Chapter 1. There Lived a Boy
I didn’t give much thought to the girl in my bed after the sight of Kyon’s blood. It was a pale, pretty sky blue with a hint of violet as if were breathing. I know, I know. Naturally, blood is a purplish blue colour until it touches oxygen, but her blood was surrounded by oxygen and it was still so fucking blue. People are often intrigued by the beauty of the eyes, but I remember her blood. A delicate blue against pearl skin. A gradient of pale to the next shade of pale.
The sunlight leaks through the curtains in a stealthy manner, in the same way I’m watching the couple outside. For a second I think about looking away, but my eyes can’t turn away from the girl. Hah, what a joke. If she didn’t bleed such a wondrous colour I don’t know if I would have noticed her the next time around. Just as I was about to turn away, I hear the boy call her name one more time. “Kyon!” It sounds quite pleasant coming from him, but the girl doesn’t react to his voice and just disappears into the building. I know in two minutes, if she’s taking the elevator, I will hear her opening the door next to mine.
I hear the slut in my bed groan and think about casting her out. But that’s not exactly the impression I want to give to my stunning next door neighbours. So while she calls my name, I tell her to shut up and grab my t-shirt off the floor. The footsteps in the hallway are obnoxiously loud, pounding as if the person was just learning to walk, each step made of uncertainty and lead. I move quicker, pulling at the corner of my shirt so that it looks less ruffled.
It’s like fate.
When I open the door, she’s touching her hands and staring at her door knob. I smile flirtatiously even though she hasn’t even looked at me yet. Always one step ahead, I’d say. “Hello,” I inject into the silent air, filling rather than breaking it. She doesn’t look yet, and so I add: “I guess you’re my new neighbour.”
When this Kyon looks up, I see big black pupils like those girls who wear those awful circle lens and white makeup, only she has naturally large, charcoal carbon black pupils and I feel myself sinking where I stand. Her head reaches the bottom of my chin, perhaps a little less. Her black hair barely grazes her eyes, but it’s so black that it makes her eyes look like endless pools. This is the first girl I’ve noticed who looks so… how do I put it nicely when I actually do mean to be nice? Kyon reminds me of a ghost, but a beautiful one, like the kind that old men dream of when they want to see their dead first love again. Her skin, like I said so many times before, is pale, but instead of being flaky and dry like rice, it glows almost as if its transparent.
She doesn’t say a word, and I stand straighter.
“My name is JungWoo Kang. I’m your neighbour.”
I hold my hand out and step forward so that she knows I’m serious about letting her touch me. I dream for a second when she stares at my hand. I dream about her white skin touching my tanned one and nearly melt just at the thought of contrast between her and me. There is nothing sexier, more erotic, more sensual than fantasizing with possibilities.
She’s blinking again, looking at me with those large empty eyes. Two seconds and I feel my smile falter, shake. Is she blind? I wonder. She’s not even looking straight at me. Or maybe she’s deaf. But that doesn’t make sense because that boy called out her name so clearly. Then again she didn’t respond. I tighten my lips and smile again, shaking my hand in the air a bit so she’ll get the point. She looks down at my hand, and then – finally – takes her out and touches mine.
Something is different.
I’ve touched many women’s hands before. Most of them are girls who spend their days in the mirror, so their hands are amazingly soft, almost like baby’s skin. I nearly shrink back at the touch of her hand. First texture: The back of her hand. It’s dry, almost scaly, as if she’s been living in winter. Second moisture: The palm of her hand. It’s clammy and rough, as if she’s been underwater for too long. My lips thin again, and I force my hand to stay there. Third illusion: When I slide my hand away, I feel it just as soft as baby’s skin and I want to touch her again. I’ve never met such a degree of attractive repulsiveness in a single girl before.
Then I remember that she hasn’t smiled yet; neither has she given me her name.
“Don’t you have a name?” I ask. I gaze at her through my hooded eyes, knowing she’s beginning to feel uncomfortable. I like watching girls squirm for me. But she doesn’t move, she just looks away, towards the end of the hall where the light is shining in. It’s almost as if she’s waiting for something. Like in five, four, three, two…
“Stay away from her.”
- one. He’s faster than I thought he would be.
Unlike lover girl here, he moves with ease as if he’s gliding on air. I hardly heard him coming. Unfortunately for him, I heard him breathing about a mile away. My senses are impeccable, really. Sight, taste, hearing scent and feeling. I need to for quick and easy getaways when jealous and angry boyfriends come looking for me. And no, feelings aren’t a sense because you should already know by now
I don’t feel very much in the chest at all.
Her storming boyfriend comes in a wild array. I almost expect the wind to come in after him like a dramatic effect, and for a second it does feel that way. The hallway is chilly, probably a draft, I reason. I try not to think about the fact that it’s dead in the summer, and in L.A., there’s hardly any breeze at this time.
“Who are you?” he demands. His jaw is tight and the angular planes of his face are sharpened in the course of the light. He’s exactly the kind of guy that can attract a follower of girls but only dedicate his heart to one. You can read it all in the face. The darkness, the mysterious quality, it’s all a tell-tale give away that says stay away. Only a foolish soul mate would have the guts to chase after him. When I haven’t replied yet, because I’m blatantly staring at him, he growls at me. Each word short and harsh.
