Internal Debate

“You should come have drinks with us after class,” they said.

“Everyone on the debate team is going,” they said.

For the love of all that is good in the world, can you please stop falling for peer pressure, Haewon?

I blink my eyes open to a mess of blurry shapes, every inch of my body aching with the ghosts of last night’s bad decisions. The mother of all hangovers resides in my skull, battering my brain like I’m a misbehaving child. I don’t even like alcohol, why did I even bother going?

“Still not done prepping for nationals, Haewon? Tsk tsk, I expected more from our co-captain.”

Oh right—her. That annoying, arrogant, snarky, bug-eyed Aussie and her stupid little accent that everyone loves for some reason. Of course I finished preparing for nationals. I was the first one to finish, and she absolutely knows that. Unlike her, I actually worked hard to research and construct my arguments for the upcoming competition instead of coasting on my, quote unquote, “superior intellect” to get by.

Whatever. At least it’s the weekend—this hangover is bad enough, the last thing I need is to see her ugly mug on top of it. Well, maybe not “ugly”, but she sucks and I hate her, so.

As some of the aching subsides, I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes, my free hand reaching out for my water bottle I keep on my nightstand. Only, instead of my water bottle, my hand bumps into the canvas of a lamp shade—nothing immediately out of the ordinary, until I remembered I busted my lamp after making the mistake of rewatching Paranormal Activity late at night because “nostalgia”. Straight A student my entire life, and yet not a lick of common sense within me that night.

Little by little, my vision begins to clear, revealing more oddities in my room that fill me with a growing sense of dread—my desk, usually a mess of sticky notes and study guides, is now all tidy and proper like an Ikea display, the books and small little trinkets that lined my shelves are gone, replaced with trophies and accolades of piano competitions that I definitely don’t remember winning, and my walls are now plastered with posters of this vaguely familiar looking blonde woman with an odd name (What kind of surname is “Swift” anyway?).

This sudden redecorating isn’t even the most alarming thing I notice—as I pull aside the covers, the air hits my skin a little too freely. Waking up with a hangover, I’d expect to still be wearing my outfit from last night, maybe with a missing sock or my shirt turned inside out; what I don’t expect is to be completely nude as the day I was born.

Then, it finally hits me: this isn’t my room.

Clinging the sheets to my chest, I wrack my brain trying to remember what happened last night. Maybe this is all just some weird, vivid dream and I’m actually sleeping right now, safe, sound, and fully-dressed. That makes plausible sense, right? Surely, in my drunken stupor, I didn’t—Oh god—hookup with someone? Right? Right?!

I knew I should have just stayed home last night! It’s that damn Aussie's fault! I don’t hookup with people! Oh god, it must’ve been with someone on the debate team. Was it Minjun? Please God, don’t be Minjun. He’s nice enough, but I swear he bathes in Old Spice body spray every morning.

I sniff the air—no Old Spice. That’s a promising sign, I think. I scan the room, trying to find clues towards the identity of my mysterious hookup partner. Family photos, signed papers, heck, I’ll even take the initials on the waistband of tighty-whities if it means getting rid of the suspense of unknowing.

I look back up at the shelves, hoping for a plaque or something with the winner’s name on it.

Then I see her name. Suddenly, the suspense of unknowing seems like a pleasant memory compared to the grim ordeal of recognition.

Lily. Jin. Morrow.

“Y’know, under different circumstances,”—that damn accent—“I should care about why you’re naked in my bed, but I think I’ll just enjoy this moment.”

Clad in nothing more than a fluffy white bathrobe and that arrogant smirk is none other my worst enemy, the bane of my existence, the only person in the entire world I can truly say I despise. My confusion is washed away with a wave of anger at seeing her face so early in the morning.

“Did you do this?!” I huff, my cheeks burning under her gaze. “What kind of sick prank is this?!”

“Woah, calm down. If anything, this was your idea.” Her smirk widens, setting me off like a stick of dynamite.

My grip tightens on my—er, her sheets. “My idea?” I scoff, “You expect me to believe that, what, I willingly undressed myself and got into your bed?!”

