16. Monroe #2
He stares straight ahead, though I can make out the smirk ghosting on his lips. “I don’t understand people. I don’t like emotions. I remove myself from both. But when I’m around you… I find it impossible.”
“You’re more human than you admit.”
He contemplates what I’ve said like I’ve done his observations, admiring the dark velvet landscape and the glimmering lights that look like gemstones this far away.
I can feel the tension in his body, the difficulty he experiences just opening up in this way, and I realize I do because we’ve grown close.
Physically and emotionally, without even understanding that we have.
Jin seems to come to the same realization, because he cuts me a glance, his dark eyes connecting with mine.
“That may be true,” he says after some deep thought. “You just may be my weakness, Tokki-ya.”
As more days pass, Jin and I come to an unspoken understanding.
I spend daylight hours entertaining myself around his apartment, flipping through his books, watching old movies and K-dramas, even exercising to expend some pent-up energy.
I stare out the window and admire the small fishing village below and the waterfront beyond it, all pieces of a world I’m no longer a part of.
In the evenings, Jin starts to spend more time around me. It starts slowly with dinner. Shared silence between chopsticks and rice bowls. He sits next to me at the counter, occasionally glancing my way as if wanting to talk.
So I get the ball rolling, and soon we find ourselves engaged in conversation.
One night, he confesses that he’s weighing options for getting me out of South Korea. His tone is matter-of-fact, though his eyes linger on mine.
“I haven’t yet, because it’s too risky. You are still a topic of conversation,” he explains.
“The Baekho have people everywhere—customs officers, flight attendants, train conductors, captains at the ports. We deal in the business of illegal imports and exports, so it’s necessary.
They monitor all movement in and out of the country.
Any name I submit will be flagged. Any ID I fake, they’ll suspect.
Your face has been everywhere in the news.
You will be recognized even in disguise. And should they catch you…”
He doesn’t need to continue. I understand what he’s implying, another reminder that even if I am captive, he’s protecting me in his own way. He’s risking it all.
I pick at the tteokbokki in my bowl and nod glumly. “I get it. I do. It’s just… hard. Knowing I’m hiding out here while my mom’s probably out there losing her mind.”
Though Jin doesn’t say so, I sense he understands. He gets why it’s difficult for me.
On another night, we find ourselves in a passionate debate over a book I picked up from his shelves titled Our Twisted Hero by Yi Mun-yol. I’ve once again impressed him by reading a book in his native language, only to frustrate him with my opinion on its content.
“I hated the way the protagonist conformed in the end.”
“It was rooted in realism. It’s what people have to do to survive. It’s a commentary on survival instincts.”
“It’s cowardice,” I fire back. “Sometimes the bravest thing to do is resist. Even if it costs you.”
His dark, almond-shaped eyes meet mine, the tension crackling between us. “Not everyone has the luxury to resist.”
The conversation leaves me unsettled. It reminds me how Jin is very much a part of a system like the Baekho Pa, where he’s to operate within their twisted rules and beliefs. Things like all witnesses must be eliminated. Anyone who threatens their way of life, even unintentionally, must die.
Later in the week, on an afternoon where Jin goes nowhere, he surprises me by handing over his laptop.
“Thirty minutes,” he says. “No emails or messages to anyone. You’re only allowed to browse.”
I type my name into the search engine.
The results are flooded with headlines in both English and Korean:
American Teacher Monroe Ross Murdered in Busan: Police Still Investigating
Photos are often included in the news articles. Pictures of my apartment complex and of my passport photo, where I was smiling brightly at the camera. It feels morbid to read about myself like this, to see my photos circulated as I’m discussed in the past tense.
Police are speculating it was a botched robbery.
In one clip, Mom sobs during a local news segment. She’s shattered, crying so hard it makes my heart ache. A tightness thickens in my throat and I snap shut the laptop, unable to bear another second.
Glancing at Jin, he’s by the window, arms crossed. Guilt fills the space between us, his silence its own acknowledgment.
When I’m menstruating and experiencing cramps, I find a warm mug of herbal tea waiting for me. I never told him I started my period, but he must’ve picked up on it anyway.
“Drink it before it gets cold,” he says from over his shoulder. “And sleep in my bed. You need the rest.”
And when I sleep late into the evening, he’s waiting for me with takeout for dinner and the TV playing.
“I know you’ve been watching K-dramas,” he says.
At the confused knit of my brows, he elaborates.
“I saw you watch them when I was monitoring you. Besides, I heard women enjoy greasy food and binge-watching television when on their periods. A stereotype? Possibly. But some can be rooted in truth, yes?”
My lips part for a soft laugh. “In this case? Absolutely.”
McDonalds bags sit on the coffee table. He unpacks everything with mechanical precision: cheeseburgers wrapped in waxy paper, boxes of french fries, twenty piece chicken nuggets, plenty of sauces, two McFlurries (Oreo, obviously), and even a pack of cookies sealed in soft, melting heat.
I inhale the familiar salted scent of their fries and feel my stomach quake from more than cramps for the first time in hours.
We sit beside each other on the small futon couch and dig in. Jin’s already selected the show we’ll be watching. The opening credits play, showing a winter landscape and a couple standing under falling snow.
I frown, dipping a nugget into barbecue sauce. “ Winter Sonata ?”
He gives a grunt. “You’ve seen it?”
“I’ve heard of it. It’s one of the most popular K-dramas in history, right?”
“They showed it at the orphanage,” he answers, gaze fixed on the screen. The lead actress sobs into her mittens, flakes of snow caught in her lashes. “Old re-runs. I used to sneak into the recreation room after lights-out and watch in the dark.”
I glance at him, his strong, sharp profile cast in the soft blue light from the TV. I see a powerful man beside me, yet I also sense the boy he once was when he watched this.
“You liked it?” I ask gently.
“It… was an escape.”
I lay a hand gently on top of his. His skin is warm, the back of his hand marked with scars and tattoos. He looks down at the touch but doesn’t pull away.
“I wish I knew you then.”
“I was a lost soul. I left the orphanage after a few years and sought a life of crime.”
“You were a boy.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he answers. “I’ve done many bad things.”
“I still would’ve wanted to know you.”
He exhales a breath. “You say that because you don’t know what I’ve done. Not even half of it.”
“I know what you haven’t done. You haven’t killed me. You’ve protected me. You brought me dinner… and ice cream.” I smile at him as I hold up the McFlurry cup. “A bad man wouldn’t be so thoughtful.”
Though he falls silent, he still doesn’t move his hand from mine.
We watch several episodes until my belly is full and my eyelids are heavy. I yawn softly and lean back into the couch. Gradually, my head droops to the side, brushing his shoulder. Half asleep, I expect him to shift away.
Stiffen or recoil.
Instead, Jin’s arm curls around me. He draws me closer until my cheek rests against the hard plain of his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, lulling me the rest of the way to sleep…