Mιѕѕιηg Pαgєѕ || Pαяк Jιмιη

TWO

It had been three days since Yejin left and Jimin rolled over in his bed, his bloodshot and swollen eyes cracking open to see the light shining through the window. It was the first time he had woken up during the day in the past thirty seven hours.  His eyes watered again, his face contorting with sadness as he thought about reality. Yejin was gone and his heart hurt so much, he couldn’t even stand to be awake.  

Mrs. Park stood outside his door, gripping the note that Yejin had left him having just replaced it with a different one. She didn’t want him to hurt any more than he already did, and the contents of the note would have just put him in uncontrollable hysterics. Her note would do the same, just not to the extreme.  

Yejin talked about her plan, but not in the approach Jimin needed. She tried to make him hate her, she tried to make him never want to see her again—it would be easiest for Jimin to just lose hope and move on. But Mrs. Park wouldn’t let that happen. She tore the note up. The note that replaced Yejin’s simple read: With love, Yejin. Mrs. Park set off down the stairs, torn up note crumpled in hand before she threw it in the trash.

Jimin rolled over once more; the contracting in his chest caused his eyes to sting with tears. Right now, it didn’t help that his sheets smelled like her, still. But he refused to wash them. If nothing else the scent would encase him while he slept. It was the closest thing he had to her now, at least, as far as he knew. He buried his face into his sheets, letting the tears drip from his closed eyes onto them. Jimin wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t shower. He wouldn’t even get out of bed or drink any water willingly or anything. Often throughout the day the exhaustion would just overtake him and he would fall back asleep.

Mrs. Park often came into Jimin’s room to wake him up and force a glass of water into him. With quiet tears Jimin would comply, only staying awake long enough to drink the water and feel the pain he didn’t want to feel anymore. She was back, now, another glass of water with her.

“Jimin, you have to drink now,” she said quietly, stirring him. Jimin rolled over with a quiet sob.

“I don’t want to,” he replied, pulling the covers higher up over him, up to his shoulder as he snuggled into his bed.

“You have to, Jimin; this is so unhealthy. I’ve let you slide with not eating, but you have to drink water or you’re going to die,” she told him honestly. Though, she would force him to eat tonight—he couldn’t go on much longer with an empty stomach while trying to exert so much energy.  

“Maybe I want to,” he replied quietly, his eyes opening to watch the light shine through his window through his tears.

“Don’t say things like that, Jimin. I don’t know if you’re joking or if you’re serious, but it’s something you should never joke about. Is this what Yejin would want you to do?” It was the first time Yejin’s name had verbally been brought up in the last three days and it twisted Jimin’s heart. Without another word Jimin sat up and took the water from his mother. He drank it quickly as if Yejin was watching to make sure he would comply with his mother’s wishes.

“You’ll be joining us for dinner tonight,” she informed him. She made it very clear that it wasn’t a question, that he would get up out of bed and come downstairs to eat that night. Jimin slowly handed the glass back to his mother, clearly showing his disapproval before she stood, allowing him to roll back over and close his stinging eyes. She listened to his shaky exhale with a frown before departing.

Jimin’s eyes, barely open, could hardly produce any more tears. He lay there feeling mostly empty, but partly worried about Yejin. She could take care of herself, there was no doubt about that, but he wasn’t sure how she faired in the world all by herself. Was she getting food, shelter, any type of assistance? He didn’t know, and he would never know, but continued to worry about her.  

“If you just didn’t even leave, things would be so much better,” he commented to himself, letting his eyes fall closed, wanting sleep to take him once more as he steadied his breathing.

Downstairs, Jimin’s mother was frantic on the phone. “This is serious. How are you faring out there? You can come back at any time,” she told Yejin quietly over the phone. Yejin was calling from a payphone, so there was for sure no way that anyone could get back to her.

“I have chosen a path and it’s the path I will go down. I’m currently in pursuit of my mother. I hear she’s been doing well for herself—I’m going to try to go there; I just hope she remembers me,” Yejin replied, trying to keep her voice down as well, though protected by the walls of the booth. “How’s Jimin doing? Has he been staying healthy?”

