She Was Already Ready
All I could do was sigh.
After sending the text, it felt like I'd been killing time at the café forever. I couldn't even remember how many of those 1,900-won drinks I'd downed.
…When I thought about it, this really wasn't the time for that.
I'd completely forgotten about grocery shopping.
The idea of going to the mart with Noona crossed my mind, but I dropped it. I had no idea what might happen to her out there. If a panic attack hit her, I wouldn't have the first clue how to help. So I rushed to the mart alone, grabbing soft tofu first, then every ingredient for soft tofu stew, just scrambling through it all.
Come to think of it—did we even have rice at home? I ended up buying microwave rice too, and I was so frantic I thought I'd drop dead. Back when I used to cook, it was so inconsistent my friends would tell me, "Don't you dare cook for anyone," but I figured at this level no one would say I couldn't manage a meal. Why everyone gets so serious about rice that they tell me not to bother, I'll never understand.
Anyway, the microwave rice was bought. Now all that remained was waiting for Noona. The reason I was waiting after taking her home came down to one thing.
Honestly, it was the medicine.
I didn't even know what she took or how much, and more than anything, psychiatric meds have to be taken on schedule. I'd basically interfered. Maybe that was why she'd been in so much pain. Maybe all of it was my fault. The frustration of that was more than I could stand. Maybe I'd made her condition so much worse. What happened last night was something I… had done, after all.
That was why I was so terrified.
Because I was the one who messed up. I believed none of it was Noona's fault. No matter how I turned it over, the blame sat with me. But was it even okay for me to set out a warm meal and warm soup for her? I couldn't bear that question, so right now I was just drinking coffee.
Maybe meeting Noona that night had been the real mistake. Swept up in my own impulse, I never should have done that to her. Because of it her condition might have gotten worse—so with what face was I saying I'd cook her soft tofu stew? My hands were still shaking because of that one thing.
It was my fault. Because of that alone.
The look in her eyes at the end had been so terrifying I couldn't stand it. Still, somehow I had to talk with her. And yet this thought kept rising:
Is it really right to ask her what happened?
If after we talked she said she'd never come again? If she said she'd never see me again? Could I handle that? Not even knowing what had happened to her—could I really do that?
Fear seized me in an instant and I couldn't move. So I ordered another 1,900-won tea. This was probably the first time I'd drunk this much tea, and it would be the last. Having to sit like this until seven in the evening was so frightening I could barely stand it. Sleep wouldn't come either. Because it was my fault—thinking that left me with nothing to say. Just arriving at Noona's place at six and seeing her alright; nothing else entered my head.
So I sat stuck in the café, watching the clock. About thirty minutes left until the promised time. Had I ever been this nervous? There was no room to get bored. Even though I wanted to hear what Noona thought of me, I couldn't hear it from the Noona of right now—that single thought swallowed my head whole, so even if I wanted sleep it refused to come.
This won't do. Better to go early.
I called Noona ahead of time. Her answer was… that she was already ready, so come whenever. I was surprised at how quickly she answered. And surprised that she was already prepared. I'd thought I'd have to wait a little. So I ran to Noona's house without even thinking about the tofu breaking.
What should I wear?
Since becoming a university student I hadn't properly worn clothes. Had I even been able to wear clothes properly in the first place? I'd sworn never to go outside again, so the clothes might be worn out by now. After taking my medicine I started looking for something to wear, hoping none of it was covered in mold. The house was damp, that much was true, but I'd left the door open while living here, so rather than moldy clothes I hunted for something Kang-to might find pretty. As a bonus I started looking for underwear too.
"There's none. None…"
Of course there wouldn't be. There's no way I'd have kept pretty underwear like that ready for everyday life. I managed to pull together ordinary clothes somehow, but they smelled from not being washed in so long, so I sprayed air freshener right away. I didn't want to hear from Kang-to that I smelled.
Ah. Right.
If I didn't even want to hear that I smelled, I could wash my body right now. I stripped quickly and headed for the bathroom. And then, after a long time, I confirmed the reason I rarely changed clothes.
Scratch marks all over my body.
