A Night of Confession and Vow
When I first met her, she was a knot of anxiety and wariness.
She feared everything. She kept everything at arm's length.
What closed the distance between us was alcohol — and the effort both of us put in.
Drunk or sober, I worked to steady her, and mercifully she worked just as hard. By now she had found a measure of calm. She still flinched from people, but she no longer hid as if the world itself were hunting her. With a little introduction she had managed decent relationships with two strangers. She seemed to be growing used to the stares on the street. She had even made friends at school — that one genuinely surprised me.
An otherworlder who had shaken off her dread and begun living an ordinary life. If that had been the whole of it, I would have been content.
Someone once said that anxiety is something you pack down and bury.
And unresolved anxiety, sooner or later, always bursts.
"Hic… uh, hic…."
Tears like glass beads slid down her pale cheeks and struck the table one by one. The dam had broken; the tears only multiplied, with no sign of stopping.
"Ce—Cecili—"
I shoved my chair back and stood. My heart hammered. The room tilted. Every falling drop, every twisted line of her face, hurt as if it were my own.
"Cecili—"
"'S okay…."
She stopped the hand I was reaching toward her. With her free hand she wiped at her tears and sniffled. She dragged in a breath and opened her reddened eyes straight on.
"I'm weird, aren't I…."
She looked me full in the face and managed a faint smile — a smile wrecked and warped by tears.
"I'm so happy it scares me…."
She tried to stop crying. The attempt failed almost at once.
"Ah…."
Tears spilled down her cheeks again. Her shoulders shook as she wrapped her trembling arms around herself.
"…Ngh."
My stomach knotted. My head spun; my throat burned dry. Cecilia held herself and wept, and the hand I had stretched toward her hung uselessly in the air between us.
"Cecilia—"
"I don't know… me…."
The murmur that reached me sounded like a child throwing a tantrum, like a student lost among answers, like something long held back finally tearing free.
"I don't know if I'm allowed to be this happy…?!"
Her voice cracked on the last word. Hiccupping sobs began to bleed into the crying.
"I've lived like trash. Like, like garbage left in the street…."
I clutched at my chest and remembered what she had said earlier — that of the past ten-odd years, these last few days had been the happiest. Turn that sentence over and it becomes something far more terrible and sad: that the whole of those ten-odd years had fallen hopelessly short of these few days.
"Chewing bugs, drinking filthy water…."
Isn't that enough? Isn't that enough, world? What possible reason could there be for this girl to suffer like this — and for something already past, no less?
"There were people I met…."
"…."
"E-everyone left me."
"Ce—…."
"Every day was just running. Down alleys, away from people, away from swords and spears, away from nets and daggers flying at me — I, I…."
Why.
Why?
Why?
The hiccups became something close to a scream. The tears dissolved into raw, broken sobbing. Her jaw shook; her breathing went ragged — and so did mine.
"…Every time I'm happy, the past comes back."
"…."
"'Am I allowed to enjoy this? Is it really okay for me to have this?' I keep thinking…."
If only she could simply savor happiness the way other people do. Her past would not even grant her that. Deep-rooted wounds. Trauma. Crushingly low self-worth tangled with a hunger for happiness and the resignation that it was beyond her. Something she had once given up on had turned out to be so sweet that merely holding it made her anxious and afraid. The greater the happiness grew, the greater the dread — that it would be taken, that she would be thrown back into what she had fled. Knowing it would not happen did nothing to quiet the fear.
"You idiot…."
I muttered it under my breath and clenched my fists. How pitiful. To be happy and unable to be happy — what kind of curse was that?
"Hic. Uh, uwaa…."
I knew the alcohol had inflamed everything. We had both drunk a fair amount — three bottles between us, two of them probably hers alone. Did she carry this pain every ordinary day? Or had the drink only dragged a buried agony into the open? Was she sad because she was drunk, or drunk because she was sad? I could not tell.
"Cecilia."
I could not tell — but one thing I knew for certain.
