“It’s only words, and words are all I have to take your heart away.” Alexander’s deep-toned, cool voice brushed Leslie’s ears as it streamed in the background, along with the electric fan’s cranky protest as it turned. Even though it was already past six in the evening, there wasn’t enough air to cool her damped skin. His voice was cold enough to give her a chill, sweeping across the room, shattering the thick air and the room’s boiling temperature.
He was right. They were only words, she agreed, hugging herself underneath the chaos. The kind of chaos every graduating student knew best. Piles of boxes filled with paperwork stood around her bed. Crumpled papers scattered across the room. Mentally cursing, she was aware of it all. A clear statement of neglect.
Just like her. Her life. Her studies. And her professors were fair enough to give her a D.
Tugging her blanket, she leaned against the plush of her pillows, closing her eyes as if she was letting her ears suck his voice, his melodies and vibratos drown her. And it didn’t take long before her eyes burned, feeling the tears around her lids. Her throat closed up around a sound because, despite the attempts, the disappointments were too much to ignore.
Everything had been too much lately. It was so much she barely had the time to breathe, let alone meet friends and hang out with them. Though proud of what she’d accomplished, she felt oddly lost. Because all she did in the past few years was just work, study, research, and all those unnecessary college crap.
Home. Library. School. Home. Same route for the last sixteen years. One goal to pursue. She had nothing else in mind except finding ways to escape the prison. Call it social expectations, the matrix, whatever. She didn’t care.
She simply wanted to be free.
Leslie laughed at the thought, knowing she couldn’t even figure out the prison she was in. But she knew it existed. In fact, it was sturdy enough to keep her within its walls. Her desperation grew, and over time, it drowned her. An enthusiastic young lady she once was, she’d gotten used to surviving, trying to figure out ways to escape this reality.
She’d worked so hard, she thought, turning nights into days, insults into compliments, cries into smiles—all to earn better grades, unknowingly throwing her childhood dreams away into the drain. Imagine. Sixteen years. Sixteen years of effort and endless tears she’d shed for a sheet of paper.
Her life as a young adult? If she had the words to describe it, it would be ‘a four-year-long hell.’ Four years under the tip of her professor’s pens, forced to commit to capitalist security she’d never understood. And because she refused to give in, they gave her the lowest grade she thought she never deserved. But those bitches, who rarely stood in classes, earned Bs.
Unbelievable, she thought, mentally cursing while staring at the ceiling. Her eyes caught the dried wooden stains on some sections after the apartment roofing got caught in a storm. Some painted areas peeled off. They screamed for help and repair, just like her, waiting for someone to do the job.
A short sound of disappointment escaped her mouth, feeling life seemed to have lost faith in her. Her tears seemed to have lived on their own, streaming down her face against her will. She curled a fist and pressed it against her mouth, trying not to make a sound. Knowing she had nobody to count on except herself, she gave herself a tight hug.
Because if not, who would? Who would love to offer a hug these days if even her parents seemed to have distanced themselves from her for whatever reasons they have? Friends? She had a few. So few she could only count them in one hand, in one eye.
For people her age, she must feel exhilarated with a strong zest for life and a sense of adventure to explore the world and the unknown. She must feel the joy and bliss of watching her life move forward.
For Leslie, she must have missed the point. She was nowhere near thirty but couldn’t see the possibility of entering a new chapter in her life. Her young adult life was about to start, but she already felt like retiring.
God, she was just twenty-one, but she felt like sixty.
With her head sitting comfortably on the plushy pillow, her body buried underneath the soft, smaller pillows, the tears were endless, forcing her to hug her Bolster pillow to ease the loneliness hugging her heart. Her cries went louder and louder, her legs pumped wildly, unknowingly singing along with Alexander’s last line.
“It’s only words, and words are all I have to take your heart away,” Leslie sang with a strained voice, almost gone, only to welcome a long, brittle silence, deafening her ears. She blinked and kept her eyes on the ceiling light, then raised her arm with her fingers stretched widely. Covering her face underneath the round LED light, her eyes squinted, leaving a small gap to see how her fingers moved, how she’d neglected her fingernails, her skin dried.
Dissatisfied, she dipped her hand on Alexander’s face glued to the wall. A collage of everything she’d saved—magazine front covers, albums, fan-stolen shots from the internet. She slowly dragged herself to the edge of the bed, still holding her gaze. Then, she rose to her feet and went to her desk. Slowly, she slipped her hand and took the CD, sitting on the desk. She smiled while skimming his face on the front side and the tracks outlined on the back side.
It was his first album, Leslie noted. The only album she'd managed to buy. Feeling the tears well in her eyes, feeling the resentments rise to her chest, she sucked in the thick air swelling the room. In her mind, she saw herself with her parents after her high school graduation day. The only day she'd seen them smiling. Perhaps it was because she was the Class Valedictorian. She got the gold medal. The top.
The number one.
As a gift, they'd given her a gift certificate, and for the first time, she finally got herself a CD, though buying it wasn't an excellent choice, as Anne said. Discounted. But for Leslie, it was a lifesaver. She'd never felt more lucky having it than her gold medals and certificates hanging in her parents' home.