At first I scratched because it itched. The second time I scratched because I couldn't stand it. After that I started scratching because I hated myself so much. But even scratching, the hatred wouldn't leave, so it wouldn't stop, and I ended up wounding myself. But what choice did I have? Even if I never ate it because I wanted to, I'm dirty. Who would like a woman who's taken drugs like that? Who on earth?
That's why. The reason I try somehow to stay with Kang-to. The reason I—the one named Na-bi—try to stay with Kang-to: there's nothing else. So endure the pain, Na-bi.
"Ugh… ah… aaaah…"
While I washed, the wounds met the hot water. I tried somehow to keep the agony from rising, but the already-scratched wounds hurt beyond bearing.
It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts—save me. It's not like I did anything wrong. It's not like I scratched because I wanted to claw myself raw. Please stop. Don't make me feel the pain. Don't make me feel that I'm alive in this shitty way.
"Haa… heok… haeu… uuuu… uuaaaaang…"
Even if I want to cry, I can't. Crying because it hurts and crying because I want to cry are different things. Right now I'm crying because it hurts. I'm crying because it hurts—not because I want to. If I cry because I want to, I won't have a face left to show Kang-to.
So smile.
"Hehe."
Endure the pain and don't cry. There's still something I have to do. So cover the wounds I don't want Kang-to to see first. I grab the bandages and apply them wherever I can. Applying them doesn't hide anything, but it's better than letting them catch his eye. So wrap the bandages while smiling. Don't make Kang-to suspicious of anything strange. Don't let him know who you are. Right now you're just Na-bi.
"I know."
It hurts. Even wrapping and wrapping the bandages, the red blood won't stop. Eventually, unable to stand it, I smeared on a thick layer of ointment. Still the blood doesn't stop.
"Auaaaaak!!! Aaaak!!! Aaeuaaaaaak!!!"
Even the pain won't stop. Why? I'm putting on wound medicine—why won't it stop? If this keeps up I can't go meet Kang-to. What will I do when I see him? Idiot, pull yourself together. You're here to meet Kang-to. Your reason for existing is nothing else. Kang-to understood everything, and you're going to ignore that and not even try to endure the pain?
So I smiled again.
The only way from hell to heaven is to smile.
Now—time to put on clothes.
"Huh… why is the color of the clothes like this?"
The clothes that had been fine until just a moment ago looked strange. They hadn't seemed that old, so why had they turned out like this? The smell of long disuse I understood, but the color of clothes can't just change. Did I choose wrong? Then I thought I could pick again, but I found nothing. In the first place I couldn't think of any clothes that would hide the wounds. Were there other clothes besides this long T-shirt? If not, nothing I can do.
"It smells, it smells, it smells, it smells, it smells,"
I sprayed and sprayed deodorant. Still it smelled. My smell came out. There's no smell worse than my own, so why is it coming out? So stop—stop coming out. I can't let Kang-to smell this. Please just stop. It's not like I did something that wrong!
No matter how many times I sprayed, it wouldn't leave, so I put those clothes on as they were and rolled around on the bed. Ah—so there was no way. Was there not a single thing I could do? My body has become so foul I can't even wear old clothes. There's no way Kang-to would like someone like me. So then—why on earth does Kang-to like me? Is the body the goal? Actually even that would be fine, but eventually if he finds out my secret he can abandon me anytime, so somehow I want to hide at least this fact. It's not like I ate it because I wanted to—I was forced to eat it—but still that's my fault. Back then if I'd wanted to run I could have run, but I couldn't run. That's my fault, right? Isn't it?
Eventually I saw the razor lying beside me. If I cut with that, wouldn't it feel a little better? If I tormented myself a little more, wouldn't I feel better? Then it would really be okay.
Of all times, that was when the call from Kang-to came.
"Ah, Kang-to. What's up?"
"Ah, I think I'll be leaving soon so I was wondering if Noona was ready. I'll come right over in thirty minutes."
"D-don't worry. I'm ready. You just need to come."
"Ah, then I'll come right away. Noona, wait a little more."
Ah.
You won't even tolerate my wounds.
Yeah. That's right.
Kang-to, you shouldn't forgive any of my wounds. You shouldn't. So don't let me hurt myself for my own sake anymore. Let me hurt myself for you.
Please.