Hyunjin
When blood is used to repay a debt, forgiveness is impossible.
That's why we're here now.
Taesung has lost a lot of blood and is still bleeding. I can't lose him! I just can't.
The doctor examines him quickly and makes her decision, acting quickly, because she knows there isn't much time left.
„To room six," she orders the orderlies, who wheel Taesung away on a stretcher and rush off to the operating theatre. I quicken my pace and follow them, but the doctor stops me.
„You can't go in there!" she says, stopping me with her words and her hand on my forearm. I try to shake her off, but two other doctors rush to her aid and hold me back. Fucking job, I think to myself. I need to get in there. I need to know what's happening to him.
I want to hold his hand. I want him to know, that I'm here with him. That he's not alone.
Suddenly, the doctor bursts into the operating room and a lot of things happen at once.
Chaos.
I'm an atheist, I don't believe in God, but right now I would even believe in a fucking unicorn.
Because, if I lose him...
If he leaves me...
... ༺༻ ...
I can still clearly remember it. The moment, when the world shrank to a narrow strip of tarmac in front of us, with two blinding lights hurtling straight towards us. The moment, when I jerked the steering wheel to the side. Metal screeched and tyres squealed. I did it automatically, just as I had been taught. Avoid a head-on collision. Survive. But this time, it was a mistake.
The car hit us from the side with such force that my heart stopped for a moment. The impact knocked the air out of my lungs, and the world turned upside down. Metal crumpled, glass shattered and the seatbelt cut into my body. We rolled. Once. Twice. Three times. Each somersault was worse than the last.
Taesung held my hand the whole time.
I could feel his grip tightening, his fingers clenching convulsively around mine. And then came the scream. Sharp and desperate, full of fear. Or was it me screaming? I don't know. I only remember cursing. I yelled into the chaos as if someone could hear me. As if it could change anything.
Then silence.
We were hanging upside down. The lights went out. The engine stalled. The car smelled of petrol and smoke. I opened my eyes first. My head was pounding and everything was blurry, but one thing was clear to me right away. I had to get him out.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and hit the ceiling, which was now the floor, causing pain to shoot through my spine. I didn't stop. I kicked open the door, slid out and felt heat. Fire. The car was starting to burn.
I ran around the crumpled metal and pulled him out. He wasn't breathing properly. I dragged him further and further away, as far as my legs would carry me.
The explosion only occurred once we were far enough away. The shockwave ran across my back. I turned to face him, covering him with my own body as if that could save him.
At that moment, I realised that I had already lost him. That I should have protected him better. That I should have kept going straight on. That I shouldn't have let him get in the car with me.
With my hands covered in blood and my voice shaking more than I would ever admit, I called the ambulance. They didn't ask any questions. They just told me to stay where I was and apply pressure to the wounds. I did. I listened to a stranger's voice on the phone while holding him, blood continuing to seep through my fingers.
For the first time since the crash, he opened his eyes. Just for a moment. His gaze was cloudy and disoriented, but he recognised me. I knew it. He had to. He clasped my fingers weakly and barely noticeably, as if he was afraid that if he let go, I would disappear. I talked to him. Constantly. Nonsense. I said anything to keep him conscious. I begged him to stay with me. Not to close his eyes.
I heard sirens. Then I saw blue and red lights cutting through the night and, with them, the paramedics arrived. They took him from me — professionally, quickly and focused.
I sat right next to him in the ambulance. I held his hand, even though they told me to calm down. I couldn't. Every breath he took was a struggle. Every exhalation was a small victory. I talked to him the whole way, even though he didn't answer me. I don't know if he could hear me.
When we arrived at the hospital, they wanted to leave me outside. They said they would take care of him. They said that it wasn't up to me anymore.
I threatened them. Not with force. Not with shouting. Just with a look and a tone of voice that left no room for refusal. In the end, they let me go with them. They knew that if I had stayed outside, I would have fallen apart.
And now here I am. Defenceless, and the world is disappearing beneath my feet.
... ༺༻ ...
An incessant beeping interrupts my thoughts. I look up at the hallway, and everyone has expressions on their faces that I'd rather not see.
I realise what it means. He's lost his pulse. Fuck, I whisper to myself. They bring a defibrillator to his bedside. My eyes widen and I rush in, but no one notices me. Everyone has their eyes on him, focused on saving the life of a man whose heart stopped beating a moment ago.
„Charging," I hear someone shout, and everyone steps back from the body. „Clear" the voice says again, and a thousand volts are released into his body. His body jerks with the shock. Nothing happens, but my heart is pounding wildly and I'm getting increasingly nervous.
„Charging," the doctor shouts again, and the whole process repeats itself.
And then again.
And again.
I clench my hands into fists. Why did they stop? Why aren't they continuing?
The doctor looks around at the others present and examines their faces. She sees what I see in them. Defeat is etched on each of their faces. She glances at the clock above the door, where I'm still standing. Then she looks at me. Our eyes meet for a second.
I glare at her, silently urging her not to utter the following words.
„Time of death: 11:18 p.m." Those words turn my world upside down. I relax my clenched fists and facial muscles. I'm not frowning anymore. With clouded vision, I rest my eyes on his naked body.
You're dead, Mishimoto. I'm going to kill you.
... ༺༻ ...
BLOOD DEBT (피의 빚)