“He won’t eat, he hasn’t left bed for three days, and I have to force him to drink. Please talk to him; just hearing your voice is all he will need,” Jimin’s mother begged on his behalf. Although Mrs. Park couldn’t see it, Yejin just shook her head.

“I can’t do that. It will all be better when he gets to my note,” she responded and it took all that Mrs. Park had to not tell Yejin that she had torn it to shreds.  She was well aware it was all a plot to make this entire event easier on Jimin, but she just couldn’t let it go down that way.

“He just needs to know you’re okay,” Mrs. Park tried to reason.

“Then you can tell him. Don’t tell him that I called, just tell him you’re sure I’m doing just fine,” Yejin said in more of a pleading tone than she would have liked to admit. Silence on both ends of the phone was prevalent for a few moments, as neither of them had anything left to say. “Just… remind him that I love him,” Yejin finally said, sixteen years old, taking on the world.

“I will,” Mrs. Park barely replied, “Please take care of yourself and I hope you find your mother,” she wished well. Yejin bid her farewell and hung up the phone with absolutely zero intention of ever calling that household again. She gripped a slip of paper in her hand that held the supposed address off her mother who had left her with her father so many years ago. It would be a bitter reunion, she was sure—she half blamed her mother for the entirety of her abusive childhood, but she was the only person Yejin had to turn to, so she had to at least give it a try.

She looked down at the address as she stepped out of the phone booth. Literally across the street was where the address resided. With suitcase and duffel bag in hand, Yejin stepped across the street and up the stairs of the building before entering.

Mrs. Park rubbed her eyes—Jimin wasn’t the only one who had been crying almost relentlessly. She cared deeply about Yejin and wished her well, and did everything she could to do be an enabler of Yejin’s wishes, but this was too much for her frailer heart to handle.

“Who was that?” Mr. Park asked, watching as his wife wiped her tears away.

“No one,” she replied with a bit of venom as she stood and pushed passed him and up the stairs once more. She stopped at Jimin’s door, wanting so desperately to go in there and tell him all of what just happened, but she heeded Yejin’s words and wanted to respect her wishes. Calmly, she opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind her. She approached Jimin’s bed without much to say and sat down, leaning over to kiss Jimin’s cheek softly.

“I know you’re worried, but Yejin’s just fine, honey. You don’t have to worry too much. She also loves you very much. She wants you to be healthy and happy—”

“If she loves me so much, why did she leave?” Jimin retaliated quickly. Mrs. Park didn’t have a response for that as she rubbed her son’s arm. “And don’t even start with the sometimes people have to do things they don’t want to speech because I’ve heard it a thousand times,” he spat icily. She empathized with him, albeit not as torn up about it as he was, she at least understood where he was coming from.

Mrs. Park pushed through Jimin’s dark hair, combing it away from his face as he laid there with his eyes closed. She watched his exposed hand grip the sheets tightly, silently expressing the pain in his heart.  

“We’re having Kimchi stew for dinner,” she commented, hoping it would get a reaction out of him, but he stayed silent as his narrow eyes stared into space. “It’s your favorite,” she reminded him, trying something, anything to get a rise out of him.

“I’m not hungry,” he barely replied.

“Park Jimin, I really am trying to be empathetic with you but I will not let you wither away up here. You will come downstairs for dinner and join us and eat, am I clear? I don’t care if you come straight back up here when we’re done, but you’re going to eat whether or not you do it willingly,” she ordered, becoming harsh with her sensitive son.

Jimin growled silently—he wanted nothing more than to just be left alone, but he knew his mom was right; he needed to go downstairs and eat. His stomach constricted almost painfully with the lack of food, his body lethargic and lacking energy—he was so hungry and she could see it on his face. Begrudgingly, Jimin threw the covers off himself in response to his mother’s words. Jimin’s eyes were slightly sunken in, noticeable enough to a concerned mother, from the crying and lack of nutrition.

