'Fah had returned to me, even though deep down, in a part of my subconscious that was almost detached, I knew this person wasn't the one I wanted.

 

He really does look like P'Fah. Their build and facial features are identical, except that the one in front of me has shorter hair. He has facial blemishes that P'Fah doesn't: a scar near the corner of his head and a faint scar on his right cheekbone. His body seems more muscular than P'Fah's, both from the outside and when I took the opportunity to hug him just now. If P'Fah were wearing a completely black suit, he would look just as sexy and mysterious.

 

He's like P'Fah... but I don't know him.

 

It's like he's been through so much, far more cruel and brutal than anything my Fah has ever experienced. He seems indifferent to everything in this world. He must despise the word love and my kisses, and could kill me both physically and emotionally without feeling guilt.

 

"What...what happened?" I didn't dare say it out loud, that P'Fah hadn't come back, that he wasn't really here anymore. All I could do was ignore it.

 

"I saw you about to commit suicide," he replied calmly. "You were standing in the building across the street."

 

"I saw you," I replied. "And I could hear you."

 

"It should be like that."

 

"How did you do it?"

 

"Meaning?"

 

"All of it." I'm not even sure what kind of answer I was expecting from him. From thinking I was confident, being pulled back to reality, all of this has left me dizzy and confused. Now I don't know what's real anymore. Maybe I'm really going crazy.

 

I thought I had jumped, when in reality I hadn't.

 

"I came to pick you up. I've been waiting for so long for you to jump, but you wouldn't. I had to encourage you. At first, I was happy that you finally made up your mind, but then, after you jumped, things didn't go according to plan."

 

"Wait," I raised my hand to stop him from rambling on about anything I didn't understand.

 

"Where else are you confused?"

"Everything," I said, emphasising each syllable. Didn't he realise he was talking nonsense? He just said whatever came to mind, without caring if the listener understood. "What are you here to pick up? Who are you anyway?"

 

"Oh!" He snapped his fingers, as if suddenly realising he'd completely forgotten the most important part. "Do you know Reaper?"

"A Reaper... like a Grim Reaper," I muttered. 

"A Grim Reaper, huh?"

 

"Grim Reaper." He repeated my word thoughtfully, but finally nodded slightly, as if to say, "Whatever, I'm too lazy to think about it anymore. Yeah, you can call me that."

 

My head is spinning. Right now, the leading hypothesis is that I've gone completely insane, because that's the only plausible explanation. Otherwise, how could I have conjured up such fantastical and far-fetched scenarios?

 

But usually people with delusions aren't aware of it, right? If I knew the difference between what's real and what's just wishful thinking, how could it be called a delusion? Or is that really how it's supposed to be? Damn, I'm not an expert on this. Should I call a psychiatrist friend right now?

 

"Is it me or you who's crazy?" I asked, completely at a loss for an answer. He just looked at me and let out a long sigh. I don't know why he's so tired of me. Shouldn't I be the more tired one? "Grim Reaper? What nonsense. Are you writing a novel?"

 

"It's true, everyone's like this, isn't it?" He sighed again. "Come here."

 

He beckoned me gently, as if I were his pet dog.

 

"What?" I narrowed my eyes at him warily.

 

"Come here."

 

"What are you going to do? Why didn't you tell me?"

 

"I'll explain it to you."

 

We stared at each other for several seconds. He gazed deeply into my eyes, his expression devoid of any meaning; it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. This was perhaps the most dangerous sign for someone you didn't know at all.

 

But strangely enough... I just did as he told me.

 

I walked up to him and stopped in front of him. He spread his legs slightly before pulling me to stand between them. Then he looked up at me and took my right hand, placing it beside his neck.

 

"What-"

 

"Don't you feel it?" he interrupted, while I was still confused about what he was doing. 

 

"Hold it properly."

 

"What are you doing?"

 

"Are you really a doctor?" His voice was flat, but I could sense a clear hint of annoyance. But how did he know I'm a doctor? Did he find the information beforehand?

