Hyemi in Wonderland

In front of us on the coffee table are rows of different types of alcohol that I bought at the convenience store and another wine shop close to my apartment. In between the alcohol are lots of snacks. Children and young adults out there, it isn’t safe to mix alcohol like this, but my goal is to put Taehyung to sleep. I’m pretty sure that after a few glasses of soju, he’ll be as quiet as a kitten.

I definitely underestimated Taehyung because he turns out to be the sort that enjoys playing games while drinking. Even worse, he starts popping each bottle of alcohol and is too eager that he grabs two big mugs from my cupboard. He doesn’t even care about the aesthetics; it’s just all about how much a cup can hold. He fills both of our cups with soju and then flashes a sinister grin. Oh he is definitely up to no good.

“All right!” He claps his hands like a seal and shouts, “Time for fun and games!”

“Can’t we just . . . drink?” I sulk.

I’m sitting on the couch while he is sitting across from me on the hardwood floor. My cheek is leaning on my palm while my elbows rest on my knees. Taehyung points to the ground, forcing me to be on some even playing field as him. As I criss-cross my legs, he explains, “So here’s how it’ll go. We’re going to make things simple but interesting. We’ll do rock, paper, scissors and whoever loses will have to pick truth or dare. If the loser wants to pass, then he or she will have to drink.”

Since it’s rock, paper, scissors, I have faith that I can beat him. I’ve always been good at things like chance. Whenever I enter my name in some contest, I’m bound to win something. If I want Taehyung drunk, I’m going to have to try harder, so I suggest, “Let’s add another rule.”

“Yeah?”

Good. He’s taking my bait.

“If you lose the rock, paper, scissors, you will have to drink something that the other makes you drink and on top of that, if you want to use the pass, you will have to drink,” I add.

Taehyung gives me a thumbs up and a wink. “Good one, Princess Hye-mi-bitch!”

“Thanks, Taenobitch,” I roll my eyes while answering.

“Let’s start then!” He claps once and the game begins. We have a few ties because the two of us keep choosing paper. However, I decide to go with a rock and he picks scissors.

I pump my fists, cheering, “Yes! Drink! Drink! Let’s go with a shot of . . . whiskey and some soju.”

Without a word, he drinks from the bottle of whiskey directly and then takes just a tiny sip of soju. That cheater. He thinks I don’t know. I’ll let him go for now.

“Take your poison,” he says. “Truth or dare for me.”

Since I’m not curious about his life at all, I automatically choose: “Dare.”

“Okay. What’s your dare?” he asks.

Without thinking, I order, “Make up a rap right now.”

“Yo, heyo.” He gestures like those rappers on Music Bank where his hands are flapping back and forth. “This TaeTae in the house. Yo! Drinking is fun, but only 19 over. Holla. Kaching. Kaching.”

“Bahahaha!” I burst out laughing and cover my mouth. There was no rhythm to his rap at all and no rhyme. I wonder how he survived as an idol. Did he never have to rap? He even ends his rap with a fake cool pose where he hugs his body. “This is golden!” I comment. “Damn. I should have recorded it.”

Ignoring me, he goes on to say, “Round two. Go!”

This goes on for a while. I’m on a winning streak because I have been giving him dares four times in a row. So far, he has rapped, twerked, told the birth of a chimpanzee through only his body, and has let me put makeup on his face. I have told him to drink rum and wine together. He has had some plum wine and more soju. There’s also some tequila and coke and champagne. I wonder what’s next . . . and bang! I lose.

Crap.

I’m starting to get nervous as that sly smile creeps from his lips. Biting onto his lower lip, he rubs his hands together enthusiastically. “Let’s go with some whiskey for you and some red wine,” he requests.

I see. So he’s getting revenge. I take his order and await for my penalty.

“I’ll take truth,” I mumble. For some reason I think his dares would be insane.

“Mm . . .” He scratches his chin a few times and takes his time to torture me with the wait.
“Oh . . . I have a question.” Raising his hand like an elementary school student, he poses, “Why do you always have bad taste in guys?”

“What kind of question is that?” I yell. “How is my taste bad? Jesus!”

He points to my cup of soju, reminding me, “If you can’t answer it, then you can drink.”

“Fine,” I snatch the handle of my cup and gulp down some soju. Then I take the bottle of red wine and chug some of it down my throat. I haven’t drank this much since college, so I think I’m starting to feel a bit tipsy. Better to eat some chips now to digest all this shit.

I guess this is what you can a reversal of fortune. I keep losing to Taehyung and he constantly asks me questions that either I don’t want to answer or I can’t even give a proper answer. The questions he has asked me so far:

1.Who was your first partner?
2.Where’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?
3.How do you explain quantum physics to a five-year-old?
4.Would you rather eat shit or eat your own vomit?

It’s the fifth time in a row that I’ve lost and this time I don’t feel like getting played by his truth questions. I decide to be different and decide: “Dare.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” He chirps like a little bird. “This is gonna be fun now.”

“Oh God.” I hit my head against the couch.

He chuckles. “Don’t worry so much. It’ll be good!” Extending his hand to me, he sings, “Can you trust me? Can you trust me?”

I reply in his tune, “I can’t fucking trust you.”