He picked up his dirty shirt off the floor to throw on for dinner before following his mother down the stairs. He looked his father in the eye only for a moment, enough for acknowledgement, and continued to the table to take a seat. His brother joined soon after, and soon after that the table was filled.

Utensils pushed food around the plate as Jimin’s appetite was lacking, but he forced it down anyway. As he ate slowly, all of the possible places that Yejin could be ran through his head—every place was equally as plausible. He decided he would start with her father’s house, but he knew he was in no condition to start searching tonight.

____________

Yejin looked at the slip of paper in her hand as she stepped off the bus, listening to the sound of the hydraulic brakes deflate as it pulled away. Across the street was an apartment building she had seen many times in her life, but would have never thought that this would be the place her mother supposedly resided.

With a deep breath, Yejin stepped across the street and through the doors of the building. She scuttled over to the elevator, bags in hand, and pressed the button to the floor scribbled on the piece of paper. The ding of the elevator alerted her loudly that she had reached her destination as the doors opened.

She trekked up to the door written on the paper as her suitcase wheeled across the marble floor. It was an extravagant apartment building having been recently remodeled and she was nothing less than surprised that her mother could be living so close to her old home without her even knowing. With a nervous breath, Yejin lifted her clenched fist to knock lightly on the door. She held her breath as she waited for her mother to answer but the seconds ticked by so slowly, she thought she was going to pass out.

A moment passed, before another, and another, and she was about to turn around and walk away when the door finally opened. “Can I help you?” her mother’s voice rang. She looked the woman over. It had been a little over thirteen years since she has last seen her mother at the young age of three.

“Momma, it’s me, Yejin,” the young girl commented and stood as the realization washed over her mother’s older features. It took her a few moments to compose herself, to keep herself from crying before bringing the young girl inside, noticing all of her injuries and inquired immediately what had been going on as she searched for some tea to make the girl.

It takes everything Yejin has to speak about the way life has been recently. Telling the stories about her father and the abuse she has endured. She spoke, too, of Jimin, and all of the things he’s done for her but also explains the reasoning behind her decision to come and find her mother.  Her mother almost can’t take the news as young Yejin continues to talk about her experiences, something a sixteen year old should never experience.

Yejin is still afraid, though, as she hasn’t really been fully taken in by her mother. Rejection was something she had never really thought about, never had the thought to really worry about, but she was now coming to realize that it was an entirely real possibility. What would she do then; there was nowhere she could go from here. She certainly couldn’t go back to the Park household—not a chance of a snowball in hell. 

“I can’t even imagine… No amount of apologizing will suffice for the suffering you have been through, but I will apologize nonetheless for leaving you,” her mother said, tears staining her wrinkling face.

“I don’t blame you,” Yejin replied, not really having much to say. But she wasn’t going to sit there and throw all of the blame of her abuse on her mother. It was true that she left and she had the choice of bringing Yejin with her, but she was sure that her mother couldn’t be held accountable for the actions of her father. “But now I’m in this predicament. I will not go home to dad. It is completely out of the question; and having kicked myself out of Jimin’s house, I don’t rea—”

“You could have assumed from the start, dear. I’m your mother, for goodness sake. I’m here to take care of my baby girl in any way I can,” she interrupted Yejin whose eyes sparkled, pleased with the outcome of this encounter.  But the encounter had barely even started, and as they sat down for dinner, the conversation got more intense.

Yejin’s mother began explaining what she did for a living and how Korea was no longer her primary country of residence. She frequented trips to the States for her job, which was barely explained to Yejin in the beginning, but her mother continued. Yejin wouldn’t be attending any type of school—her mother would homeschool her to the equivalent of high school graduation and life would continue from there. It was already too late to turn back and Yejin’s mother couldn’t just drop everything like that.

