Deal with Him | Lee Heeseung

3-Wicked turmoil

Friends.

The one thing she never had. The one thing she thought she would never have, but that she might find, besides the warmth of the devil, his incendiary hair, hot and unnerving seemingly-doe eyes, electric cloth of attractiveness, and burning smiles. She could seek more in him, in the deal she had sealed, in the warm hands that grazed her fingers as she passed him the blanket, and in the smooth talk he exposed so nonchalantly.

But restraining holds people from a lot of action. Restrain oneself from pain or stupidity; it is important. But she isn't convinced she accomplished the run from difficulty and the avoidance of hardships.

The run may have just begun.

The metal cracks and squeals as it opens up to reveal a flat mattress, clear as milk and waiting for a devil's body to bear its weight.

Evelyn feels an empty spot in her chest, a trepidation and fear of the unknown lingering through her throat and lungs, then roaming her blood cells, like warning and dying to scare her. But what is done is done. She agreed, she signed, and when her head was brought back from the paper and her eyes caught the demon's glare, she knew what she had done.

She staggers to the restroom.

The colourless lights scare her, like they're casting dots of bright neon shades on her skin if she looks at them, like they're fidgeting with her brain and even though they're nothing but mind tricks, judge her and advise her to use her brain. She cannot take it any longer.

Shutting her eyes tightly to run from all the living or un-living creations who view her lowly, she takes off to somewhere that doesn't exist, for a second solely. She might have just realised with whom she had parted.

The Devil of Desire.

She parted with the Devil of Desire and granted him the ounce of sentiment that remained in her soul. Feelings she tried to hide and flee found her in the body of a feared and rumoured historical villain.

She inhales and wipes the foggy mirror, sticking the steam of regret on her hand, after she opened her eyes and was again rammed into the real world. No longer with the blanket of darkness across her sight, she's thinking clearly.

Impulsiveness was never her style; she doesn't know what hit her.

Her eyes drift back to her shaken reflection. Tracing her fingers along the just-previously-held-hostage jaw line, she stares at her face and questions not what she had done, but rather why she had done it.

She knew her life was lifeless, and she expected herself to be soulless. That's why she doesn't get it. If nothing was expected anyway, why did she sign it? She thought she reconciled herself to this current life, with all its dullness and nothingness.

Perhaps she didn't.

The bluish ceramic tiles sweat at the overtopped temperature of the room, dripping at a lazy pace, following Evelyn's body shivers and niggling the girl. Her shaky breath fans the already unclear glass and hazes her view even further.

Her trembling hands slammed on the white sink, and then dashed to turn off the faucet, her body following the quiver that characterized her actions. Her slow steps haunt the menacing quiet and bring them closer and closer to where the stranger awaits.

"What do you think you're doing?" she questions when she catches his hands touching her bookshelves.

The books, of all colors, shapes, textures, and ages, appear to number in an infinite number, each of them--though some may be antique--with a perfectly neat appearance. But it is not the books she cares about, it is the photo Heeseung holds between his fingers. The one he shouldn't hold, touch, or even look at.