Stigma - 9: A Promise in the Darkness
In the dark room, I held her silently. Gradually, her breathing evened out. The trembling in her pupils stopped, and Set-a's body, which had been shaking sporadically, finally relaxed, as if the tension had drained away.
...
I felt like she was being forced to bear too much. The laws dictating how criminals are treated had been democratically enacted by congressmen with the people's support. Sure, there were still grumblings like "The upper class gets a slap on the wrist even in prison!" but no one was calling to turn back the clock to how things were before.
Still, it wasn't my choice that she'd ended up like this for stealing a few items from a convenience store. I hadn't decided her fate. Even when I'd resolved to kick her out, all I wanted was to look away from these problems. I hoped she'd leave, but I didn't wish misfortune on her.
And in just a few days—in the few days she'd spent in prison—she'd changed like this.
Even so, her suffering wasn't my responsibility to shoulder. I hadn't embraced her among the other slaves. I hadn't abandoned her. I hadn't led her to become a delinquent poor kid or profited from it. Even if I hadn't bought her, it was hard to imagine someone else picking up Set-a in that state. It was misfortune unrelated to me.
If she'd stayed obedient as my slave, or if given another chance, chosen to become a slave again despite the humiliation and sorrow, none of this would have happened. Set-a's misfortune was her own choice, too.
And my decision to cut her loose? Even after thinking it over a hundred times, I couldn't call it my fault.
Going back to the root cause, it started with her parents. But I couldn't even bring myself to blame Set-a's father. No matter that it was a pilot program, she was a slave. A slave's infidelity was a heinous crime, and death sentences weren't uncommon depending on the owner's decision. Sure, there were slaves who tried to wield power over their owners selfishly, but even they never went so far as adultery. Those who did always ended up in prison—often suffering far worse than whatever agony Set-a had endured.
Even so, he'd simply released that slave. Abandoning his daughter alongside her was irresponsible, but not an act of incomprehensible cruelty.
After that, the only one left to blame was her mother. Of all people, someone I'd never met—someone who'd already passed away, whom I could curse without consequence. Someone I never needed to understand, nor had any reason to. I could pour all my hatred into that ghost and call it a day.
"..."
There was hardly any light, but I could feel that her closed-eyed face was beautiful. It had been quite some time since I'd bought her as a slave, but I'd never shared skinship this prolonged. Never held her this close, breathed in her scent.
Warmth seeped through. A fact I didn't want to acknowledge stabbed at my chest.
She was a living person.
She'll be fine.
I didn't want to think more. I wanted distance. Gently laying Set-a on the bed, I tiptoed toward the door.
"Nngh... ah... wh-where... don't go. Don't go..."
She stirred. Her breathing grew ragged again. She still hadn't opened her eyes. Her hands groped across the bed, reaching for my absent body.
"I'm right here."
"Ah... huh?"
Hearing my voice, Set-a struggled to open her eyes and looked up at me.
"You're... here..."
"If it hurts that much, let's go to the hospital tomorrow."
"That'd... just be a hassle for you..."
"I don't mind."
Set-a peered hard at my face, which she could barely make out in the dark. Like it was a desperate mission, an expression that could be read as carrying some sense of duty.
"No."
And she gave a sad smile.
"It's all falling apart anyway. Once the trial's over... I can hurt all I want there. No need for you to worry extra."
Her tone was defensive, but I could tell her words weren't for her own sake.
"I won't abandon you."
The words slipped out. But there was no reason I couldn't stand by them.
She stared at me blankly.
/////
He was glowing.
Set-a gazed blankly at her owner's face, light pouring from behind him. She knew it was just the faint light spilling from the slightly open door, knew he could kick her out right then and there.
But his expression tormented her.
He's... hurting.
He's worried. He spoke in that steady voice, but his eyes vividly showed how much pain and stress he was in.
I...
Am a walking poison, filth of a woman. Someone who spreads misfortune like a plague just by existing.
She had excuses aplenty, but they all meant nothing to him. He was a good person. A noble one. No reason for him to suffer because of an idiot like her, whatever the cause.
Yet he was sad. He was in pain.
There was only one reason.
Because of me...
It weighed heavy. Every moment, her emotions had been hers alone. She had "friends" she hung around with, but neither they nor she thought it real friendship. They'd scatter when cops showed, roam together for warm spots homeless guards wouldn't patrol. If a soft-hearted center director appeared, they'd swarm and leech off him; some even pushed others into compensated dating.
Set-a never empathized with their sorrows or pains. Even if one OD'd and turned up dead in an alley, or someone from the usual park crew vanished, she'd shrug it off as normal. They wouldn't have empathized with hers either. Even after hearing about her criminal record, they'd mocked: "Fucking bitch, what's the point of staying a virgin now? You're going to prison anyway—front and back holes won't matter, you'll get railed like a dog."
And Set-a had laughed along with the jeers.
Or she'd turn it around: "Your slutty cunt reeks of cum, that's why it disgusts me." mocking the girls who took "customers."
Sorrow, pain, death—it was all daily life. Even for themselves, they avoided empathizing with their own suffering. It was too sad to face. Unnecessary.
But this man.
"..."
She probably would never understand it in her lifetime. Taking a stranger's pain seriously. Sharing a dark expression even for the suffering of a bitch as rude and stupid as her.
Set-a decided to get greedy.
"Then... can I stay here forever?"
"If you promise not to commit crimes, and not to be rude to me or the other girls."
If someone else called their slaves "other girls," Set-a would've scoffed. But no matter how she sliced it, Kim Arin was Lee Se-in's friend. No formalities between them, nothing they did felt "rude." Equals. Friends of the opposite sex living together, eating the same food, occasionally having sex.
That's the kind of person he was.
"I promise. Really, truly, I won't ever do that again..."
The words burst out. And Set-a thought she couldn't keep that promise.
Right now... right now I think that, but...
She couldn't trust herself anymore. Not after clearly facing how foolish and weak she was.
She'd thought death didn't matter, but she didn't want to die after all. No courage to bite her tongue, no resolve to hang herself. In her fantasies, she'd scoff at torture with "That all you got?" but seconds after the drugs hit, she'd beg for mercy.
She was that weak. That worthless.
And that evil.
She might not do anything now. But time would pass. Someday she'd forget. Forget not to defy him, forget how happy she was, how precious he was.
Even if not, she didn't know. What she took for granted could be unforgivably rude to him and the others.
She shouldn't have the choice to begin with. The path of a filthy seed rolling in the gutters, choice after choice, had led her to that prison.
"Then... can I ask one favor?"
This would definitely be a "hassle" for him. Even so, this one thing—she couldn't help wanting it. Couldn't help asking him.
Gathering her remaining strength, Set-a sat up and whispered into his ear.
The one wish she desired now.