Chapter 2
Hyukjoon shouldn’t have been driving. Dahye knew this, but she said nothing as they rolled through the streets of Gangnam.
At least he was driving slowly; the traffic helped keep him in check.
With every stop, she felt the slosh of wine in her stomach.
Everything appeared out of focus through the windows, and the brake lights of the cars in front of them blended into a single, long smudge of red.
Hyukjoon’s hand was hot on her thigh. She smiled and squeezed his hand tight, unable to tear her eyes away from him. He looked at her.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Dahye said.
“It can’t be nothing. You’ve been staring at me since we left the restaurant.”
Warmth spread down her neck. “If you noticed, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it’s cute to see you embarrassed.”
“Oppa,” she protested. Grinning, he leaned in and kissed her temple. Her heart fluttered. Still looking at Hyukjoon, she pinched the inside of her elbow. Would he vanish? Disappear into dust? Several seconds passed, but thankfully, he remained.
They had just finished a meal at Nereids, the newest Michelin-starred restaurant in Seoul.
It was the best meal she’d ever had, consisting of nine courses, each one paired with wine.
The wagyu tartare, charred octopus, and foie gras were among her favorites, and the dinner had far surpassed Dahye’s expectations.
It had also cost as much as a month’s rent in Seoul, a thought that made her head spin.
Before meeting Hyukjoon, she would never have dreamed of visiting such a place.
They crossed the bridge and made it into downtown Seoul.
The skyline was dotted with lights from the many thousands of windows in the buildings overlooking the Han River.
Dahye stared, wondering distantly if any of the people in those windows were as happy as she was now.
She peeked at Hyukjoon’s handsome profile, at his graceful forehead, full lips, strong chin.
Sometime during dinner, he had taken off his glasses and stowed them in his shirt pocket.
Faint indents were still visible on the sides of his nose.
No, she decided, warmth flooding her chest. Such a thing was impossible. Nobody could be this happy.
Tonight, Hyukjoon’s hair was carefully combed back and gelled, and he was wearing a linen shirt with short sleeves and khakis. The Rolex on his left wrist—a blue and gold Submariner—gleamed. Out of curiosity, she had googled the price of it after their first meeting and had nearly gone into shock.
He pulled up to the curb on a quieter street not too far from her building before putting the car into park.
The BMW, freshly washed and polished, shined in the dark.
On the adjacent sidewalk, a couple walked past, holding hands.
Dahye watched them through the window. A vacant metal bench rested directly under the streetlamp on the opposite side of the street, the light beaming down on it like a halo.
Hyukjoon’s hand slid up her leg. He leaned over, nuzzling her neck, his breath hot against her collarbone. She pushed him away playfully as he reached for the zipper of her skirt.
“We’re in public,” she panted, drawing back.
“It’s dark out. Nobody can see,” he said, voice husky. His lower lip glistened. He reached for her again.
At that exact moment, a mother and her daughter tottered by. The girl’s high, childlike laughter drifted into the car, startling Dahye. On impulse, she pushed Hyukjoon, shoving him back toward his seat.
“Ow!” He rubbed the side of his head. She had knocked him into the rearview mirror. It now sat at an odd angle.
“Oh god. I’m so sorry. It was an accident—” She reached over to touch him.
His head was tilted to the side, and his eyes were closed in obvious pain.
The girl and her mother, oblivious, disappeared around the corner.
They hadn’t even glanced in the direction of the car.
Feeling foolish, Dahye adjusted the mirror.
“Is that okay?” she asked. He didn’t respond.
She adjusted the mirror again, aiming it more squarely toward the back of the car.
A note of pleading crept into her voice. “Or this?”
“It’s fine.”
But it was obviously not fine. Hyukjoon had grown quiet, and Dahye could hear her mother’s acerbic tone in her head: “There you go, Dahye, ruining everything again.”
She would fix it. Her fingers crawled up his thigh, to his groin, as he slipped his hand into his pocket for a cigarette.