 

"Put yourself together," he said, looking me in the eye. "Do you feel it?"

 

I tried to compose myself, took a deep breath, focused my attention on his fingertips and palm, and within seconds, I understood what he wanted to tell me.

 

This man, he doesn't have a pulse.

 

"Do you know yet?"

 

"How is that possible?" I asked, bewildered. Suddenly, I felt a strange sensation in my stomach, and goosebumps came in waves. 

 

"Are you a ghost?"

 

"Can you stop being so silly?"

 

"Only the dead have no pulse."

"Yes, because I'm not a human."

 

What should I do about this situation? What am I dealing with? A madman? Or a ghost? Or am I actually dead, and this is some kind of test to determine whether I go to heaven or hell?

 

If that's really the case, can I go to heaven? P’Fah will never go to hell. Please let me go to him.

 

"I... don't understand," I whispered, trying to comprehend what was happening. But this was too difficult, harder than the science I'd believed in my whole life.

 

Death is the moment the body ceases to function. Then, the most sublime living being becomes nothing more than a large mass of flesh and bone, cremated into ashes, buried in the earth to become fertiliser, returning to the nature from which it came. And that's the end. There is no story after that. No soul, no afterlife, no final judgment, no... Grim Reaper.

 

"The dead can't go there on their own; someone has to take them," he said calmly.

 

"There?" I raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

 

"Are you dead or something that you want to know?"

 

"And if you don't tell me, how will I understand?"

 

"I just understand there's a place you need to go, but you can't go alone; you need someone to guide you. I'm here to guide you. I mean... at first, anyway."

 

"And now?"

 

"I don't know," he replied indifferently. His attitude irritated me, alone.

 

These crazy things are already hard to believe, but those who should know more are just too lazy to explain.

 

"What is this about you?"

 

"To be honest, I don't even know what you are exactly."

 

His voice changed when he said that sentence. He continued to stare at me, his gaze unwavering as if searching for an answer. There were several moments when I almost leaned in to kiss him because of that face—a face that resembled P'Fah's—but I had to restrain myself, reminding myself that he wasn't the one I was thinking about.

 

"Can you please explain something to me?" I whispered. "Please."

 

"So what's so hard to understand about what I said?"

 

"It's right here. I was thinking I was going crazy, and I made up a story about a Grim Reaper to fool myself."

 

He sighed again, shaking his head slightly as if at a loss, before raising his hand to cover my eyes. His hand was huge; in fact, he could cover my entire face with just one hand. Or, if he wanted to, he might even be able to crush my skull in his hand, but he didn't do that.

 

The moment my world went dark, I felt like I was pushed violently. I was flung, suspended in mid-air for a moment, before feeling ground beneath my feet again. I felt like I should open my eyes, so I did, and instinct told me to look around.

 

The ground I'm standing on is soft, fine desert sand. Above me is the night sky; there's no moon, no stars, not a single cloud. The air is freezing, and my body shivers with every gentle breeze. Everywhere I look is the same. There's nothing but the sky and the sand. I don't know where I should go.

 

I kept walking, not knowing which direction I was going, only knowing that I couldn't just stand still. The distance from my starting point to my current location kept growing, but I didn't feel tired at all. I could keep walking for a long time without stopping. Even without knowing the destination, walking like this wasn't so bad after all.

 

Then I saw something in the distance and ran towards it excitedly. The closer I got, the clearer it became. It was a bridge which made no sense at all. How could there be a bridge in the middle of the desert? Where was it for? Had I walked all the way to the edge of the desert?

 

I don't know. All I know is that's the destination I'm looking for. Must go there....

 

All of a sudden!

But before I could reach the bridge, everything vanished in an instant. My body felt like it was being yanked again. The next thing I knew, I was standing in the same place, in my bedroom, at the foot of my bed, between the long legs of a man who looked just like P'Fah. He pulled away the hand that was covering my eyes and looked at me with an unreadable expression.

