Normalizing the Abnormal (1)
“...Girlfriend?”
The short but heavy silence shattered as my mother asked me that. But even from her perspective, it must've sounded unbelievable—her voice carried a hesitant lilt.
Just moments ago, though, a girl in the uniform of the school I'd transferred to had tried to stab me to death with a kitchen knife. I'd dodged it and pinned her down under the pretense of self-defense, beating her senseless in return. There was no way my mother could imagine that. And I hadn't even told her that Yujin, standing right behind me, had filed charges accusing me of sexual assault.
In that brief instant of my flustered hesitation, I caught sight of Yujin pulling the knife in her hand toward herself. My senses snapped alert. I twisted sideways to turn around. I had to hit Yujin. Not just soft spots like her breasts, thighs, or fleshy areas that would only hurt without stunning her like before—no, even if it scarred her pretty face, I needed to smash her jaw and knock her out cold or neutralize her in one blow.
Doing that would expose my brutal side right in front of my mother, but to keep Yujin from harming her with that knife, I had to.
So as soon as Yujin's pretty face came into view, I cocked my fist at my waist, ready to swing, twisting my head too. But the moment her actual face registered, the tension drained from my clenched fist.
Part of it was Yujin clasping her hands behind her back, hiding the knife behind her ass. But more decisive was her expression.
Amid her glamorous features and even flashier platinum-dyed hair, her face held a demure innocence. Not a trace remained of the maniac who'd just tried to gut me with that knife.
“Yes, that's right, ma'am. A friend. Not a girlfriend, though.”
Those words came in Yujin's bubbly voice—not even minutes earlier, those same hands clasped behind her back had gripped the knife aimed at killing me.
Now I got why her fans had begged her to become an actress before my regression. She was a natural.
“A friend...?”
But my mother's suspicions didn't fully melt away with Yujin's answer alone. Her face mixed confusion and doubt as she eyed Yujin. Just as her gaze shifted to the blood smeared on Yujin's white dress shirt—the shirt I'd used to wipe my hands—Yujin flashed a bright smile.
A cheerful, spirited grin. The kind adults adore.
That seemed to loosen my mother's heart. She hesitated but stepped right inside, figuring it was weird to linger at the threshold of her own home.
Standing before me at last, she noticed my split lip from Yujin's wild swings, her face flooding with worry as she fussed.
“Oh my, kiddo! What happened to your face?!”
She'd been too fixated on Yujin's face to check her own son's until we'd shut the door. But that wasn't strange.
Among countless girl group hopefuls, Yujin was called the undisputed center. A handful of idols matched her beauty, sure, but fans universally agreed no one captivated eyes like her.
“And your hands! What the hell is this? Blood's gushing out!”
I extended both hands to dodge my mother's grab, checking Yujin's reaction.
Yujin had worn that demure smile moments ago, but the second my mother's eyes locked on my hands, her face twisted again.
-Die, you fucking dog.
She mouthed it at me, mouth agape like she wanted everyone to see. But despite holding the knife, she showed no sign of swinging it my way anymore.
Good. Or rather, expected.
Her murder attempt had failed, and my forced-mind-reset punches to her gut and tits had somewhat restored her sanity. No way she'd try killing in front of witnesses. Yujin was hot-tempered, attention-whoring, and arrogant as hell, but not a retard.
“Antiseptic... antiseptic... It should be in the room...”
My mother, who'd kicked off her shoes and rushed inside the moment she entered, froze. Her eyes scanned the overturned shoes shoved aside and the blood drops on the floor.
Sensing something off, she swept the area—then her gaze landed back on Yujin.
Yujin smiled innocently again, like I'm innocent—
But even hidden behind her ass, that knife in her grip was impossible to miss.
“You, what's that in your hand—?”
“We were cooking.”
I cut in with the answer.
Ridiculous, but far more plausible than “This uniformed girl tried to murder me with it.” Kitchen knives were for cooking, after all.
“Cut myself while cooking.”
I said it firmly, like that was explanation enough—no more needed.
“...Ah. So that's why your hands are like this? You too, inviting a guest over and being so sloppy—what kind of hosting is that?”
As she spoke, grabbing my hands and lifting them, my mother paused, frowned oddly, then dropped them and glanced between Yujin and me.
“But why were you cooking out by the front door?”
“Heard a noise, so I came to check.”
“With a knife?”
My mother eyed Yujin as she asked.
“Yep!”
Yujin beamed, as if strolling to the entrance with a knife during cooking was the most normal thing ever.
Mom still looked unconvinced, but she was always too pure-hearted to suspect people much. And right now, treating my hand wound trumped prying. She headed to the living room.
As she slipped between us and walked ahead, I sidled up to Yujin and snatched the knife from her hand.
She handed it over without resistance. Her impulsive stunt had fizzled into an attempt; holding onto it now served no purpose.
Stuck tight together, we trailed my mother without separating, hissing curses into each other's ears where she couldn't hear.
-Die, you fucking dog.
Yujin whispered.
-What was that smile? Like a fucking marriage meeting? Demure act from the psycho who just tried to kill me.