“Who. Are. You.”
“I’m your next door neighbour.”
His face softens a bit and I realize that Kyon has been under his grip. When he releases her arm, it almost looks bruised and discoloured. Then I blink and it goes away like a dream. I look at her face, so passive and submissive, but she’s looking away like nothing’s going on. I know there’s a spirit in there. Just a dead one that needs revival.
“I’m sorry,” he coughs to get my attention off his girlfriend. His eyes have darkened again. So he’s a possessive freak of nature.
I can tell I’m already unwelcome. And I can hear the girl getting out of my bed and heading towards the front door.
“It’s all right. The name’s JungWoo. If you ever need help around the neighbourhood, I’m here.”
I don’t offer my hand, but I smile. He returns it grimly.
When I turn to look at Kyon, she’s gone. The door of their apartment is swinging open and I can hear the clattering footsteps come to a stop. Wherever she stopped. Her lover boy notices that I’m staring into their house and side steps so block the view. He gives me a nod, as if to say, You’re done here. I narrowed my eyes in response. What an ass.
A polite neighbour would turn away and never bother them again, but I’m not a polite neighbour. I’m a raunchy, seductive, selfish, “king of the neighbours because I have the landlady in my palm” neighbour.
With one loud step forward, I make sure my foot falls in between the door and its frame. His eyes grow thinner,, in anger, and even darker, if that was possible. “What do you want.” His knuckles are protruding from his white hand, and his fingernails were digging into the door frame, already marking indentations that were never there before.
“Well, it’s only polite that you introduce yourself, isn’t it?”
He blinks.
Finally, “Last name Lee, first name Hyo…”
He’s got to be joking.
I nearly spit in his face from laughing. “Hyo Lee? Do you realize how close your name is to HyoRi Lee? Do you get made fun of all the time for that?” And that is definitely not the number one way to impress your new anal neighbour. He looks like he’s about to slam the door in my face and crush my foot so that there is a blood fountain splurting everywhere. I can see his knuckles turning whiter and the tightness in his jaw coil. Then…
it went away like a sigh.
And I heard a soft voice.
“His English name is Jonah. That’s harder to mock isn’t it?”
There she is, standing to the side with her eyes as empty as forever.
“It is, but I guess that’s why I’m going to know him as Hyo from now on.” I try to smile without smirking but I doubt I am successful. My foot is still in the doorway, and I can feel Hyo begin to put more pressure against the door. I lean forward a bit and try to get a glimpse of her.
“How about you, what’s your name?”
I think that was the last straw. Hyo grimaces, the expression about as attractive as a dying vampire and kicks my foot away. He slams the door in my face and I hear soft voices inside. There’s a bit of shouting, coming mostly from him, and then a shrill “Tell me when you want to grow up!” before another door slam. I guess he’s not getting any tonight.
When there’s a long silence, I go back to my room, to the girl whose name I don’t remember.
But at least I remember she’s there.
***
Sarah is late again.
It might surprise you to hear that I do have a female friend who hates my sexual escapades but adores me. Her name is Sarah Lee. Yes, like the cake brand, so it shouldn’t be shocking to hear that my nickname for her is “Pound Cake.” It’s also my substitute for calling her fat, like I used to do back in university. Now she’s anything but, but I don’t tell her that. I met her in university during my freshmen year when I was in her roommate’s bed. Lucky for her innocent eyes, I was clothed and just taking a nap, but when she saw me, she naturally assumed the worst. That’s the thing with Sarah. To her, everything is about as clear as black oil.
The wind chimes ring again and I look towards the sliding door of the Japanese restaurant. Not Sarah, I note and turn towards my cup of green tea. My phone reads two thirty. That girl is thirty minutes late. Where the hell is she? I turn my wallet over in my hands and think about leaving when my phone buzzes with a text message.
sorry will be here soon.
order beef teriyaki for me first.
SORRY!
Rolling my eyes, I raise my hand and the waitress immediately totters over. “Two beef teriyaki lunch sets, and a rainbow roll,” I say without ever looking up. I hear a “would you like any drinks with that” and shake my head. Just as she collects the menu, I remember that Sarah likes spicy tuna. I speak quickly, “Oh and add a spicy tuna roll” and the waitress nods.
It never fails. Each time we’re here, Sarah manages to be late but every time the spicy tuna rolls come to our table, she bursts through the doors apologizing. I expect it to happen again this time. As the waitress approaches with the sushi on a single plate, I hear the door sliding roughly open as if Godzilla had decided to come in. There’s a “Oh shit, sorry!” and the clanging of the wind chimes on the floor. I roll my eyes, knowing that Sarah has forgotten to duck when entering the restaurant. The manager knows too. He just laughs it off and tells her to sit next to me.
We’ve been here so many times. I never ask why she likes eating here so much. I tried once and she just said that because we loved Japanese food so much. I doubt that’s the real answer because she’s looks away whenever I ask. Sarah hardly evades the questions I ask her. Then again, I hardly ever ask her anything. If I was really interested, I’d be asking her why she’s still my friend.