Keeping her eyes glued to him, she gently ran her fingers on his face, like she memorized his face, his earrings, his smile, his gaze. When it wasn’t enough, she streaked across the room to get closer to the wall and study the poster version of his face.
He had brown curls. His thick, curly eyelashes matched his penetrating eyes that matched the color of the skies. Flecks of green and gray scattered around the rims. The shiny silver necklace hung around his neck, the three silver earrings, and a few silver rings accentuated his minimalist sense of fashion. Sure, he didn’t need to work so hard on looking great when he already had a face that could melt women’s hearts.
She flattened a palm on his face, gently, carefully hovering across layers of sheets of her precious collage as though she was touching him.
Oh, Alexander. You’re an unreachable star. She could only watch him from afar, she conceded. With her eyes closed, her cheek pressed, she imagined how it would be to hear his voice, how he smelled, everything an average fan would die to know. In her mind’s eye, she could see herself close to him, holding his hand and laughing at his stupid jokes. Pulling herself away, she shook her head, knowing it was impossible. There was no way he would even know her. If she couldn’t even afford a general admissions ticket, how the hell should she get into the VIPs—his heart?
Who cares? Leslie threw her lips to the wall and planted his face a kiss, and immediately, her nose caught the pungent stench, leaving her yelping. In frantic, she sprayed her favorite cologne on the area and wiped it out with her sleeves, clucking her way to the toilet room to brush her teeth. My goodness. When was the last time she’d brushed her teeth, she asked herself, cocking an eyebrow. Was it yesterday? No, the final exam was two days ago. Maybe three? Shrugging, she didn’t know.
Marching inside, she paused. Her feet slowed when her eyes caught her reflection. When was the last time she'd touched her comb? With her arms on the sink, with a toothbrush in her left hand and toothpaste on her right, her chest swelled with sorrow. Her eyes caught her long, dark hair, obviously screaming for help.
A neglected only child. A dysfunctional young woman. A worthless Gen Z.
The smug was eloquent. She clucked for a brief ease and didn’t waste time brushing her teeth like no other, ensuring no tooth was skipped and spared. Opening her mouth, she hadn’t left her tongue untouched and unscathed. She had to be clean. Clean enough to deserve his kiss.
And when she was clean enough, she stood before Alexander’s wall again and slowly went closer. She slowly closed her eyes and gave the cold concrete a smooch. Even though it was quick, it was gratifying enough to wake her cells up, to fire the dying sparks inside. Whatever had died inside her woke up. “I love you, Alexander,” she whispered.
Much later, she walked out of the shower and prepared herself for bed with her sultry purple Teddy Bear pajamas. Wrapping her head with a towel, she grabbed her Monobloc chair and placed it near her makeshift vanity mirror. A small cheap square-shaped mirror she bought from a nearby Chinatown. After she DIY-ed the stand, she managed to clip it onto a silver wire nailed directly to the wall. She held the mirror until it was steady enough to see her face.
Preparing her face with a few slaps, she took out the face mask and was about to rip the package off. But she paused in her tracks when she noticed her phone buzzed. She drew her eyebrows in. Her eyes narrowed in wonder, thinking. ‘Sweetheart App,’ she asked herself, tilting her head to one side. It sounded like a dating app. Was it?
Leslie placed the face mask on her lap and grabbed her phone with both hands. She checked the notification and saw a stranger’s name, Mr. D., popping from her screen. A short sound escaped her mouth. Scammer. Fuckboy. If not, a sex trafficker like those found on Tinder or a creep who paid subscriptions on OnlyFans. Because damn. This thing did look like a dating app with all these red hearts in the small icon.
She cursed in her mind when her eyes couldn’t see anything but a blank space. Realizing how she’d been passive lately, she winced and clucked, scratching her dark hair with attitude. Her eyebrows furrowed, feeling disappointed in herself. Had she been lonely? Was she drunk? How could she be so blind these days? She’d never been like this, she noted. Lost in touch with reality. Wrecked.
With caution, she clicked on the message and read it.
Hi, I am Mr. D.
A scoff escaped her mouth, realizing how life could be more mischievous. She got a D for a final grade, and now, she’d met a stranger with the same letter. D. Was she meant to get a D in life? Disaster? Because underneath the ego-stabbing joke was a big question mark. A curiosity that wished to carve its place inside her head, a curiosity she never wanted to welcome.
So, she typed the words, Hi, Mr. D. I’m Leslie—
She paused in her tracks with widened eyes. Her nostrils flared, her pulse raced, her heart skipped beats. She whispered a curse and frantically deleted the message. No, she didn’t want her name out there. But she had to figure out what she should use. Thinking, she hummed, boring the floor with a piercing stare. Underneath the calm was a turbo-charged spectacle in chaos.
After a time, a sigh escaped her mouth, feeling relieved. She flashed an ear-to-ear grin as though she’d found the answer, then typed in, My Name is Pepper.