 

"You're not dead yet. You can't go there," the Grim Reaper said calmly.

 

"There...."

 

"How was it?" He raised an eyebrow slightly. "Does it still sound like a made-up story?"

 

After taking some time to collect myself, I finally had to accept that everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours was real. My life is truly miserable. I went up to the rooftop, I saw a man who looked like P'Fah telling me to jump, I actually jumped, and the one who saved me was...the Grim Reaper.

 

A grim reaper who looks just like my boyfriend.

 

He said that what I saw was the realm between life and death. After the body ceases to function, the soul is taken there, but it usually doesn't take as long as I felt it would, because the Grim Reaper guides them to the bridge.

 

What I saw was correct; it was a real bridge, stretching across the desert. Every soul must be sent there for a purpose, which the Grim Reaper said it wasn't the time for me to know yet.

 

"Your name appeared on the screen, which means you're going to die tonight. But just as you're about to die, something strange happens."

 

"Strange?" I repeated his words, confused. I had now stepped back, leaning against the sofa (of course, I couldn't stand there forever), while the Grim Reaper remained seated comfortably at the end of my bed, as if the place belonged to him. "How is it strange?"

 

"When you were dying, I thought I was dying too," he replied softly, as if he himself was just as confused by what was happening.

 

"I thought you were dead."

 

As soon as I finished speaking, he gave me that annoyed look again. Did I say something wrong again?

 

"Just because I'm not human like you doesn't mean I can't disappear," he replied. "I've heard that there are events that cause people like me to vanish, but no one can say what kind of event it is."

 

"Oh..." I nodded slowly, beginning to understand what he was talking about more clearly. "But, that incident of yours, does it concern me?"

 

"It looks like that."

 

"Are we soulmates?"

 

"Don't be ridiculous."

 

"Oh."

 

"I'm not your boyfriend," he said firmly. "How many times have I told you?"

 

"But you really do look like him," I couldn't help but say. Even though there were many differences, they weren't significant enough to be unrecognisable. If we gave P'Fah a new haircut, added a scar to his eyebrow, forced him to exercise a bit more, and dressed him in black from head to toe, I'm sure he'd look exactly like the person standing in front of me.

 

"That's right. That's how it should be."

 

"Means what?"

 

"If the Grim Reaper looked terrifying, or was a stranger, would you run up and hug me as you did just now?"

 

Just one sentence was enough for me to understand his answer immediately. I thought it made perfect sense. During times of feeling lost or scared, seeing a familiar face is like finding comfort, much like how paediatricians sometimes dress up as cute characters to gain their child patients' trust and make them stop crying.

 

"He is the person you loved most in your life," the young Grim Reaper said slowly. "That's why I look like him."

 

For a moment, I thought it was a very good idea. In the last moments of my life, the person I most wanted to see was P'Fah. Just seeing his face, I no longer feared anything. He made me calm and courageous. If I were to die, I would be very happy if he were the one to take me wherever I needed to go. I would go with him without asking any questions.

 

But then again, I thought it was cruel that they used the face of someone I love. He used me as a tool to manipulate me. He gave me hope, and then ultimately destroyed it, leaving me feeling disappointed and empty, just like I am now.

 

But in a normal scenario, ordinary people probably wouldn't know this truth. They'd only know that their loved ones have come to take them away. If the Grim Reaper were merely a guide, the time they spent with souls would be very short. They'd just remain calm, put on a little act until they reached the destination, and that would be it. Every soul would feel peaceful and content, knowing that at least during the loneliest moment of their lives, they had time to walk with their loved ones one last time, even if it was in the middle of a freezing sea.

 

I asked, "Does that mean your appearance will change constantly depending on the spirit you have to possess?"

 

"You could say that," he nodded slowly. "But actually, I have no face or body. I'm just an image in your eyes."

 

"But I just gave you a full hug."

 

"Oh, not included right now."

 

"What does that mean?"

