Chapter 3  The Hoodie That Saved Me

 

Someone tugs at my arm, and I whirl around, my heart pounding.

"Hey," Jin kook says. "What are you doing out here? I thought you'd be inside." 

It's my brother.

Phew.

For a minute there, I thought that the Arts Brewery guy had followed me.

He's carrying a bunch of flowers, and tugs at something on my skirt.

"You left the price tags on," he grins, showing me the white tags.

The price tags. That's what the annoying guy was talking about.

OMG.

I could die from embarrassment.

We hurry into the exhibition hall.

Jin kook presents the flowers to Seung ah.

"Thank you, Jin kook oppa," she says.

"Congratulations on your solo exhibition," Jin kook smiles. "Wow, it looks fantastic."

He takes in the exhibits displayed on the glass tables, and points at the exquisite pot in the middle of the hall.

"Is that the featured piece? It looks fantastic," he says.

"Seung ah is so talented," I say, and hug her.

She smiles faintly, but doesn't say anything.

"Her boyfriend planned the whole thing," I say. "He's arranging a fireworks display later, too."

My brother looks impressed. "You have a boyfriend?"

He glances at me.

"What about her?" he asks. "Does Jin kang have a boyfriend? Is she seeing anyone? Has she ever dated?"

I roll my eyes.

He's always bugging me about getting a boyfriend, and settling down.

Seung ah laughs.

"We are supposed to keep our love lives hidden from our families," she says tactfully.

Her smile fades.

Woo sang is walking in through the doors, accompanied by a huge entourage.

"Is that your boyfriend?" Jin kook says. "Wow, he's even better looking in person."

Woo sang is wearing an expensive suit, and has his hair sleeked back. He's tall and handsome and oozes with wealth and class, and right now, he's surveying the room and his eyes flicker over me, and move on; he doesn't remember me, even though we met once, over drinks, and Seung ah introduced him to me. I guess I'm too insignificant to leave a memory inside that noble head of his, and I know that's the way the world works, but it still rankles, that he can't even remember me, his girlfriend's best friend. He takes out a well-pressed handkerchief from his pocket, and wipes his patrician nose. His eyes alight on Seung ah, and they register his awareness of her presence; they don't light up with love or warmth, they just focus, and fixate on her, like he's saying: you are mine, and you belong to me.

"Excuse me," Seung ah says, and she looks grim.

Jin kook and I watch her walk up to Woo Sang. He looks down at her from his great height, and smiles indulgently; she says something to him in a low voice, and stalks off. He turns and says something to his aides, and then follows her. He's in no hurry to placate her, though; he checks his mobile, and strolls leisurely after her, nodding and smiling at the guests who bow to him along the way.

"Undercurrents," says Jin kook.

I sigh.

The event coordinator is wringing her hands. I hear her asking several people whether they've seen Seung ah. The interview is about to start, but there's no sign of her.

The doors swing open and Seung ah walks in.

Her face is pale and set, and her eyes are desperate.

She walks toward the centrespiece, the beautiful pot, which holds pride of place in the middle of the hall.

Suddenly there is a deafening crash.

The table is lying on its side, and the pot is on the floor, smashed into pieces. Jagged pieces are strewn all over, and all that remain of the exquisite work of art.

The crowd gasps.

The server standing at the side of the shattered pieces looks horrified.

"It wasn't me," he splutters. "He did it - he pushed me."

Everyone looks at the man standing behind the server.

It is the rude guy.

He steps forward, and bows.

"I'm sorry," he says. But he doesn't look apologetic, not in the least. 

I wait for him to say "It was an accident" or "I was too careless", something in that vein, an excuse to cushion the shockwaves reverberating through the hall, but he doesn't say a word; he just stands there, looking remote and disnterested. 

Two security guards him out.

Seung ah must be devastated.

I can see her face clearly from where I am.

It's funny. She doesn't look devastated at all.

She looks relieved, as if a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She's staring after the rude guy, who's walking out the doors, flanked by the security guards on both sides.

The event coordinator looks as if she's going to cry. I guess that there won't be an interview after all.