He lit it and took a deep breath as she began to squeeze him gently over his clothing, urging him back to life.
Within seconds, he was hard. She unbuttoned his pants and reached into his underwear to stroke him.
+
Dahye dabbed at the sweat on Hyukjoon’s forehead as he let out a long, satisfied sigh. “I love you,” he said. She picked her skirt up from the floor. The windshield was steamy, and as Hyukjoon rolled down the window, cool air rushed into the car.
“Do you?” she teased. “Are you sure you aren’t just impressed with my … performance?” She lifted her eyebrows suggestively, and he smirked.
She stuck her tongue out at him. The awkwardness from earlier had dissipated, and Hyukjoon grabbed her hand and kissed it. She turned to the window, watching as an old man made his way slowly across the street.
A girl was sitting on the bench now, her head bowed. Something about her seemed familiar. Dahye sat up and stared. Light pooled around the girl.
Look up, Dahye thought, concentrating hard.
“What is it?” Hyukjoon asked. Dahye started as he rested his chin on her shoulder.
“I thought I saw …” She stopped. Shook her head. “Someone I knew.”
“On the bench? Who?” He peered curiously out the window. “There’s nobody there.”
Dahye looked again. He was right. The bench was empty. She frowned, confused. “I swear someone was sitting there a second ago.”
“Maybe they left,” Hyukjoon suggested. Then he lowered his voice. “Or maybe it’s a ghost—”
“Stop it,” Dahye said, swatting him. “You’re scaring me.”
“Alright, alright. You really shouldn’t have stayed up so late watching that scary movie. You do this every time.”
Hyukjoon was right. Her dreams had been unsettling lately, filled with unease, and they had spilled over into the daylight. In her office, she was seeing shadows where there were none. “I know. I’ll stop.”
“Come on.” He pinched her cheek. “Let’s go, princess. I’m taking you home so you can get your beauty sleep.”
Hyukjoon started the engine, and it came to her then. The girl on the bench had looked like her sister.
That stupid movie. The image of the two main characters, their white dresses stained with blood, flashed through Dahye’s mind.
Even now, with the lingering summer heat closing in around her, the thought of it made goosebumps prickle across her skin.
She glanced at the bench again and noticed a patch of wetness spreading across the cement right underneath it.
+
A house could be a home, or it could be hell.
Dahye’s insides twisted as she stood outside her building as Hyukjoon drove away.
The light in her window was on, which meant her mother was still awake.
Dahye leaned against the concrete planter in front of the building’s entrance and wrenched off her heels, setting them carefully on the ground.
Christian Louboutin pumps, with their unmistakable red bottoms—Hyukjoon’s favorite.
“It’s a gift,” he had said at the time, exasperated. “You can’t refuse a gift.”
“They’re too expensive. Besides, I already have too many pairs of shoes.”
He had rolled his eyes, bringing his face close to hers. “Do you know how many girls in Seoul would kill for a pair of Louboutins?”
“Not me.”
“Oh, come on. Is it so wrong for me to want to see you wearing beautiful things?”
Massaging her toes, Dahye made a mental note to give the heels to her best friend, Bora, who wore the same size. She would lie to Hyukjoon, tell him they had gone missing from her closet.
The ache in her feet sobered her up. She sighed and looked over her shoulder.
A man was standing on the street, facing the opposite direction.
He was talking on the phone. Snatches of his conversation came to her: something about a date that had gone poorly.
Photoshopped pictures. A catfish. Tuning him out, she reached into her purse for her cellphone.
Earlier at the restaurant, she had posted a half-dozen photos to her Instagram story.
She was especially proud of the picture of the octopus, which she had carefully framed so that Hyukjoon’s hands were visible in the background. They were strong, good-looking hands.
The little red bubbles at the corner of her screen drew her attention. Twelve likes. Four messages.
OMG. That looks so good!
YOU WENT TO NEREIDS?!?
Crazy. Isn’t that place like 500k won per person? Who did you go with?