 

"That means this is a special case. You're not a typical spirit. No, you're not even a spirit; you're not dead yet. If you weren't dead, you wouldn't be able to see me. That's why I have to be in human form so we can talk."

 

"If you're going to disguise yourself as a person, why not make your heart beat? This is creepy."

 

"How would you separate humans from Grim Reapers if you did that?"

 

"Just make a mark. You can even put it on your forehead so it's clearly visible."

 

"Hey, I'm not a steamed bun!"

 

I'm annoyed that I can never win an argument with him, even though he seems incredibly lazy when it comes to talking or explaining things. He never gives in, and he always makes me feel like an innocent, clueless child.

 

"So, in summary... You saved me because you were afraid you were going to die. Am I understanding correctly?"

 

"That's right," he replied instantly. "But I don't know the cause yet. So, while I'm finding the answer, you absolutely must not die."

 

"Um....like this."

This is the first time someone has spoken to me directly and told me, "Don't die." In the past, I thought that besides wanting to keep living, what kept me alive was the love of others, being loved, and knowing that I was valuable to someone. It made me feel like I couldn't die yet. But after P'Fah died, I don't feel that way anymore. Nothing is holding me back anymore—no love, no dreams, no thirst for growth. I have nothing left.

 

But now there's a Grim Reaper who's ordered me not to die, because if I die, he'll die too. It's funny, isn't it? I really have nothing left. Even my last reason for living is for someone else, and I don't even know who they are. Honestly, it doesn't make me want to live any longer.

 

"How long will it take?" I asked.

 

"Meaning"

 

"Will it take a while to find the answer?"

 

"I don't know," he shrugged. "But I'll do it as quickly as possible. Once I know the answer and solve the problem, I'll let you know. Then, if you want to die, you can."

 

He really didn't care about anything. He didn't care if I lived or died. The only thing that mattered was that he shouldn't die. It was incredibly strange to hear those words from (someone who seemed like) P'Fah, because the real P'Fah would never say anything like that, never care more about his own life than mine. Thinking about it just made me feel incredibly depressed.

 

I really miss P'Fah.

 

"You can rest tonight," the Grim Reaper said, standing up, stretching slightly from side to side.

 

"My back is aching from sitting in the same position for so long. I'm leaving."

 

"Do you have to go... really?" I blurted out something I shouldn't have. Lowering my voice at the end wouldn't help; he'd heard it all.

 

"Yes," he turned to look at me with a straight face. "Do you want me to stay and lull you to sleep?"

 

It's nice to think about getting to see P'Fah's face before bed, but thinking about it carefully, I'm probably going to have trouble sleeping with him here. I just held on because I wanted to keep seeing P'Fah's face, that's all.

 

"No thanks," I replied curtly.

 

"I'm going," he waved dismissively before opening the balcony door and walking out.

 

"Wait, you, door-"

 

Instinctively, I called out to him to tell him that wasn't the bedroom door (even though it was obvious; how could he not know?). He didn't turn around to listen, so I followed him to the balcony, but when I opened the door, I found only emptiness.

 

He's gone.

 

It's not hiding anywhere. He’s  not down there either.

 

"A ghost...definitely a ghost."

 

Twenty-four hours have passed. I'm still in the same place. I'm lying in the same bed, not getting up at all. I haven't had any food or water, and I haven't even gone to the bathroom. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what to do next. Should I get out of bed and go back to my normal life? No way. If I go out, I'll just be bombarded with condolences from everyone. Reporters will keep asking me the same questions, repeatedly, about how I feel about my fiancée's sudden passing. Those questions are so stupid. How am I supposed to feel about my boyfriend's death? Happy?

 

I've had my phone off since last night. A lot of people tried to call me, including my older brother, Oscar, Chieng, Gloy, and many other numbers I didn't recognise (probably the media). I didn't want to talk to anyone, so I acted like a troubled kid, blocked out all contact, and stayed under the blankets all day.