I shot back.
-I'm telling you to die quick? Worthless scum like you doesn't deserve to live. Die.
-Try it sometime. Oh wait, you already failed? What now? It's all on camera. Maybe head to the station today and report it? Let Yujeong watch her baby girl dragged to jail.
Whether Yujin was only now grasping the fallout of her impulse, or just had no comeback, she switched to action—swinging her elbow at my gut.
She'd been bound and pummeled last night, beaten again just now, felt our strength and size gap firsthand, yet here she was, unbowed and swinging. At this point, anger gave way to grudging admiration for her grit.
But admiration didn't mean taking the hit. I palm-blocked her elbow lightly, then pinched her wrist with the same hand. Leaning to her ear, lips brushing, I whispered:
-Were you a honey bee in a past life or something?
Yujin turned to me. We were whispering so low Mom wouldn't hear, faces inches apart like a kiss, but our words dripped venom.
-Honey bee...? Eat shit, you nerd. Stuff your face with that lame crap. Piglet. That's why you're a fat pig.
-Shut your trap, you dumb bitch. And look at your udders. Bigger than a sow's.
-Ughhh, don't sexually harass me, you fucking dog!
She yanked her pinched arm toward her chest. Then twisted her waist, firing her elbow at my side again.
I blocked easily. Undeterred even when her sure shot failed, she clenched her fist and chopped her hand-knife at my thigh.
Too close for power; it barely tingled, like a massage.
But payback was due. Just like with Yujeong last night, I flicked her nipple hard with my knuckle.
That stung—she flinched hard, craning her neck toward me, lips to my ear.
I straightened to ignore her, but she hooked an arm around my waist. Pretending defeat, I dipped my face to hers. Her warm breath tickled my ear, slipping into my canal. But her words didn't match the softness:
-That hurts, you fucking asshole!
-Then why hit if not to get hit? Oh wait, last night your mom got hit 'cause it hurt—and she squirted like she loved it. Haha.
Even after that, we kept trading punches, curses, and kicks while glued together, following Mom—until Yujin's steps halted. She lifted one leg high, heel aimed at my toes.
Obvious ploy. Instead of left-right steps, I double-stepped left-left.
Thud! Her heel slammed empty floor.
“Ack!”
“Haha, dumb bitch.”
“What'd you just say...?”
Right then, Mom—now in the living room, paused at the drawer with the bandages—turned and spoke.
Even in the spacious living room, she eyed our glued-together stance suspiciously.
Why are they standing like that? Her gaze shifted to the exact look that middle-aged pharmacist had given me this morning when I'd taken Yujeong to the drugstore.
Last thing I wanted: my own mother misunderstanding. I snatched the bandages she'd pulled out and said,
“I'll handle it. Go rest—you were working late all night yesterday, right?”
“How'd you cut so deep while cooking?”
“It's fine, really. Just this much.”
I shook my head, ripping open the box.
“And why're you holding that knife? Scary in front of people. Put it back in the kitchen. ...Wait, is that even ours?”
Mom peered closely at the knife I'd taken from Yujin.
Scrambling for an excuse, Yujin jumped in beside me.
“Th-that's mine. I brought it.”
She reached both hands for my knife-hand.
I turned from Mom to hide my face, glaring What the fuck now, you psycho bitch? But Yujin was shameless. She gripped harder, trying to wrench it free.
Her arms couldn't budge it, so she leaned back, using legs and full body weight like tug-of-war. Pathetic sight.
I pondered. Show Mom me dropping a bloody knife mid-wrestle with Yujin? Or...
No way she'd attack now. My turf, familiar layout. Earlier was a surprise; I could handle her easily.
I handed her the knife. My sudden release nearly toppled her, but I caught her waist, steadying her.
Furious Yujin eyed my ribs for an elbow shot, but Mom's stare killed the attempt.
Yujin forced an awkward smile.
“C-cooking. Gonna cook for you.”
The excuse sounded lame even to her. Dodging follow-ups, she bolted to the kitchen off the living room.
Mom's face, already sensing weirdness since entry, hardened more. Leaning to me out of Yujin's earshot, she whispered,
“Your girlfriend... that girl. Isn't she a bit off?”
“Yeah, tons of problems. And not my girlfriend.”
“Coming to a guy's house this late without parents' okay, still in uniform, and bringing a knife... Even if for cooking.”
“Right, Mom. She's got issues up here.”
I nodded eagerly as Mom's fondness for Yujin tanked.
“But her face is gorgeous...”
Yet that beauty alone seemed to overwrite Yujin's oddities. Mom's voice turned wistful, fondness rebounding.
She headed to the kitchen, gazing at Yujin rummaging our fridge without permission, repeating dreamily,
“Tall too. Long legs. ...A bit too good for my boy.”
“Uh... yeah?”
I said I'd handle the antiseptic, shoved Mom toward the bedroom—shower and crash after your all-nighter.
She dawdled, so I hurried to Yujin.
Yujin—that bitch—was actually apron-ed up like she'd come to cook for real.
But why grab a fork if you're just chopping cabbage?