Please Don't Hate Me
Please don't hate me.
University Hospital, 7th floor ward.
Yeoreum lay on the bed. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, her face pale but serene. There was no oxygen mask. That meant she was breathing on her own. An IV needle was stuck in her arm, and patches for an EKG monitor were attached to her chest.
Beep—beep—beep—The EKG monitor emitted a monotonous sound. A green line traced regular waveforms across the screen. Heart rate: 75. Within normal range.
The door opened, and a nurse entered. She checked the IV bag and replaced it with a fresh one. Then she picked up the chart and reviewed the records.
[Patient Name: Yeoreum / 21 years old / Male]
[Diagnosis: Acute heart attack due to congenital ventricular septal defect]
[Current Status: Unconscious, Stable]
"She's still not conscious," the nursing assistant said as she followed the nurse in.
"They said the quick emergency measures saved her life. The professor mentioned she'll wake up in a day or two…"
"That's a relief at least. Where's the guardian who came in the ambulance?"
"Oh, she's not blood-related or a legal guardian. Just a neighbor, apparently."
"I see."
"Yeah. I saw her heading toward the emergency stairs earlier. She looked pretty shaken. Probably scared."
Chatting idly, the nurse took Yeoreum's temperature and checked her blood pressure. 36.5 degrees, 120/80. All vitals normal. She could probably be discharged once she regained consciousness.
The nurses left, and the room fell quiet again. Yeoreum remained deep in slumber. Her eyes occasionally darted beneath her eyelids—maybe she was dreaming. Or it could just be a neural reflex.
Third floor emergency stairs. Kim Bom was huddled there. Knees pulled up to her chest, back against the cold concrete wall, arms wrapped around her legs. It was a cramped space enclosed by gray concrete walls and metal railings.
This university hospital had elevators and escalators. No one would use the emergency stairs unless they had to. That's why Kim Bom chose it. A place to be alone.
Fifteen minutes until the ambulance arrived, twenty minutes to the hospital, two hours for emergency treatment and admission. All that time, Kim Bom had stopped thinking and just kept moving. Explaining the situation to the paramedics, giving Yeoreum's medical history to the nurses, filling out admission forms. The single thought of saving Yeoreum had held her together.
She'd done everything she couldn't do twenty years ago when her father collapsed.
But.
This time, unlike twenty years ago, she had succeeded. That was a fact.
Yet Kim Bom was alone again. In this gray concrete space where no one came.
The crisis was over, at least. That realization snapped the thread of tension holding her up. Her legs gave out. She couldn't stand anymore. So Kim Bom collapsed onto the stairs, like a puppet with its strings cut.
Sunlight streamed through the emergency stair window. Dust danced in the beams. Faint hospital announcements echoed from afar.
Kim Bom did nothing. She couldn't. She just sat there, leaning against the wall.
Time passed. She didn't know how much.
The sunlight slanting through the narrow window shifted angles bit by bit. Her legs went numb from hugging her knees so long. Kim Bom stayed in the same position.
'I… strangled her neck.'
Sudden realization hit her late. The doctor in the ER had asked how the patient collapsed. Kim Bom had just said she suddenly couldn't breathe and fell. A lie.
The truth was… Kim Bom's hands had wrapped around Yeoreum's neck and squeezed. That slender neck trembling in her grip. Her struggling in agony.
'These hands…'
Kim Bom stared at her hands on her knees. Ordinary woman's hands. Pale, slender fingers, neatly trimmed nails. Clean as always.
But these hands had squeezed Yeoreum's neck just hours ago. Driven her to the brink of death.
The hands that failed to save her father twenty years ago had tried to kill this time.
"Crazy bitch. Deserves divine punishment."
Only now did the reality sink in. The sensation from that moment revived in her palms—the soft skin yielding under pressure, the desperate spasms of resisting muscle.
Nausea surged. She clamped her mouth shut, suppressing it desperately. She couldn't vomit. Not here.
