Discovering Myself

I’d always pegged Erica Park as a psycho bitch, but I never thought she’d go this far. Not even in my wildest fantasies involving middle school student council presidents and teachers with blonde hair.

“Wake up.”

I didn’t need her to tell me to do that — I’d already been awake for at least two minutes according to my internal count. But I’d pretended to be asleep instead of making my consciousness known, partially because her bed was really soft, mostly because I needed to figure out what the fuck was going on and the blindfold wasn’t helping.

Now, ideally I’d do that by taking it off and checking my phone, but that’s quite difficult to do when a) your hands are tied behind your head and b) you don’t feel that familiar pressure on your right thigh (I exclusively kept my phone in my right pocket and wallet in the left.)

“Doggy, I’m giving you three seconds before I press this piece of glowing metal onto your scrotum. One—”

“STOP THE COUNT!”

I jerked so violently in response to the suggestion of CBT I half-expected my binds to snap apart, but all I got was mild ropeburn and a feeling like I’d slit my wrists. She’d stocked up on the premium BDSM shit. And then, after letting the gravitas of the situation hit me, it occurred to me that she’d undoubtedly stolen my $80 Giselle Exclusives.

That poor bitch.

“See, you were awake after all.”

“Cheap ass motherfucker.”

“Darren.”

“Thieving cunt.”

“You have a swearing problem, you know that?”

“And you have a fucking silicone problem, you know tha— OW.”

“I’m not here to play games, doggy.”

“I’m not either, so you can stop ow pinching me and calling me ow doggy you fetishizing ow whore.”

“Darren.”

“What the fuck do you—”

“DARREN.”

Her voice turned cold.

Something sharp was pressing into my chest.

“I didn’t bring you here because I appreciate your company.”

Metal touches skin, skin leaves flesh, flesh burns nerves, nerves fry synapses. Oh my god it fucking hurts. I could feel the tip of something cutting into my sternum. My body my body my body. Blood was probably pouring out. But I couldn’t see, only feel, couldn’t struggle, so I imagined what the colour of my insides were through the darkness as I held my breath, just in case the rise and fall of my chest would puncture my lungs.

“Don’t test me with your ego.”

“Y-yes.”

“You’re going to answer my questions sincerely,” she said.

“Okay.”

“Why did you have to go involve her?”

“I…”

I, I, I.

Huh.

Why, actually?

That’s a good question.

In the pain my mind conjured the image of Erica Park for no reason: her raven hair, the symmetry of her face, if she was tilting her head in response to my evasive responses, as usual, if she was expressionless as usual. Was she still beautiful, as usual, was I still attracted to her obsidian eyes, as usual? Was the wetness on my chest her damp hair after a shower as she whispers into my ear, or my own blood pooling?

Is this how I die?

I couldn’t tell, because it felt so cold, but she smelled like lavender and roses.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t— I can’t breathe.”

The discomfort suddenly receded, but not the pain, and then I felt her press a towel on my chest as I gasped.

“Does it hurt?”

“…Yes. It’s b-burning… my chest.”

“Good. So, are you going to joke around again?”

“N-no…”

“Then hold still.”

She took my hand and guided me to where the bulk of the pain was, and I felt the familiar fabric of the NHS towel they stocked in every student’s 5-star hotel room.

“I took off the cable ties. If you try anything idiotic, I won’t hesitate or stop to think. Do you understand? Now help yourself.”

“Am… am I bleeding a lot?”

“Shut up and press.”

I heard her footsteps move across the carpet floor.

…

She just stabbed me.

Huh.

It hurts.

Did she just stab me?

What’s going on?

I’m happy to see her, even if it ended up like this.

I mean, I saw this coming.

Jiwoo is the only name I remember.

No, no, wait — don’t get distracted.

You need to ask her the difficult questions.

Wait.

“You?”

Don’t you mean “I”?

Let’s not argue with myself.

Giselle.

What happened to her?

Did you hurt her?

I need to piss.

Hey.

Don’t get distracted. She’s not important.

Ask about the hospi—

“Oi.”

Suddenly, the image of a raven-haired girl in nightclothes seared itself into vision. I saw she was holding a glass of water and green pills once my vision stopped pulsing.

“Eat this so you can talk properly.”

“…”

“Oi.”

“…”

“Shit, you weren’t even applying pressure.”

