As the Flower Comes Undone
Twenty-two years.
She and I had met when we were two. Daycare, kindergarten, every year of elementary and middle and high school, and then university—we had passed through all of it side by side. So I thought it was fate. She had always been at my side. And I had always believed I was at hers.
"God, seriously—fuck. I told you to quit clinging."
Her voice. Byeol-ha's, low, spreading through the room where the mood lamp was lit.
"Ah, you're not gonna let me hit it anymore, though. Ah, but who knows, fuck. Few drinks and I get hard—ah. Feels so fucking good."
A man's voice, too. I was fairly sure it was Jin-seok, the one who had been drinking with me only a moment ago.
"Haah, you piece of shit. I've barely put out for you a handful of times! This is—hnngh. The last time. Haah."
Byeol-ha's breathing went rough.
The two of them probably thought they were keeping the whole thing quiet, but in the dead heart of dawn the rustle of the blanket and the slap of skin on skin became a ruinous noise. And from the corners of my eyes I could hear the sound of my own heart coming apart. Jesus, Buddha—what did it matter? Why did the bastard they called God throw something this cruel at a person and have the nerve to call it a trial?
"Nnh—mm. Fuck, go easier. Mm. We're making noise. You bastard. Woojin's gonna wake up!"
Byeol-ha snapped at Jin-seok. He didn't answer. As if he wanted to be heard now, he only drove the slap of his body against her ass faster.
I got up quietly and looked around the small living room. It was a nice place—a living room of a little over three hundred square feet, the private rooms properly walled off.
The friends who had come to celebrate the occasion seemed to be gone; only Jin-seok was left. You bastard. Why didn't you clear out with the rest of them? Why hand me a gift this fucked?
Clutching a heart that clenched until it felt ready to tear, I opened the door to Byeol-ha's room.
The narrow gap of the barely opened door laid the two of them bare in a view as neat and rectangular as a phone screen.
"H-hey, wait! You bastard, stop! Ah! Hey!"
"Ah, it's coming! Fuck! I'm cumming! Hnnnngh."
In the streetlight spilling through the window, two obscene shadows were pressed together. Over the ass of Byeol-ha, pinned beneath Jin-seok, a thick rope of his semen spilled.
I groped along the wall and switched on the light. In a panic Byeol-ha kicked Jin-seok—crouched there like a monkey—and shoved him off the bed.
"Wait, you've got it wrong. Woojin. No—it's not wrong. Fuck."
Hastily covering her bare lower half with the blanket, Byeol-ha came shuffling toward me.
"Woojin, I'm really sorry. It's not like I—god damn it!"
She stamped her feet, helpless, and could only cry.
Somewhere in the middle of it Jin-seok had fastened his pants and was passing the two of us. The dark wet stain left on them burned straight into my chest.
As he went by he patted my shoulder, twice, and let fall a single line.
"Hey, Kim Jin-seok, you son of a bitch!"
My whole body began to shake like an aspen. Was it the drink? It felt as if a hole had opened in me and every bit of strength drained out at once.
It was Christmas Eve. No—the hour had already crossed into dawn, so it was Christmas. The sound of Jin-seok shutting the front door on his way out came strangely loud, as if even the door were irritated.
"Woojin! No, don't—do you know how long I waited? I was wrong!"
Twenty-two years. That was how long it had taken me to confess to her.
Had I been the only one who believed we were loving each other along some fate already written?
I was pathetic, confessing to her so late.
"Byeol-ha."
I didn't even know what I had wanted to say. I hadn't particularly meant to say anything. I couldn't bring myself to open my mouth any further.
So what left it, in place of words, was vomit.