Taesung
Five whole months of my life have disappeared as if they never existed. I am lying in a hospital in Seoul, a city that I had planned to visit anyway. I just imagined it differently.
The last thing I remember is being in the café, where I work, when my stepbrother approached me with a message from my birth father, who wanted to meet me. Is he the reason I'm here? I remember wanting to visit him because I had wanted to meet him for so long. Did I finally manage to do it? Did we meet? Are we in contact? Do we have a good relationship?
I can't remember the answers to these questions. Was it a car accident? Why was I in that car? Was I driving, or was I a passenger? Who was I with? Was it my father? Or was it the strange man covered in blood, who was sitting next to my bed, when I woke up?
Who is this man? I recognised his name, when the doctor addressed him as Mr. Yoon. My brain definitely reacted to it somehow. Did we know each other? Judging by his behaviour, I don't think today was the first time we had met.
The doctor said he had saved me and brought me to the hospital, which might explain why I felt like I knew him. That would make sense. We must have met during the five months of my life that are missing from my memory. But the look in his eyes showed that he knew me better than I knew myself. I felt uncomfortable and couldn't maintain eye contact with him. I couldn't do it.
When he handed me a glass of water and our fingers touched, it felt both familiar and foreign.
Yoon. Mr. Yoon. Who are you, and what connects us?
Thinking about those lost five months is exhausting, I feel even more tired. I consider calling for the nurse and asking her for sleeping pills.
I close my eyes and an image appears before me. It's an image of Yoon with a bloody gash on his face, and someone's hands clasping his face. I jerk awake and open my eyes. What was that? Are fragments of the accident coming back to me?
I can't handle this, it's exhausting. I reach for the remote, press the button and call for the nurse. After staring at the hospital wall for five minutes, the nurse appears in the doorway. I ask her for sleeping pills. I try to convince her that I need them so that I can sleep well tonight.
„I just want to be able to sleep," I tell her. The words sting my head so badly that I realise I've heard them before. The nurse finally agrees and returns with an injection, which she administers directly into my vein through the IV.
I fall asleep almost immediately. My eyelids droop, and I sink into a darkness filled with an unknown voice calling my name.
... ༺༻ ...
I twist the knife into his carotid artery. Hot blood splatters my face. I know I did it to save myself. He wanted to kill me. But why do I feel like I'm enjoying it? Looking into his eyes, I see life slowly fading away from him, and a sense of relief washes over me.
My hands are covered in hot blood. I look around and see that I'm in some kind of room. I hear strange noises behind me. I turn around, and another hooded figure appears in the hallway. I don't know why, but I run towards the figure and ram into it with all my strength. He falls over the railing and I hear the sound of glass shattering. Looking down, I see a figure shrouded in fog, and someone calls my name.
I wake up in shock and sit up abruptly. I hiss in pain and clutch my stomach. I quickly come to my senses. I'm in hospital. I had been in a car accident. I pull up my hospital gown and examine my body. There's a fresh scar on my left side, stretching from my ribs to above my groin. It reminds me of something. Suddenly, an image flashes through my mind, a flock of black birds. I don't know what it means, though. I'm sure I've seen them somewhere before.
My thoughts are interrupted by someone arriving. I see a trolley, and then one of the nurses hands me my lunch. I lower my eyes in disappointment. Why am I disappointed? Who was I expecting?
I pull the food closer to me and realise how hungry I am. I lift the lid and see vegetable broth, rice, two bowls of stewed vegetables and melon. My mouth waters and I immediately dig in.
I eat slowly, finding it hard to sit up straight. I savour every bite, wondering why this feels familiar. Suddenly, I am reminded of rabboki, Taeju's specialty.
I pause, a spoonful of rice poised in front of my open mouth. Who on earth is Taeju? Why has this person come to mind? What do I have in common with him? And how do I know that I like his food?
I put the spoon back in the bowl. This is driving me crazy, I can't take it! My brain clearly wants to remember, but I don't. It weighs me down and exhausts me. I want to forget everything and go back to how things were before. But how did I live before?
I don't know what to do. What if those lost memories include things I don't want to remember? Maybe that's why my brain chose to forget. But what if there's something I do want to remember?
My head hurts, so I call the nurse and ask her for painkillers. Again. How long am I going to lie here for? I want to leave. But where can I go?
I hear a knock on the door — the nurse has finally arrived. A man in a suit appears around the corner. His charisma hits me hard — if I were standing, my knees would surely buckle. I let out a weak moan. His light hair is tied in a bun on top of his head and shines beautifully. He stands next to my bed, with one hand tucked into his trouser pocket and the other resting on the bed handle by my feet.
„How are you feeling, Taei?" Taei? Taei. I feel like I've heard that voice before. Recently. It's so deep and powerful that it makes me want to kneel before him. I focus on his face. Slowly, I recognise his features. Now that he's clean, his good looks stand out, making my head spin. I long to touch his hair.