Yejin had no complaints. The fact that her mother was accepting her into her home, into her life and integrating her as painlessly as possible was the best possible scenario that Yejin could have expected, much less asked for. She didn’t bother, for tonight, ask her mother what she was doing in the States, it was much too late for a conversation that required so much explanation. Which was fine, Yejin didn’t need to know immediately.

She was happy that she had warm food in her stomach and a warm bed to sleep in. After three days, it was her sole goal. 

After Yejin cleaned up for dinner, a first aid kid was necessary to keep herself cleaned up. She could feel an infection wanting to sprout in the wound on her ribs—the days without proper hygiene or any type of medical ointments caused that. It was then that Yejin’s mother found out the extent of the abuse. And this wasn’t even the worst of it. Yejin had endured so much worse than this while living with her father which came as a heartbreaking shock as Yejin’s mother cleaned every single one of her wounds, finishing with that big gash on her side.

Yejin winced, but held in the sounds of pain as successfully as she could. She was definitely a trooper; there was no doubt about that. The only complaint Yejin had right now was that the room she was staying in was upstairs in the loft and stairs weren’t particularly Yejin’s best friend right now. She couldn’t complain though, she had a warm bed and a permanent residence now.

So, after Yejin’s mother was done cleaning her up, she helped Yejin take her bags upstairs to the bedroom where she began unpacking Yejin’s things. She opened the suitcase, and the first thing on top was the first thing questioned.

“What’s this?” Yejin’s mother asked, holding up the shirt that Yejin had taken from Jimin’s room. She stumbled over to her mom to snatch the garment out of her hand.

“It’s Jimin’s,” she replied and her mother immediately understood as she began separating the dirty clothes from the clean clothes, carefully stowing away the clean ones. Her mother finished her business as quickly as she possible could before Yejin changed into the aforementioned shirt. It was dirty, she admitted, but it was the only shirt she could sleep in and actually get some sleep.

And that’s just what she did. She threw the dirty shirt on. It even smelled dirty, literally like dirt, but she didn’t care as she climbed under the clean sheets of her new bed. It was early in the night, but she was so tired from all of her searching and lack of nutrition over the past couple of days.

By the time Yejin’s mother had returned back upstairs with a glass of ice water, Yejin was already fast asleep. She set the glass on the nightstand next to the table before leaning over to kiss her daughter on the forehead.

“I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through, kiddo. Please sleep well,” she muttered and returned back downstairs.

__________

Back at the Park household, Jimin’s mood has only slightly picked up, but having food in his stomach has improved his health significantly. He sat with his brother on the couch in the television room, mindlessly watching a movie his brother picked out.

“How are you doing?” his brother asked and Jimin took a few moments to even look at the younger male. “Jimin?” he prompted, getting his brother to finally look over.

“As good as I can be,” he replied emptily. Jimin was still so exhausted. When he was awake it was a constant battle to hold himself together and keep his mind somewhat at ease, since it tended to want to think of anything and everything at a thousand miles an hour and change the subject before he could even process the first one.

“Are you tired?”

“I’m always tired,” Jimin replied with a sigh as he fell over on the couch, lying down. He wanted to close his eyes, but he knew that would be bad news tomorrow when everyone woke up.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” his brother asked, pausing the movie to look concernedly at the elder.

“I have slept probably sixty five out of the last seventy two hours; I really shouldn’t sleep, but I really want to. This whole thing is just so exhausting,” Jimin replied. “This all could have been avoided if she just didn’t even leave.”

“You really care about her, don’t you?” he asked.

“A lot,” Jimin replied.

“Why did she leave?”

“She said she needed to find herself,” Jimin sighed. He really didn’t want to relive this, but he wanted to be polite to his brother. “I thought she loved me, but—”

“Brother, people our age aren’t even supposed to know what love feels like,” his brother commented innocently. Although Jimin had always been told this, that he didn’t have any idea what love was, he was sure that he did. He was sure that he was in love with Yejin, and that Yejin was in love with him. He hurt like he should if he was in love.