"Hic, uh, mm……?"
If I did nothing here, I would never forgive myself for the rest of my life.
I reached out with the hand that had stalled and pulled her small body hard against me. She flinched; then the tension drained out of her.
"E-Eunhyuk…? …I, I'm……."
A sweet scent rose from her, mixed with the sorrowful smell of tears. At some point I was crying with her.
"It's okay. It's okay…."
I held her tight, our bodies pressed close. Her heated skin and the hammer of her heartbeat came through against mine. I stroked her back with one hand and cradled her head with the other.
"…Ngh……."
I felt her bury her face in my shoulder. A fine trembling, and the fabric there growing wet.
"It's okay, Cecilia. It's okay. I'll stay with you…."
The breath against my shoulder was hot. I breathed hotly too, and let the tears fall without trying to stop them.
Bringing her home that day had been the right choice. This girl needed someone to lean on — someone to tell her she was allowed to be happy, someone to affirm that she existed.
"It's okay, Cecilia. You're allowed to be happy. You — you are more than worth it."
"Hic, uwaa…."
"…Don't be afraid. Stay happy. If it's heavy, we'll carry it together. We'll laugh together and cry together…."
Emotion surged up until my jaw shook. I drew one long breath and held her even tighter.
"You don't have to care about the past. You're going to live here, aren't you? In this house. Together."
"Mm…. Mm-hm…!"
"So…. Yeah, Cecilia. Want to talk about the future instead…?"
"Mm…?"
She lifted her face from my shoulder and looked at me. In those pretty eyes, ruined by tears, I saw myself equally wrecked by them.
"We'll write down everything you ever wanted on paper. And then we'll do it all! Anything. Things you wanted to do, things you never got to do!"
"Everything…?"
"Everything. Yeah. I'll do all of it with you. I'll make sure you get to."
So smile for me. Someday, without anxiety or fear — truly.
"…Mm……."
She murmured it small and buried her face in my shoulder again. I wrapped my arms gently around her head and back once more.
"For now, let's get some sleep, Cecilia. Sleep, get up early, and write down the things you want one by one."
"Mm-hm……."
"It's okay. It'll all work out. I'm here…."
"…Why?"
"Hm?"
"Whyyy…?"
In a small, trembling voice she asked me why I was being so good to her.
"…."
I remembered being asked something similar before — the day the police had stormed the house, I think. Back then I had answered, Because you're cute.
And now?
"…."
In my arms the trembling slowly eased. Her breathing steadied; the last of the tension drained from her small frame.
"…Because I like you."
I said it quietly — almost a murmur, but spoken clearly enough to leave my mouth.
"…."
"…?"
Silence settled. Still holding her, I waited, tense, for whatever would come next.
"…Mm—…."
Nothing did.
"…Cecilia?"
"Sss—…."
I glanced down. Her eyes were closed; her breath came even and soft. She had fallen asleep — or, more accurately, she had passed out cold.
"…I like you, though."
I muttered it to the air. Had she heard it? Had she fallen asleep before she could? Or had she caught my voice somewhere in a dream? Any of those would have been fine, and any of them would have been a problem. Either way, I sincerely hoped our connection would stretch a little further from here.
"…You cowardly cat."
Timid, wary, small-hearted — and yet cute, lovely, kind, and a joy to be around. Being with her made me happy. That was why I liked her.
"…Coward."
In the morning I would look for paper first. School could wait a little. We would write down a mountain of wishes and work through them one by one.
"Mm…."
I could see the small rise and fall of her chest, and her brows still damp with tears. I reached out and gently wiped her eyes and face, then wiped my own.
"Mm……."
Exhaustion rolled over me. Still cradling her carefully, I lay us both down on the blanket. When I closed my eyes, her breathing filled the quiet — even, peaceful. At least she did not seem to be dreaming nightmares.
"…I swear I'll make you happy."
For years. For decades. Until the day she could say with confidence that she was happy.
So for tonight, at least….
"…Good night, Cecilia."