 

The hospital, especially my department, must be in chaos right now since I suddenly disappeared without a word. I know what I did was incredibly irresponsible, but screw it. Just fire me. I don't want to do it anymore. If I go back now, the director will probably call me into a big meeting, and the executives and senior doctors will be reprimanding me. They'll try to force me out, pressure me to take responsibility for something I didn't do. That big politician will probably try everything to get me put in jail as a sacrifice for his son's life.

 

Everything is good.

 

I'd rather die here.

 

Time passed slowly, as if killing me slowly. The bedroom ceiling became the only thing I could really look at. Everywhere else, I thought of P'Fah. Before we bought this house together, it was our first home. P'Fah practically moved all his belongings here, but he always said he was just staying temporarily. He’d used that trick since we were dating. Even after I went through several classes, he never went back to his own condo. So, in the end, we bought a house together so he wouldn't have to say he was just staying with me anymore.

 

The profound silence allowed me to hear a sound I wouldn't normally hear. I heard a notification sound coming from somewhere—definitely not from my phone, since I'd turned it off. For some reason, I slowly sat up, got out of bed, and followed the sound. It wasn't hard to find; my iPad screen had lit up in the darkness. Before that, I hadn't even noticed the iPad lying on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

 

When did I put it here? I can't remember.

 

I picked up my iPad and found nothing important. Just an email from a brand I'm a member of, offering a promotion I'd never use. I chuckled to myself for digging this into my head, but instead of putting it back, my fingers scrolled through the pending notifications, as if I had nothing else to do. Then my aimless aimlessness led me to discover something.

 

A chat notification from my older brother was sent three days ago. Looking at it on my locked screen, I could only see that he had sent a picture. I'm pretty sure I haven't chatted with him at all lately. We only started talking to P'Fah again the day after the incident. So what did he send?

 

I clicked on the chat out of curiosity. Seeing the chat name cleared up one mystery: Big Brother hadn't messaged me, but P’Fah instead. I don't know when he logged into my iPad; it must have been a while, since I hardly ever use LINE on it. It's only P’Fah who seems to log in everywhere without fear of identity theft.

 

I took the liberty of discreetly looking at the chat messages between P'Fah and P'Yai, asking for permission to myself, "Can I see it, P'Fah?" Even though he didn't reply, I knew he permitted me. P'Fah never complains about these things; he’s never kept secrets from me (except for the marriage proposal).

 

Fah named his chat "Big Bro." I thought they didn't talk often, but after looking at the chat messages, it seems they talk more frequently than I thought (although most seem to be messages between Fah and Benny). Especially this week, Big Bro has been talking to Fah every day. As for what they're talking about... the latest picture sent three days ago speaks for itself.

 

Big Bro:

 

Let's choose.

 

Send a picture

 

The image is a screenshot from a website. The content consists of a long string of contact numbers. The top line of the screen says "Government-run orphanage and childcare facility."

 

My hands were trembling. No, my whole body was shaking. The more I read their messages, the more my chest churned. That feeling, so similar to the first day I heard the news about P'Fah's return, overwhelmed me again.

 

Big Bro: But you should really consult Won first.

 

P’Fah: Already consulted him, but let me see for myself first.

 

This wasn't what I expected at all. I've given up on the idea. Even though it goes against my wishes a little, nothing is more important to me than P'Fah. I can live without children, but I can't live without P'Fah. That's what I wanted to tell him when I got home that day.

 

Even though I thought that was an ultimatum from him, P'Fah said no, meaning he wouldn't change his mind. He acted like nothing happened after that night, never mentioning the baby to me again. Instead, he went to consult his older brother, whom he found annoying, because he knew no one knew the law better than him, a lawyer at a famous law firm.

 

I read through the siblings' conversation, trying to take deep breaths and hold back my tears, because if I started crying now, I wouldn't be able to understand anything anymore.

 

Big Bro: superb

 

Nong Ku is a hero.

 

Rafah: certain. I went and asked him. How can I not do it?

 

hahahaaha.