The wind chimes ring continuously as the manager fixes them above the door. This restaurant is pretty authentic in terms of décor. Almost everything is separated by wooden frames filled with paper and if you lick your finger you can pierce a delicate hole and look at the people sitting next to you. Sarah told me once and I dared her to try it. Of course she did it.
She does everything I tell her to, sometimes I wonder if she thinks about it. It’s cute though. Really adorable sometimes. Especially when she stares at me with those brown eyes and then laughs because she has nothing to say. She just wants to look at me.
“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late.”
“For any other girl, Pound Cake, I would have been out the door the moment you were five minutes late. Usually girls are waiting for me.”
She wrinkles her nose. “All right, big guy. I get it. You’re the shit around town.” Her fingers are twisting a strand of charcoal auburn hair. That girl dyed her hair so many times it’s about to fall out. It doesn’t even grow naturally black anymore.
I hear her shoes thud against the wooden floor and know she’s taking them off like she always does. In a second I see the top of her knees as she hunches over them to pick at her tuna rolls.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” I ask when I see her bright blue tights peek from the top of the table. Sarah has a tendency to wear the strangest clothes but there are always people who follow her fashion trend. It doesn’t make sense to me, but at the same time it does. It makes sense that she’s never had a boyfriend – and a shit load of female followers. Her goal is work as a stylist for Nylon magazine, but for now, she’s a stylist assistant for some modelling company.
Hot men surround her, including me of course.
But when she pulls out those blue tights, everyone must run. Right?
Only today, the blue reminds me of the girl next door and when Sarah just laughs it off, I decide not to comment. Kyon. Her name is just as unique as the colour of her blood. I run it along my mouth, tasting it. It works out awkwardly at first but the more I think of her name, the prettier it gets.
While she’s pushing a roll of sushi in her mouth, she speaks. “These tights got me my job, okay? So shove off and place that mouth elsewhere. Besides, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have that internship at the hospital. And guess what I was wearing that day? These blue tights! Damn, I should just call them my lucky tights.”
“Just don’t wear them around me.”
“Whatever. You love them,” she says.
Our lunch sets arrive and we work on those. We always eat one piece of sushi and save the rest for last. I watch Sarah eat, a habit I picked up since our freshman year when we ate together. Occasionally she looks up and notices me staring, and just smiles before looking away. Her mouth moves in small movements as she nibbles her food. She eats like a rabbit but she holds her food like a fairy. Fork in one hand, straight up, as if she’s going to eat cotton candy.
“So how’s your new girl?” she asks slowly, chewing her food.
“Why, Pound Cake? Jealous?”
“As if! I get to look at hot men all day.” Sarah brushes her hair back and stabs at her rice. “No, I’m just being a nosy woman. Can’t I do that? Isn’t that part of the criteria to be a woman?”
“This is why I can’t live with women. All you females do is talk.”
“Hey!”
She pouts and kicks my leg from underneath the table. I laugh it off, using my legs to grab hers and try to pull her under.
“Stop playing around. I’m eating!”
“You started it.”
“Oh grow up, you’re already 21.”
Our conversation continues with bickering before she finally asks again.
“So how is Jamie?”
“Oh, that’s her name?”
She growls. “I could strangle you, you ass!”
That’s her favourite nickname for me. Ass. When she’s realy pissed, she’ll add the “hole” afterwards.
“Forgot about her. Done with.” I wave my hand to dismiss the conversation. Sarah looks at me solemnly as if I just broke her heart. “What?” I exclaim, dropping my chopstick in the bento box. “I told her it wasn’t anything serious. She doesn’t care. So I stayed with her a little longer than others. She’s hot! And why are you looking at me like that!”
“One day you’re going to let some special girl slip out your hands.”
I hate it when she uses that tone on me. That tone where she talks as if she’s suddenly Ghandi reincarnated, coming to shed enlightenment on the world. Whenever I act vapid, especially in relationships, she gives this sigh and just regurgitates a philosophical life altering, religion finding, kaleidoscope clearing quote. And this girl swears she’s never had a boyfriend before!
“Who did you dump Jamie for?”
“No one.”
I reply just as the waitress comes to take away our finished lunches. The plate of rainbow and spicy tuna roll sit in between us. Sarah opens the box of wasabi. The amount she takes is enough to make a grown man cry for his mother, but all Sarah does is tear when she eats that amount. I take a healthy dose before closing the box.
While we aren’t talking, I wonder why I don’t tell her about Kyon. I tell Sarah everything.
At least, I used to.
The silence gets to a point where I know we’ll laugh if we look at each other. So I decide to steal her food so we have something to laugh about. I lift my chopsticks to get a piece of her tuna roll and she attacks me with hers. Her eyes are playful, glowing even, as she stops me from stealing some of her sushi. I grin as I let go and wait for her guard to lower. Once it does I dash forward again but she moves hella fast for the damn sushi. Sarah smiles widely again, and we laugh. In the end, she picks one up and puts it on my plate. It looks solitary without any dressings of soy sauce and wasabi. And as if Sarah realizes this, she takes the decorative flower from the serving plate and puts it onto mine.