Jin kook's mobile rings, and he answers it. He looks troubled.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"You know that suicide that happened just now, that caused the jam?"

I nod.

"It's not a suicide after all; it's murder."

"Oh," I say. 

I don't ask him anything further, because Jin kook doesn't like to talk about his work with me; I guess he feels that it's too grim.

"Let's get some drinks," I say, and we join the crowd of people at the bar.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see a tall, dark figure approaching. It's the rude guy, and he resumes his work, filling up the glasses, and slicing off the foam. He looks calm and unruffled, as if nothing has happened.

That was fast. I wonder how he got off so easily. 

His partner passes a glass to Jin kook, and the rude guy fills up a glass, and hands it to me.

I freeze.

"You were asking about this earlier. Something New Brown Ale," he smiles at me, his eyes glinting.

I want to grab the glass and fling its entire contents at his face.

But I don't, because I'm not the kind of person who creates a scene.

Instead, I snatch the glass rudely from him, grab Jin kook's glass from his hand, and substitute it with my glass.

The rude guy looks amused.

"Let's get out of here."

I grab Jin kook's sleeve and pull him after me.

I find a corner, and gulp down my beer.

"What happened back there?" Jin kook asks. 

"That guy," I point at the rude guy, "says that I'm not pretty enough."

"He has a point," my brother grins.

"Are you saying that your sister is ugly?" I glare at him.

"Honestly?" he says, studying me dispassionately. "Yes."

I jab at his side where he's got this thick roll of fat that bulges out, stick my fingers in, and squeeze, hard.

He yowls.

"I feel like I've seen him before," he says, looking at the rude guy, and frowning. "Have we seen him before?"

"No," I retort. "I have never seen that annoying jerk ever before in my life."

"What's that you're carrying?" he asks. "You've been lugging it around all evening."

I glance down at the envelope that I'm clutching. I had forgotten all about it.

My heart sinks.

I look around for Woo sang, but he's nowhere to be seen.

Oh, well. Maybe it's better this way.

I feel my spirits lift.

The fireworks are about to start.

"It isn't important," I say. "C'mon, let's go see the fireworks."

We join the crowd of people gathered outside under the open sky. Fireworks light up the sky in a stunning kaleidoscope of dazzling colours. It looks like Disneyland. I can't see Seung ah, though. And there's still no sign of Woo sang. I glance inside the hall, but they're not there; all of the guests are outside, and the rude guy isn't at the bar anymore; only his partner is there. I wonder where he is, I think idly, and then I push the thought out of my head. I lift my face up to the lit sky and watch the fireworks reflected in my brother's eyes. He's enjoying this, I think, and I feel glad; because sometimes, when he doesn't know that I'm looking at him, sometimes, in his unguarded moments, he looks so, so sad. It makes me sad, because I want him to be happy. Jin kook deserves to be happy; he's sacrificed so much for me, and I know that he's remained single all of these years, to take care of me, to be with me, and raise me in the best way that he can. He's always been there for me, and now that I'm thirty, he's finally letting go. His little sister is all grown up, and he can finally let me go.

I reach over, and wrap both of my arms around his waist, and lean my head on his arm, the way that I've done all of my life. He looks down at me, and smiles, and puts his arm around my shoulders, and leans his cheek against my head, the way that he's done all of  his life.

I wake up the next morning with a throbbing headache. 

So here I am, in my brother's car, being driven to work, with bloodshot eyes, and a tongue that feels like it's been steamrolled, and he's nagging me about my lovelife again.

"Are you seeing someone?" he asks.

"Yes," I lie.

He snorts.

"No late night outings. No sneaky phone calls. No y lingerie hanging on the line," he says. "You're lying."

"Nothing escapes your eagle eye, Detective Yoo," I grin. "Or, should I say Manager Yoo?"

"How did you - who told you - , " he splutters.

"I have my sources," I laugh. "Drop me off here, please." We have reached my office block.

I get out of the car, and wave cheerily at him. He's so stunned that he can't respond.

Ms. Hwang is waiting for me.

