Jesus Christ, Girl, What Are People Gonna Think
anonymous
July 23 2012, 05:46:57 UTC
(so this ended up being jonghyun/krystal as well as amber/krystal, hope that's cool with you!)
Soojung finds out when she wakes up face-down on the asphalt, her nose still bloody from the car crash, that being dead is just like being alive. Things look the same. The sky is blue, her skin is warm in the sun, the soles of her feet are sweaty in her shoes, but she doesn't hear any birds. She wipes her face and her hands are streaked red. She's wearing the same clothes as she was before; the black party dress feels all wrong on her now, as she sits crumpled in the street. She stands up and her face twists as she follows the road.
There are houses and people inside, although not the people she loves. They give her a bed and a room and they tell her that she can start over now. They tell her, in even tones, that she can find new people to love, and she starts to believe them, until night comes and she tries to fall asleep but she swears that she can feel a familiar hand squeeze hers, a hand whose curves she's memorized, and she bolts upright.
There is a dead boy, Jonghyun, who rests his chin in his palm and looks at her, his tan, slender fingers curling against his cheek. She drinks her coffee and stares straight into his eyes, daring him to ask her the question that everybody always needs to know, the “how did you get here?” Instead, he asks her to pass the creamer.
Jonghyun takes her to house parties and although he's short, he's strong, his arm is warm when it brushes hers, and his voice calms her down. They first kiss in a bathroom. As soon as he locks the door, Soojung's whole body throbs with need and she grabs his cheeks, her fingers hooked around his jaw. His mouth is warm and wet in the way that all mouths are. Her spine is bent against the counter, his lean chest pressed against her. His hands are soft and gentle on her shoulders, but it feels like her head is caving in from the guilt.
“I can't,” she says. He lets go, and she slides down until her bare knees hit the tile. The light flickers as a moth bumps against the bulb.
“You have to move on,” he says. “You've been dead for three months now.” His voice is soft, but she can see the patience waning in his eyes, and she hates him.
She stumbles out of the bathroom, her hair matted. She hates everybody in this dead world. She shoves a lamp off of a coffee table on her way out of the house, relishing in the sound of it breaking. She hates Amber for surviving the accident and leaving her here. Soojung makes it five steps down the driveway before her legs give out and her palms hit the dirt. She imagines herself grabbing Amber by the throat and squeezing, feeling the muscles underneath the skin resist. She imagines them falling in the grass, Amber clawing at the front of Soojung's dress with her hands. Soojung imagines kissing her, feeling Amber's lips again. She imagines curling into Amber's side, Soojung's breasts pressed against Amber's ribs.
Soojung finds out when she wakes up face-down on the asphalt, her nose still bloody from the car crash, that being dead is just like being alive. Things look the same. The sky is blue, her skin is warm in the sun, the soles of her feet are sweaty in her shoes, but she doesn't hear any birds. She wipes her face and her hands are streaked red. She's wearing the same clothes as she was before; the black party dress feels all wrong on her now, as she sits crumpled in the street. She stands up and her face twists as she follows the road.
There are houses and people inside, although not the people she loves. They give her a bed and a room and they tell her that she can start over now. They tell her, in even tones, that she can find new people to love, and she starts to believe them, until night comes and she tries to fall asleep but she swears that she can feel a familiar hand squeeze hers, a hand whose curves she's memorized, and she bolts upright.
There is a dead boy, Jonghyun, who rests his chin in his palm and looks at her, his tan, slender fingers curling against his cheek. She drinks her coffee and stares straight into his eyes, daring him to ask her the question that everybody always needs to know, the “how did you get here?” Instead, he asks her to pass the creamer.
Jonghyun takes her to house parties and although he's short, he's strong, his arm is warm when it brushes hers, and his voice calms her down. They first kiss in a bathroom. As soon as he locks the door, Soojung's whole body throbs with need and she grabs his cheeks, her fingers hooked around his jaw. His mouth is warm and wet in the way that all mouths are. Her spine is bent against the counter, his lean chest pressed against her. His hands are soft and gentle on her shoulders, but it feels like her head is caving in from the guilt.
“I can't,” she says. He lets go, and she slides down until her bare knees hit the tile. The light flickers as a moth bumps against the bulb.
“You have to move on,” he says. “You've been dead for three months now.” His voice is soft, but she can see the patience waning in his eyes, and she hates him.
She stumbles out of the bathroom, her hair matted. She hates everybody in this dead world. She shoves a lamp off of a coffee table on her way out of the house, relishing in the sound of it breaking. She hates Amber for surviving the accident and leaving her here. Soojung makes it five steps down the driveway before her legs give out and her palms hit the dirt. She imagines herself grabbing Amber by the throat and squeezing, feeling the muscles underneath the skin resist. She imagines them falling in the grass, Amber clawing at the front of Soojung's dress with her hands. Soojung imagines kissing her, feeling Amber's lips again. She imagines curling into Amber's side, Soojung's breasts pressed against Amber's ribs.
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