Jimin rubbed his eyes as he sat up on the couch, his feet ready to carry him to bed. “I know, I know. I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is that she left, and when she did I really hurt a lot,” he tried his best to explain in terms his brother would clearly understand.  “Anyway, I’m going to bed, it’s pretty late. Try to finish up your movie soon, you need to get to bed, too,” Jimin said, patting his brother on the head before making his way to and up the stairs.

Silently he closed the door to his room and his knees hit his bed, tipping him over to send him face-first into the covers. He could have fallen asleep right there if it weren’t for the fact that he hated sleeping with too many clothes on—he claimed it felt restricting—and that it was so hot.  So with the little energy that Jimin had, he stood back up to prepare for bed, tearing off all the clothes he didn’t need.

He flung the covers of his bed back lethargically and rolled into them, bringing them over himself. The cool threads on his mostly body were the most relaxing feeling he had felt in the past couple of days. He was finally out of bed long enough for the covers to cool back down and rid themselves of all of Jimin’s body heat.

Jimin sighed into the covers, his eyes already rolling closed.

“Maybe I don’t know what love is,” he commented to himself. “All I know is that you left and I can’t even handle it. I want to sleep, but I don’t want to dream of you. I want to sleep because I know if I stay awake, I’ll suffer in the reality.”

Jimin’s mother stood outside his door, listening to him speak and it broke her heart. She didn’t know what to do for him, though. There wasn’t much she could do. No amount of comfort would even ease a sliver of pain that Jimin was experiencing. She had no idea what it was like to exert so much time and effort, so much care and compassion and have it all disappear, as if it all went to waste. She knew it was extremely discouraging, but everyone handled things differently and she couldn’t exactly pin in what ways it was hurting him.

She listened to him sigh loudly, or maybe it was just a heavy breath, either way she couldn’t stand there anymore so she turned and headed back to bed, bidding him a silent goodnight.

Jimin rolled onto his side, unable to decide which was worse; reality, or nightmares. His exhausted body didn’t give him a choice as his eyes fell closed and he was asleep within minutes.  At first, his sleep was peaceful for the most part and he only moved around a little bit. About an hour of restful sleep, the most restful sleep he had gotten in a long time before the nightmares started.  His long nails clawed at his comforter, tugging at his sheets as he threw his head back and forth, reliving every vivid moment of the night she left.

And it played over, and over, and over; each time aggressively more vivid. Jimin was close to tearing a hole in his sheets—many holes would be more correct. Jimin was starting to cry hysterically in his dreams, only coming out as quiet whimpers in the cold stale silence of his room.

But it wasn’t long before they evolved into full on shrieks, horrifying screams of absolute pain and terror as he untucked the covers, balling them up on top of himself before throwing them to the floor in his fit. The screeches and cries continued until his mother stirred in her bed, waking Mr. Park in the process, but only barely. In her half-conscious state, she slipped out of bed, and only when she hit the door of her bedroom, opening it, was she fully cognizant of the painful yelps coming from Jimin’s room.

Her legs shifted into overdrive to take her there. Halfway down the hall, the cries died down for only a moment, at least until she reached the door. She opened it silently to check on him, all of his covers on the floor and she entered to go and fix them as he whimpered softly.

“Jimin,” she called, trying to stir him awake but he continued to flinch on his bed. “Jimin, honey,” she said again, but he didn’t respond, however, the whimpers stopped. She sighed in relief as she wandered around his bed to pick the sheets up, but had her heart feel like it was going to come right out of a moment later when Jimin’s terrifying cry echoed through the house and through his mother’s ears.

Forgetting the covers, she turned to him to shake him awake and he shot up with another short-lived squeal as his eyes shot open. He was drenched in a cold sweat, heavily breathing as he tried to comprehend what was going on.

“You’re just dreaming,” Jimin’s mother commented, and all words after that were a blur to Jimin who immediately zoned out, that familiar pang in his heart was back and he didn’t like a second of it. Soon after he fell to his back and stared at the ceiling, his hot salty tears stinging his eyes, blurring his vision as the streamed down his temples.

“This is hell,” he muttered.