"Did you - ," she begins, but she takes a look at my face, and her shoulders slump.

She walks into her office, and shuts the door.

I feel so bad.

My brother calls me during my lunch break.

"Hey," he says, sounding awkward. "If you're not doing anything after work, do you want to grab dinner with me?"

"Sure," I say. 

"I invited this guy from my office to come along," he says sheepishly. "His name is Eom Cho rong, and he's a junior detective, a nice guy, clean and honest, but if you're not comfortable, just say so."

"You're setting me up on a blind date?" I say. "Sure, I'll come."

He swallows. I mean, I can hear him swallow, it's that loud.

"Okay, then," he says. He sounds happy. "I'll pick you up after work."

I settle back in my chair, and something catches my eye.

There's a picture pinned on the softboard next to my desk.

I take it down and stare at it.

It's a picture of the staff of Arts Brewery. 

They're standing in a line, all eight of them, wearing identical dark blue tees and pants. Everyone is smiling and beaming at the camera, except for the guy in the middle.

It's him.

He's standing, his hands clasped together in front, staring blankly at the camera; remote, unsmiling. 

I stare at the picture again, and then I pin it back up.

This guy that my brother wants me to meet sounds like a nice guy, the kind of guy that every girl would like, someone who would date you with a view to marriage. He wouldn't be someone with shuttered eyes and a mocking face, someone who looks as if he's laughing at you secretly, someone who unsettles you, someone who haunts you.

I turn my back on the picture, but the image of the unsmiling face with the blank eyes haunt me all day.

I'm writing this, sitting at my desk in my room, and my heart is pounding again.

Let me tell you what happened.

So my brother picked me up after work, and we went to this nice, cozy restaurant. He introduced me to Cho rong, who's really nice. We got on like a house on fire, and we chattered about everything under the sun, and I didn't feel shy or tongue-tied at all, because Cho rong is just so nice. My brother kept giving us little side glances, and after a while, it got on my nerves, so I got up  and told him that I was going to this pub nearby, to grab a few beers, and I turned to Cho rong, and asked him, are you coming, and he leapt up, like a jack-in-the-box, so fast, and so suddenly, that I had to smother a scream, and he yelled YES ! We left my brother, sitting there with his mouth open, and we went to this pub that I was telling you about.

We ordered a few beers at the Arts Pub - about five glasses, each with a different beer - and we ordered some side dishes to go with the beers, and we were chatting easily, and then he said that he didn't know that Jin kook had such a young and pretty sister, and would I like to start an official flirtation with him, and I said, sure, why not, and he was so happy and excited that he started listing down all the things that he wanted to do with me, and then he suddenly stood up, and collided with the server walking past with a tray of food, and all the food spilled onto my jacket. I scrambled upright  and pulled off my jacket, and suddenly I saw the scar, and I looked up, and I saw him staring at it, and I wanted to crawl somewhere deep and dark and hide it from his eyes. I covered my arm with my hand to hide the scar, but it's too long, and too big, to hide, so I just stood there, clutching my arm.

Then this dark blue hoodie appeared out of nowhere and draped over me, covering my shoulders and my arms, shielding my scar from his eyes, enveloping me like a warm, comforting blanket.

I felt so safe.

I looked up, and it was him.

The rude guy from the car park and the bar.

I came home, and my brother asked me what I was doing in that blue hoodie. I told him that I spilled some drinks on my jacket, and someone had lent it to me.

Then I went to the laundry room.

I held the hoodie in my hands, and I traced the ARTS BREWERY scrawl stitched in red with my fingers. He was wearing it before he took it off, because it's got this faint elusive male scent clinging to it, and it reminds me of him again: the guy who said that I wasn't pretty enough, the guy who rescued me. 

He hurt me, and then he saved me.

Who are you? I whisper. Who are you? Which of you is the real you? The tormentor, or the saviour?

I put the blue hoodie in the washing machine.

I'll wash it, and I'll return it to him tomorrow, and I'll thank him.

It's as easy as that.

After that, I'll never set eyes on him again.

I close the lid of the washing machine, and press START.