Chapter 5  The Girl with the Tattoo

I'm making a presentation at Arts Brewery. Everybody is listening to me, nodding and smiling, and I feel so happy. I come to the end, and thank them, and they clap enthusiastically. I think that they liked it.

I am so thrilled, and I'm on cloud nine - you know the feeling that you get when you know that you've done a great job, something that you've invested hours and hours of your life in, staying up nights, just to get it perfect, to prepare for the moment when you make your pitch, and you see that look in everybody's eyes, that they like you, they actually like you! and it's such a wonderful, wonderful feeling, that just floods over you, and fills you, and you feel giddy and delirious with joy and triumph, and you're bursting with happiness that you did great, and this load of heaviness that's been weighing on you just dissolves into this overwhelming relief that it's over, and the adrenalin is still pumping all over you, making you want to run and skip and sing out loud. That's how I'm feeling right now.

I take the lift down, and I see Ms. Hwang and So yeon, my colleague, outside the glass doors. I run to them, and they look at me, and their faces just burst into wide smiles; oh gosh, I love them, I love the world today. 

"How did it go?" Ms. Hwang asks. "I know, they liked it."

"Yes!" I yell, and we grab one another in a group bear hug.

A limousine draws up, and Jang Woo sang steps out.

My joy dims a little at the sight of that arrogant face. 

He stalks past us, followed by a large entourage of men in dark suits, and enter the building. I guess he's going to view Arts Brewery, since he's now the majority shareholder of the company.

"Let's go and celebrate," Ms. Hwang beams. 

We agree enthusiastically, and troop off.

It's the weekend, and I have a date with Cho rong.

He picks me up promptly, and we drive to the theatre. We're watching the 7.00 pm show,  and Cho rong's already bought the tickets online. He's chosen great seats, normal seats, not couple seats - I think that he's too shy to get couple seats on our first, or rather, second date, and I don't mind, because I want to enjoy the show with someone that I'm comfortable with. Whispered nothings and secret touches can come later, maybe on our next date. Haha. Just kidding.

We share a huge box of popcorn, and halfway through the show, I catch him looking at me with this fond smile on his lips, and I think, he likes me, he really, really likes me. And it makes me feel good, knowing that this nice guy likes me.

The movie ends, and we stroll out. We're walking down the corridor with the movie posters on both sides, and that's when I see him.

He's walking toward us, from the opposite direction, toward the movie halls, and there's a girl with him. She's very pretty, in a sulky, bad-girl kind of way, that I suppose some guys find attractive, with long straight hair, and a black tattoo, coiled around her neck, like a tight-fitting necklace.

It's not Seung ah. Obviously.

I feel shaky.

He walks past us with the girl, and he looks me in the eye. He doesn't avert his eyes, or avoid looking at me. He looks me in the eye, bold as brass.

I can't breathe. 

I am so angry. He's cheating on my best friend, and I'm cringing with embarrassment for catching him in the act  while he's cool about it.

What is wrong with this guy, for crying out loud?

"That tattoo," Cho rong murmurs, and shakes his head.

"What?" I say.

"Nothing," he says.

The next day, I go to work, and Ms Hwang rushes out and hugs me.

"You did it !" she yells. "We won the bid for Arts Brewery!"

Everyone cheers.

I call Seung ah straightaway.

"We got the bid," I squeal. 

"That's amazing! I'm so thrilled for you," she says.

"Ms. Hwang wants to thank you and the team. She wants to treat everyone to a meal tomorrow. Are you free?" I ask.

"Er, I'm afraid not," she says, sounding distracted.

"Ah, I guess you're having a date with Moo young," I say.

"Yes, I am," she says.

"Seung ah, Moo young - , " I start to say, but there's a sudden silence on the other end.

I wait for a while, then she comes on again.

"Yes, sorry about that. What about Moo young?"

"I saw him yesterday at the theatre," I say. "Cho rong and I were catching a movie."

"Oh?" she sounds surprised.

"Yes, the thing is... ," my voice trails away. 

I my lips.

What am I going to say? Your boyfriend was with another girl. She had her hand wrapped around his arm. They looked really cozy together. 

I can't say all that, can I?

Maybe she's his sister.

Yeah, right.

"Jin kang?"