I shake my head to dispel these strange thoughts. „I'm tired, but otherwise I'm feeling pretty good." I stammer and swallow.
„I'm glad to hear it. I wanted to check on you in person to make sure you were okay. I brought your things." This answers my unspoken question about why he's here. He puts the bag containing my things — whatever he brought — on the table next to my bed. I realise that I haven't thanked him for saving my life yet. Not that I've had the opportunity to mention it, of course. So I quickly correct that.
„Thank you for saving my life, Mr. Yoon." I thank him politely, but I notice the corner of his mouth curl when I say his name. Have I misremembered how the doctor addressed him?
„Just Hyunjin." He asks me to call him by his first name, which sounds so familiar, as if I say it every day. Lost in my thoughts, I remember who the mysterious figure shrouded in fog from my dream was. It was him. Hyunjin. What if it was a memory? Not a dream. I'm so confused. I really don't know if I want to find out the truth, even if it hurts.
„Do you need anything?" His words pull me out of my thoughts. His voice is now softer, as if tinged with tenderness. I open my mouth, unsure of what to say, but I'm grateful when his phone rings in his pocket, interrupting my reply. „Hold on, I have to take this." He accepts the call, steps over to the window and looks out while listening to the person on the other end of the line.
I now have a moment to take a good look at him without him wondering why I'm staring. „Have you looked everywhere?" He asks someone a question, and his posture changes. I notice that he clenches his other hand into a fist. He frowns, looking menacing. The image sends a strange feeling down my spine. His hair is black underneath, which contrasts beautifully with the lighter colour on top. He has a sharply defined jawline, a tattoo behind his ear and earrings. His whole figure looks too familiar to me. „What about Taeju? Any news?" I flinch at the sound of his name. Taeju. He said his name. Now I am one hundred percent sure that we are connected in some way. Even though the truth may hurt and may not be what I want it to be, I have decided that I want to find out. „I'm on my way." He ends the call and turns to me, looking almost hurt. It's as if he's upset that he can't stay with me any longer. „I have to go, Taei. I...,"
„Will you come back?" I interrupt him, ignoring the fact that I am beeing formal with him. He doesn't seem to mind, though. In fact, I feel like the corners of his mouth have turned up slightly.
„I will. I'll come back for you." With those words, he leaves my room. I don't know what he meant by that, but when he said it, I felt a familiar warmth inside me.
... ༺༻ ...
„How's your scar?" the doctor asks, looking at my face as she comes in for a check-up. I raise my hand to my eyebrow and frown.
„It healed a long time ago."
„I mean the one on your face." She didn't need to specify. I automatically touch my left cheek. I feel it with my fingertips and gasp, it's still there.
I pull the IV out of my arm, uncover the blanket and jump out of bed, hissing in pain. Fuck, that hurts.
„What are you doing?" The doctor gasps and rushes after me, but I'm already standing in front of the bathroom mirror looking at my battered face.
„What. The. Fuck. Is. this?" I squeal when I see myself.
„I know it's not an easy sight, but...,"
„I have blue hair!" I interrupt her, completely shocked that my hair isn't black anymore. I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, and then my attention finally turns to the scar on my face. That's why I jumped out of bed so quickly, almost tearing my thighs in the process.
„Can it be removed?" I ask the doctor standing in the doorway, pointing to the scar.
„You said you wanted it...," she pauses.
„What?"
„Yes, it can be removed. With a laser or plastic surgery." Laser or plastic surgery? That will cost a lot of money. I think I know why I decided to keep it.
Looking at my reflection, I realise that, for the first time since waking up, I don't feel panicked, but strangely calm. The scar is a reminder of something that can't be undone.
„No," I finally say. The doctor looks at me questioningly. „I'll keep it."
„Are you sure?" she asks cautiously. I can't help but wonder if this is the first time she's asked me this.
„I'm sure," I reply. „I don't want to forget where she's from."
She watches me for a moment, as if unsure whether I'm acting out of pain or reason. Then she just nods. Professionally. She respects it. She turns towards the door and, before she leaves, I hear her last words. „This is the second time you've made this decision."
As soon as I'm alone, I lean my palms against the sink and look at myself again. The scar isn't a punishment. It's proof.
„It suits you." I jump in surprise. I hadn't heard him come in. I look him in the eye and nod quietly. He's right, it doesn't look bad.
„I kept it because every time I look at it, I'll know that I survived and that it wasn't all for nothing." He falls silent. He takes a step towards me, his fingers touching my cheek carefully, as if afraid of hurting me. Carefully, as if he is afraid of hurting me.
„It's part of you." He lowers his hand to his side. „So, do you want to get out of here?" He asks out of the blue and my eyes light up at the thought of leaving this place.
„Yes, please."
... ༺༻ ...
BLOOD DEBT (피의 빚)