No Surprises

It’s loud. All of it. It’s all so fucking loud.

You’re sitting in your car, alone, one hand on the leather of the steering wheel, the other somewhere between your knee and hip, just staring into the three-in-the-afternoon haze outside that’s hot enough to make you see in waves. You grip the wheel. You drum your fingers against your thighs. You breathe—at least, you try to.

Then it all comes crashing down at once.

“You’re not available? Why? Did you inform HR about it already? You do know this is an important event, right? They WILL cut your salary for this, yeah?”

“When can I finally meet you with to discuss your performance for this semester? No, I don’t do online consultations. Meet me at my office some time next week.”

“You doing alright, son? Your mother and I haven’t heard from you in months. We’re just worried. You’re always … out of reach. Physically. Mentally. You can’t blame us for worrying …”

“Babe, we have dinner this weekend with my boss and his wife. We already discussed this two weeks ago? Where are you disappearing to again this time?”

You can’t stop it. It won’t stop.

You try to drown out the noise in your head with a twist of your wrist, but the key experiences some resistance. You twist it again in place, revving the engine up for a few seconds, giving you a false glimmer of hope with a whir before it peters out.

Yanking the key out of the socket, you beat your fist repeatedly onto the horn of your white 2011 Honda Civic—the hand-me-down from your lawyer cousin, which was a hand-me-down from his parents to yours—blaring it out to the innocent emptiness of the street. Beads of sweat drip down your face as the afternoon heat is beginning to waft in, and your lack of air-conditioning is becoming blatantly present.

And for a moment—just for a second—you swear you see hear her voice.

“You can tell a lot about a guy based on how he treats his car: he’ll treat you the same way—if not worse.”

“Ga … -eul?”

You see the mirage of her sitting on the hood of your car, waving at someone in the distance, stretching her arms out to receive an invisible person before slamming backwards fully and giggling under the afternoon sun.

You blink again and she’s gone.

Trembling, you return the key to its socket, twist gently, and sure enough, the car alights and the engine turns on.

Slotting your phone into its stand conveniently placed beneath the rearview mirror, you leave your parking slot and begin to drive out of the narrow alleyway just outside your apartment. You don’t need to turn on maps or directions. You know where you’re going. You’ve been there too many times to count. Instead, you flick open your notifications as you turn left onto the main road.

There are seventeen of them. And they are all from Wonyoung.

Babe you didn’t eat breakfast? But I made you your favorite?

Babe you didn’t eat lunch either?

Where the hell are you going?

Babe???

You know you’re being petty right now right? Can you at least reply to me?

I’m just worried

Babe

Babe

Babe

At least be back before eight. Dinner reservation’s at ten

You are still coming with me for dinner right?

Right?

Babe?

In between those strings of messages, you missed her call around four times. You should be feeling a sinking feeling in your gut. A taste of remorse on your tongue. But it doesn’t come at all.

There are some things you can’t tell your girlfriend of five years. Because there are some things she wouldn’t understand even if she tried. There are some things that a woman raised with a golden spoon, who lives in a penthouse suite, and has flights to Paris or New York or Milan every week, wouldn’t understand.

Because there are some things you would very much rather tell someone else.

And you’re taking the next two hours to drive to her place right now. 

It doesn’t take long until you’re on the highway. You’re past the toll and you’re currently speeding up to match the pace of the other vehicles around you. It’s just a straight and seemingly endless drive from here on out. Until you have to take the proper exit, at least. But until then, you can just turn your mind off.

But you know that’s a lie. It only gets louder from here.

And there’s nothing you can do but entertain your thoughts.

You take a glance at the your reflection in the rearview mirror. There’s a pump of shock that courses through your veins. For what stares back at you is the image of a man you don’t even recognize anymore.

Surely, this isn’t you. This can’t be. How … did you turn into this?

You look so … tired. So … unhappy.

But even then that’s an understatement.

Your eyebags drag heavier across your face than the resting position of your mouth—of your supposed smile. If you can even call it that anymore. The years you spent slaving away at the office dried your skin, grizzled your hair, drained the light from your eyes. Your pupils are nothing but voids that simply exist. They don’t devour, they don’t claim, they don’t desire anything. They’re just there. Empty pools of nothingness. So vacant that you could barely even remember what used to occupy them.

Was it a hobby or two? A pastime of yours? A goal? A childhood dream?

You can’t glean anything. How could you? Dying stars often leave very little behind.

“We’re going to need some money. For the rent. For food. For school. Oh! And we’re going to need to do our own promotions as well. Maybe hire someone to make the cover. I can try to learn some Photoshop, but then that’s less time trying to write too. What do you think, baby?”

You close your eyes, lips twitching in but the slightest of waves as you exhale through them. “I … I don’t think it’s realistic, baby. All of this … what if it doesn’t work out? All those years just … wasted. All for what? A silly dream of ours? It’s one thing to hope for something, but … making it happen? That’s … that’s difficult. That’s scary.”

You remember every single word you said in reply to her all those years ago. And you very much so remember what she said to you in response as well.

“But isn’t that the fun part? Going through it together with you?”

Your eyes dart open when you hear the sound of a car getting dangerously close to your side. When you come to consciousness, your vehicle’s deathly near a black van going the same speed that you are.