 

I don't understand anything. Everything is wrong. My life shouldn't have ended up like this. Just one more step, and I would have everything I wanted. I was going to legally marry the man I loved, something I always thought would never happen in this country, at least not while we're both alive. I would become a medical professor, he would have many opportunities abroad as a photographer, and we would have lovely children together.

 

I just want to see P'Fah be a father. I want him to know that he can fulfil that role, even though his childhood wasn't pleasant. I want to heal his emotional wounds. I want him to know how lucky that child is to have someone like him as a father. I want to prove that P'Fah is nothing like his father. I want him to see himself the way I see him.

 

"P'Fah."

 

But I know that kind of thinking is selfish. I have no right to prove anything that the person doesn't want me to. I can't impose my own beliefs on the people I love. I have no right to tell them what is right and what should be done. I have no right to interfere in anyone's emotional wounds, no matter how much love or genuine goodwill I may have.

 

Now I have nothing left to give. There's nothing left to sacrifice. The only thing left is my worthless breath, unwanted by anyone. But if that child's death was truly my fault, then take my life. Let it all end.

 

I can't stand it any longer.

 

I paced back and forth in the room, opening drawers and rummaging for the tool that could help me, but to no avail. I then thought I must have kept it in one of the bedroom drawers. So I went out to the living room and searched through the cupboards, I thought it might be the case. After a short while, I finally found it.

 

A large silver utility knife was in my hand. I broke off a section of the blade to sharpen it, then took a deep breath, scrutinising the veins on my wrist. It wasn't as terrifying as I thought. Perhaps it was because I'm a doctor; I've seen it all. Cutting human skin, blood gushing out like water, livers, kidneys, intestines, hearts, brains—I've seen them as often as I eat my food. So, cutting my own arm was a small task.

 

But where should I cut? Actually, cutting your arm doesn't kill you easily. You have to cut very deeply. If you cut along the length of the arm, the blood vessels will be more damaged, and you'll lose more blood. But you'd probably still be in pain for quite a while before you die.

 

Or stab at the point of death?

 

Hmm...but it takes a lot of force to kill in just one stab. Especially with a utility knife, which isn't as sharp as a surgical knife. If they don't die, it'll be troublesome.

 

None of the medicines in this room is effective; they're all the kind that cause suffering in excessive doses, but death is uncertain. It would probably be easier to just let them die of dehydration.

 

What about the rope?

 

There's no rope that long. Even if there was, it wouldn't be strong enough. Do I have to go buy some? Where would I buy something at this hour? Hmm...or maybe a bedsheet would work?

 

With that thought, I dropped the cutter and ran into the bedroom, straight to the bed. I was about to pull off the sheets while my eyes scanned the ceiling, trying to find something sturdy enough to support my weight, something that wouldn't collapse. I was breathless. It seems like there might be some possibility, something like that.

 

It only took me a few minutes to prepare everything. Once I figured it out, everything went smoothly. Before I knew it, I was standing on a chair. This feeling was similar to last night, before I jumped off the roof—fear and hesitation—but much less intense. Perhaps it's because I've been through it once before, and now I have another reason to want to die. I hope this time it works.

 

"I'm sorry, P'Fah," I murmured. This time I didn't cry. I don't know if it was because I was strong or because I had already cried until I had no more tears left. "I'm sorry for being selfish. I know now how much you love me."

 

But this is good. Now I can give P'Fah a really big smile when I see him.

 

"Let's have a daughter together in the next life."

 

It's time now.

This time.

 

All of a sudden!

 

I stepped down from the chair, bracing myself for the agonising pain of suffocation. I knew it would be excruciating, but if I could endure it, this pain would all end. No. It wasn't as painful as I thought. The bedsheet I had tied myself to wasn't even strangling me.

 

"You really don't understand anything, do you?"

 

I actually stepped down from the chair, and my toes were off the ground, but it didn't suffocate me because someone caught me with one arm and held me upright under my buttocks.

"I told you, if you're not allowed... then you're not allowed to die."