When I didn’t move because I was transfixed on her, even if her already pale skin looked even lighter than usual and her cheeks were hollowing out and her white shirt barely clung onto her like matted fur sometimes clings onto rotting carcasses before they’re eventually destroyed by the elements and only bone remains, she took my hand, placed the glass in it, and touched my heart.

“I thought you had… red nails.”

“I painted them over again.”

“…Why? They looked…”

Familiar.

“The nail polish was too cheap.”

“…Ugh.”

“Listen, does it matter? Shut up and take your meds.”

She slipped the arcoxia pills into my mouth. A bitter taste formed as I noticed Erica’s lips were cracked and dry, her eyes baggy, her hair tied into a dishevelled ponytail, and when I still wasn’t moving because I was taking in the sight of her like this, she pushed the glass to my mouth and I drank.

I swallowed.

“We both have things to say.” She sat on the bed and half-faced me over her shoulder as she continued to press. “I thought I’d go first.”

“…You don’t look well.”

Erica blinked. “I’m just not wearing makeup.”

“N-no… something’s off.”

“You don’t look too good either, doggy.”

Yeah, there’s a hole in my fucking chest.

“And didn’t I say I’d go first? You just lie down and listen. Close your eyes if it bothers you that much.”

“…No thanks.”

She reached for my eyes anyway. Her hand felt cold, so impossibly cold.

“So, doggy. Today’s my last day of school.”

“Huh.”

“I transferred all my money to Giselle after what happened.”

I tried sitting up after hearing that, but Erica just pressed my face down effortlessly. I was never that strong to begin with.

“Hold on, I’m not finished. It wasn’t an easy decision to make.”

“I don’t care how difficult it was if it’s fucking stupid.”

“Darren.”

“Don’t run away.”

“I’m not running away.” I felt more pressure on my chest. “If the emotion I felt was cowardice, then… I wouldn’t be here trying to give you closure before I off myself for good.”

“…”

“You figured it out, right? I heard it in your idiotic rant before you nearly killed her. About how—”

“About how you love me.”

Pinch.

“Ow.”

“The painkillers work fast, huh? Maybe I should stab you another time.”

I peeled off Erica’s hand from my face, and found her staring off in some random direction. “Don’t do that. But do patch me up properly, take off this BDSM shit, and let’s discuss a major decision like this as a couple because I care for you.”

“…Darren.”

“A couple of besties.”

“Darren.”

“What?”

“Don’t even joke about that. I despise you.”

“Okay.”

“And I know you hate me too.”

“I don’t.”

“I saw what you were going to do to her.”

“That’s the school’s fault.”

“And who do you think brought you to this school?”

Jiwoo turned to face me, her eyes like wilting orchids.

“…”

“Who, Darren?”

“…Sakura Emi.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I know you know.”

“Yes, and it’s her fault.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes.”

“No it’s—”

“Yes. Yes it fucking is, Erica. It fucking is. It’s her fault, it’s all her fucking fault and no one else’s. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. Don’t fucking try to tell me otherwise or I’ll fucking kill you and rip your organs out, one by one, before I blend them and drip feed them to you into your plastic whore mouth if you try to tell me otherwise again. Shut the fuck up. SHUT THE FUCKING FUCK UP.”

What are you saying?

You’re in denial again.

Oh, you poor boy, putting your head in the sand.

My chest burns when I yell.

I should stop doing that.

“Darren…”

“Fine. Don’t take the restraints off. You were right. I evidently have a swearing problem.”

I slapped her hand away and took the towel. Blood was still rapidly oozing, and it’d painted a crimson circle around three of my shirt buttons, but it stopped hurting entirely and my extremities were going numb and that was probably a good sign.

How many pills did she give me?

“Can I keep talking?” she asked.

“Go ahead. Just put the cable ties back on if you’re gonna say something fucking dumb again.” I voluntarily threw the towel over my face.

Hey.

You’re doing that again.

Don’t be stubborn. Ask why she was at the hospital that day.

Erica is disgustingly beautiful when she cries.

“Let’s go back to the start,” she began, taking the towel back and applying pressure to my wound. “Like I was saying, today’s my last day of school.”

***

THE RULES OF THE GAME (1)

40 subjects per group. 6 groups, 240 subjects in total.

A maximum of 20 subjects per group pass Orientation.

There are two conditions for failure: (1) dying, (2) reaching a negative Point value.

If a minimum of 20 subjects are not eliminated by W4D1 within a group, a randomly selected “Special Project” will take place.