Lily says nothing, smiling to herself like there’s some inside joke I’m unaware of. 

“W-what?!” I bark, my voice faltering in the silence.

She saunters towards me, and I can’t help but glance at her legs—long, smooth, curvy, yet perfectly toned like an olympic swim—oh my god, what the hell am I thinking?!

“W-why won’t you say anything?! God, you’re so annoying, you know that?! I-I’m so sick of dealing with your crap everyday a-and this whole “co-captain” ordeal is so inefficient, but of course Mr. Choi always makes some excuse about “teamwork” and “getting along” a-and—”

My blabbering immediately stops as Lily sits down next to me, the mattress shifting underneath us. Even with a good foot of space between us, I can feel my body burning up under the sheets like any closer would reduce me to a crisp. After a long silence, she sighs.

“Y’know,” Lily utters with a click of her tongue, “if you’re going to act like this, you shouldn’t have begged me to sleep with you—”

“W-wait!” I interject. “S-sleep? A-as in I, um… And you… We…”

She giggles, setting her tea cup down. “You’re cute when you blush.”

“S-shut up! I’m not, um…” God dammit. “W-whatever. Just tell me what happened last night.”

“You really don’t remember, huh?” She pouts at me with those soft, plump, pink, kissable lip—pull yourself together! “That’s a shame. We had such a fun time together.”

“Can you stop being so damn vague?!” I try to muster up all the strength in my voice, but it’s hard trying to sound intimidating when every inch of my skin feels like a forest fire.

Suddenly, Lily leans in, gazing at me with those big eyes, holy hell, were they always this round? I swear, I’ve looked at them so many times before, whenever we accidentally make eye contact during practice or at competitions, but seriously, they’re like beautiful balls of obsidian surrounded by a milky sclera, I mean, just wow—

“We fucked.”

My entire world shatters to a bajillion pieces at the utterance of those two words.

“We… What?”

Lily chuckles. “Sorry, was that too crass for you? We hooked up. Had sex. Made love—although, given your reaction, I’m not sure I would describe it as ‘love’.”

I shake my head profusely like I’m in a nightmare and I’m trying desperately to wake up. “N-no, this can’t… That can’t be true, why would I… With you…” 

An incredulous chuckle leaves my lips. Some people thought the world would end at the turn of the century. Others believed that the Mayan calendar ending on 2012 was a sign of the end times, even being the inspiration for a rather middling action flick (Still, entertaining to say the least). For me, the world ended today; the day that I, somehow, in my drunken state, managed to hook up with my worst enemy of all people. Minjun is starting to look more desirable compared to this Australian she-beast.

With nowhere to escape in my bare state, all I can do is lay back and shield myself under the covers. “This has been a rather dreadful morning, so if you could just please hand me my clothes so I can be on my merry way, that would be wonderful,” I mutter.

“Unfrotunately for you, it’ll be another hour or so until they’re done in the wash.” That lilt of amusement in her voice makes my blood boil—but it’s for naught. In all my attempts at trying to best her, she got me in a way that I can never outdo. 

You win, Lily. You. Win.

“Can’t you just leave me alone until then?” I ask, my voice small and defeated.

She doesn’t say anything, instead pressing a hand to my thigh in what I assume is supposed to be comforting, but has the unintended (or is it intended? I don’t know anymore) effect of setting my core ablaze.

“Look,” she says softly, “if it’s any consolation to you, no one on the team knows we slept together. Last night, when we were leaving, I told them that I would get you home safely and that’s the end of it, alright?”

I scoff quietly. “For all I know, you could’ve taken a billion photos of me to keep as blackmail.”

“Hey, I’m not that kind of girl. Besides, I don’t need blackmail to humiliate you.” There’s that snarky tone in her voice again. “You did enough of that to yourself last night.”

I breathe out a defeated sigh. “Of course I did.”

“It was quite cute, really,” she giggles, and I have to wonder when that sound became more charming than annoying. “Barely two shots in and you’re already screaming the lyrics to ‘Good Luck, Babe’ in the middle of a crowded bar. What a lightweight.”