'When Yeoreum wakes up…'
The doctor said consciousness would return in a day or two. Then what?
If Yeoreum woke and remembered her. Of course she'd remember. How could she forget the thing that made her lose consciousness? The choking pain, the suffocating terror, the moment her heart nearly stopped.
And that the choking was done by Kim Bom— she'd remember that too.
'If we meet…'
What would happen if she met Yeoreum after she regained consciousness? How would Yeoreum look at her then?
Scenes began forming in her mind. The ward door opens. Yeoreum sits up in bed. Kim Bom approaches cautiously. Tries to apologize, beg forgiveness.
But Yeoreum's face twists at the sight of her.
[Get out.]
A cold voice. A face full of contempt.
[Don't ever show your face to me again, you attempted murderer. Be grateful I won't call the cops.]
Even imagined, his words stabbed her heart. Kim Bom's breathing quickened. Her heart pounded irregularly. Her fingertips tingled.
If she heard that face-to-face? Just the thought was unbearable.
'I couldn't take it. I absolutely couldn't.'
Her whole body trembled. Not from cold. Pure terror. The fear that the one she loved most would hate and despise her.
Kim Bom hugged her knees tighter. Made herself as small as possible. As if she could vanish that way.
The light through the window tilted further. Afternoon deepened.
More time passed. But Kim Bom remained in the same pose. Knees hugged, back to the wall.
Then suddenly, another scene flashed in her mind. Sharper, more vivid than the last.
The ward door opens. Yeoreum lies in bed. Kim Bom enters. Kneels. Apologizes. Sobs and begs forgiveness.
But no anger. No "get out." No calling her an attempted murderer.
Just… nothing.
He stares at the ceiling from his bed. Doesn't even glance at the kneeling Kim Bom.
[Yeoreum-ssi. I'm sorry. Please, just once…]
The imagined Kim Bom pleads. Crawls on her knees to grab his hand.
Yeoreum pulls his hand away. Without emotion, like swatting a bothersome fly. Then shifts his gaze to the ward TV. Continues ignoring her completely. Like roadside weeds or pebbles unworthy of notice.
Kim Bom speaks. No reply.
Kim Bom cries. He doesn't care.
Whether Kim Bom was there or not made no difference to him.
"Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah…!"
That imagination tore her heart apart. Hatred or rage would be better. At least those were emotions. Directed at Kim Bom.
But indifference was different. It denied her existence. As if her presence or absence, life or death, meant nothing. Total severance. Total erasure.
"Ah, no… not that… anything but that…"
Twenty years ago, Father left. Through death.
And returned. As Yeoreum.
But if he left again? Not through death, but indifference?
Erased from her world once more?
"Guh, kehuk…"
She couldn't breathe. Her chest tightened. Her lungs forgot how to work. Hands and feet grew cold. Strength drained from her body.
Kim Bom could no longer lean on the wall. Her body tilted sideways.
Thud.
She collapsed onto the cold concrete floor. In a messy, undignified sprawl.
'Dad…'
Her lips moved soundlessly. Maybe there was sound. Too faint even for her to hear.
"Hic…"
A small sob leaked out.
"Hic… hik…"
At first, stifled whimpers. But soon, uncontrollable crying.
"Please don't hate me…"
A voice barely audible.
"Please… don't hate me…"
In the empty emergency stairs, she pleaded to someone not there.
"I was wrong… I was really wrong…"
Tears fell to the concrete. Forming small stains.
"I won't… I won't ever do it again…"
Endless pleas poured from her lips. But no one was there to hear.
"You don't have to be Dad… I don't even have to call you Dad…"
Kim Bom's voice grew smaller.
"Just don't hate me… don't ignore me…"
Finally, her voice faded to a whisper indistinguishable from breathing.
And so Kim Bom wept soundlessly on the cold hospital emergency stair floor. Like a child. Just like that day twenty years ago.