Bora had sent her a message, too. Lucky bitch!
Dahye smiled. She had just started typing out her response to Bora when the light in her window flickered off. Her head snapped up toward it, watching. Her thumbs hovered above the keyboard on her screen. A minute passed. Two. The window remained dark.
Relief washed over her. She waited a few more minutes, ignoring the messages and likes, treading into the hallway and up the stairs.
Unlocking her apartment door, she stood on the threshold, listening.
It was so quiet. Faint stripes of moonlight fell from the window and across the wall.
She held the shoes to her chest and quickly tiptoed past her parents’ room.
In front of her bedroom, she stopped. How bizarre, she thought. The door was open just a crack. She had shut the door securely behind her that morning as she was leaving for work and remembered distinctly the click of the latch catching.
A figure was sitting on the edge of her bed.
The heels tumbled from Dahye’s arms and bounced across the floor.
She lurched toward the wall, fingers searching frantically for the light switch.
Sharp, ragged breaths escaped her open mouth.
Finally, she found it. Flicked it on. Light flooded the room as she blinked, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness.
It was her mother.
“God! Umma—you scared me half to death!” Dahye pressed her palms against her flushed cheeks. She closed her eyes, breathing hard. “What’s going on? It’s late. What are you doing in here?”
“Where were you?”
“What do you mean?” Dahye bent down to pick up the shoes. “I was … working.”
Her mother’s voice was low. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”
Dahye could feel the back of her neck growing hot.
“I worked late,” she said. “I had to catch up on stuff from the weekend. And after, I went and got dinner with my boss and my coworkers.” Hyukjoon’s name came to the tip of her tongue.
She swallowed it. “You know how competitive it is at the office. I have to play the game if I want to be promoted. I have to be a team player.”
“Do you know what today is?”
Dahye’s eyes drifted toward the calendar tacked up on the wall. “It’s Monday.” Then she tensed, the realization coming to her. “I forgot.” She sat on the edge of mattress just as her mother got to her feet. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“We shouldn’t have to remind you about the anniversary of your sister’s death!”
Somewhere, deep in her subconscious, Dahye must have known.
“Did you and Appa go to see her?” she asked quietly.
Every year on this date, they visited Eunhye’s ashes at the cinerarium.
Dahye hated it. She hated seeing all the crying people.
She hated the sterile atmosphere, the fluorescent lights humming overhead.
She hated the shelves crowded with urns and photographs of the deceased.
The misery contained in that building was unbearable, but she hated nothing more than her sister’s one-meter-long space on the shelf.
Dahye slumped on the bed as her mother stormed out.
From the other side of the room, Eunhye’s possessions called out to her.
Her sister’s bed was carefully made, as though at any moment she was going to walk through the door.
Her desk was covered in a thin layer of dust. Photographs decorated the wall, held in place by small strips of Scotch tape.
Over time, the sticky side of the tape holding them up had grown weak, and now, whenever Dahye opened the door, the glossy pictures fluttered.
So many memories, trapped in time. Eunhye laughing in a photobooth with her friends.
Eunhye and her friends at Lotte World. Eunhye and their parents shopping in Hongdae.
Dahye stared at that last picture, remembering that she had been the one who took it.
Suddenly, Eunhye’s face seemed to distort, her skin becoming bloated and swollen.
Her complexion took on a pale blue cast. With trembling fingers, Dahye snatched the photograph from the wall.
Held it close to her eyes, blinking as her sister’s face returned to normal.
Dahye’s mind returned to the vision of the girl on the bench.
She was seeing things again. Sighing, she let the photograph float down from her fingers and onto the desk.
“It should have been me,” Dahye murmured. Every time her mother looked at her, Dahye could sense her disappointment. In the hardness of her mouth. The narrowing of her eyes.
Five years. It had been five long, dreary years, and Dahye was still stuck in her dead sister’s shadow. She swiped at her cheeks angrily. No, she would never measure up to perfect, faultless Eunhye.
But perhaps Hyukjoon could.