I take a deep breath.

"I saw your boyfriend at the theatre."

"Moo young?" Seung ah exclaims. "Was he with friends?"

"He was alone."

The words come out in a rush. 

I just lied to my best friend, not because I want to protect him, but because I don't want to hurt her.

I feel terrible, and it's all his fault. He put me in this position.

"Really?" Seung ah's voice softens. "Poor guy, he must have been bored, because I was at my grandmother's."

Hah.

I say bye, my thoughts in a whirl.

I spot his blue truck later in the afternoon. I look around, and see him inside this noodles shop near where I live. I park my bike, and flounce over to him.

I'm going to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

He looks up as I drag the chair opposite his, and yells out my order, so loud that the ahjumma making the noodles jumps.

I fling myself in the chair angrily.

He's looking at me with this expression of mild interest, like, gee, she's in a temper, so what, who cares, yawn.

It makes me even madder.

I mean, he should be getting out of his seat, and scooting out of the noodles shop now.

Instead, he's sitting there, cool as a cucumber, and saying nothing, not a word, just waiting for me to erupt.

I glare at him.

"Who was that girl?" I snarl.

"My sister." His lips curve a little, as if he's on the verge of smiling.

"Yeah, right. Like I'm your sister."

He laughs.

"All girls are your cute sisters," I say sarcastically.

"I've only got one cute sister," he says, and he looks meaningfully at me, and grins.

I ignore him.

"Seung ah really likes you," I say. 

"That guy that you were with seems genuine about his feelings for you, too," he says. 

He leans back and sighs.

"He seems a bit naive, though," he says. "Do you really like him? Are you being honest with him?"

"He's a police officer, and has a stable job, he's nice, but too naive, and I wonder if I could love him. I'm just seeing him, let me date him first," he says, softly. "Is that what you're thinking? Do you call that being sincere to him?"

I stare at him across the table.

"Do you really want to know how I feel?" he asks. "If I tell you that I'm not sincere about Seung ah," he looks at me, and smiles enigmatically, "how would you feel?"

"I would be furious," I retort, holding his gaze.

"Be honest with yourself " he says. "Wouldn't you be gratified, knowing that you were right about me?"

I am so mad right now.

"What are you, some kind of sadist who derives pleasure from seeing the people that you love get hurt?"

He thinks for a while.

"Maybe I am," he says, slowly. "Or, maybe, just maybe, you're interested in me, but you don't know it. Not yet, anyway."

He smiles charmingly at me. He's got these folds under his eyes, long and narrow weals that stretch when he smiles, all the way across under his lower lids. 

It's distracting, because when he smiles at me like the way that he's smiling at me now, his eyes warm and soften, and fill with laughter and mischief. His smile starts slow, then his lips curve, and the edges tilt, just a fraction, and the smile lingers on his lips, long after he's finished speaking.

It changes his whole face.

It makes him look terribly attractive.

I look away. He's probably perfected that smile and honed it from years of experience.

"Spare me the little mind tricks," I say icily. "I'm sorry, but they don't work on me."

The bowl of hot noodle soup arrives.

"I'm serious about Seung ah," he says, after a long silence, while he looks at me.

I stare at him blankly. I don't believe a word that he's saying.

He glances down at the bowl of noodles.

"You'd better eat that," he says. "It's getting cold."

I roll up my sleeves, and dig in.

He's looking at my scar.

"Have you never seen a burn scar before?" I ask him rudely, and shove a spoonful of noodles into my mouth. 

I get hungry when I'm angry.

"Yes, I have," he says, and his eyes are still on my scar.

"Does it bother you?" I slurp the soup noisily. These noodles are good.

"It seemed to bother you more, since you were trying to hide it from that guy," he says.

"That's because it was a blind date," I retort.

He leans forward.

"But you don't seem to care that I'm seeing it," he says.

"I guess that's because I just don't seem to care about you," I shrug.

I continue to eat, and he continues to watch me eat, my sleeves rolled up to my shoulders, my scar and exposed to his scrutiny, puckered and stark, horrifying and grotesque.

But there is no shock, nor repulsion in the eyes that gaze upon my scar, and then at me.

It is not pity, either.

What I see are gentleness, and understanding.

I  know, they say, I understand.

You are not alone.