“Hahaha! So . . . give me a drum roll!” He actually waits for me to drum on my lap before declaring, “Fake an orgasm for a minute.”

“You serious?”

“Yes. Come on now.” I exhale a deep breath and then start to moan quietly. Taehyung shakes his head, remarking, “You’re not a very good actress, are you?” His annoying comment makes me become competitive, so I think about some film where the actress is about to have sex with the male lead. I start imitating that woman’s groans. Meanwhile, Taehyung criticizes, “Hyemi . . . you sound like you’re giving birth to a kid with a huge forehead and that kid is stuck in you.”

I cross my arms and snicker, “Fine. If I’m so terrible, then you do it. Show me how good you are.”

Taehyung begins to touch his own face and down his neck as he moans, “Ugh. Ah . . . Ah . . .” Throughout this whole act, he even licks the top of his lips and closes his eyes. Damn it. This is definitely rated R. He can definitely do a bed scene. All of a sudden, he opens his eyes, telling me, “See? It’s not hard.”

“E-E-Easy for you to say,” I stammer.

“Ooo! Your cheeks are getting so red,” he mentions and even reaches over to poke my cheek. “You’re like a cherry tomato. Ha! You’re already so old yet you’re acting like you’ve never dated someone before.”

“You’re just as old as me,” I remind him.

“Yeah but I’m not afraid to answer questions.”

“Oh yeah?” I taunt. “Where’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?”

“Beach. It wasn’t a good idea though. Too much sand.”

“How do you explain quantum physics to a five-year-old?” I hark.

“Tell the kid to look it up on Wikipedia or Youtube,” he replies.

“Fuck you,” I curse.

“Say what?” he teases. “You’d like to fuck me?”

“No! Of course not!” I refute.

He pretends to be a very innocent, naïve girl and responds in a high-pitched voice, “Ah! I’m so hurt. My heart is breaking. Ah!”

He even collapses onto the floor as if he were shot by some machine gun. He just stays there, lying on his back. I rush over to his side and pull him up.

“Get up,” I urge.

Unfortunately, he does the opposite and uses all of his might to glue himself to the ground. Of course his strength is far greater than mine, leading me to fall on him. No, this isn’t some drama where our lips will just touch each other’s. Instead, my forehead bangs on the hardwood floor and my hair covers his face. He is coughing just not to swallow my hair. As I force myself up, I realize that I’m sitting on half of his body. I’m about to back away, yet he sits up and roars like a wolf. I scream aloud and my body startles so much that I just end up hugging him out of fright. I’m stupid huh? Hugging the wolf.

Taehyung keeps laughing at my reaction, to the point where I really think he might even be crying. After he calms down, he intentionally pats me on the back and adds, “Don’t worry. Oppa is here.”

“Oppa my ass!” I push him away with too much power that I end up falling back. I get this feeling that I’m going to hit my head now on the ground, but Taehyung pulls me back.

“Careful there,” he says. We’re literally hugging each other and as I try to get away, he whispers in my ear, “Do you still hate me after all these years?”

“I thought I answered you many years ago,” I reply.

“Like I said too,” he notes, “I only had good intentions.”

I huff and recite, “Yes, doodling all over my notebook, hiding my classroom shoes or umbrella, telling people that I was an orphan and lived with a pack of wolves for half of my life, suggesting that I should be the class representative, and more were all good intentions!”

“They were!”

“And the worst . . .”

“The worst?” he asks.

“Telling Baekhyun that I was in love with him when he already had a girlfriend and then convincing him that I was okay with him dating me on the side if he wanted. Then I heard him say that I was too ugly to even be a spare girlfriend.”

“But,” Taehyung argues, “you really did like him and he wasn’t a good guy anyway.”

“You’re awful you know?”

I pound his chest a few times and unexpectedly start to bawl into tears. This is so stupid. I’m already this old, yet I’m crying over this thing from back in middle school. But . . . because of this trauma, I don’t think I’ve been able to date properly. I always get nervous around my ex-boyfriends because I’m scared that they’ll never love me. I get suspicious of their whereabouts and keep thinking that eventually they’ll cheat on me. Sadly they all do end up cheating on me or I was that spare tire.

Taehyung’s lips gently press on my skin, kissing the spots where my tears have fallen. “Don’t cry okay?” he says.

“Of course I need to cry!” I complain. I know I’m being immature, but I just need to blame someone. “You’re the one that cursed me. I’m a failure at love. You need to take responsibility!”

Wrapping his arms around my body tighter, he assures me, “Okay. Okay. I’ll take responsibility.”

“What? What are you going to do? Pay me?” I bellow.

“Nope!” he utters. “I’ll adopt you! You can be the daughter I haven’t had yet.”

I almost choke on air. “My parents are still alive!” I grumble.

“I can be your second father!” he suggests. “I’ll feed you.”

“I’m not your pet bunny,” I mumble.

“I’ll be sure to screen your male candidates. I’ll shower you with love and care like a father would to his daughter,” he adds more. “You can think of me as . . . um . . . the father that you can be friends with. I think it’s a good deal.”

He hugs me even tighter to the point where I feel my ribs hurting. “You’re not going to let go unless I say yes right?” I sigh.

“Exactly,” he replies.

That’s how we start a father-daughter relationship? Absurd, I know.

Notes