3. Chapter Three #6
Finally I hear footsteps coming up the hill slowly, I jolt forward ready to bolt. My mom’s hand closes around my shoulder to keep me from running out into the street, and we both wait, breath held, until the shapes come around the corner into the little bit of light spilling from our gate.
My dad first, one arm slung around Ryowoon’s shoulders, guiding him along. And Ryowoon, small and hunched, his steps dragging.
The second he’s close enough for me to see his face clearly, I see the fresh bruise blooming high on his cheekbone, dark and swelling already. His eyes are so red and swollen from crying that they look almost shut. His arms are wrapped around himself the same way mine were a minute ago, shivering.
My dad doesn’t look much better. His shirt’s pulled askew, one side untucked and torn slightly at the collar, there’s a red mark on his jaw, already starting to darken.
“Appa,” I say, sniffing, and he looks over at me, exhaustion carved deep into every line of his face, but he manages a small nod, like he’s telling me it’s okay now.
My mom rushes forward, pulling Ryowoon into her arms, murmuring something low and soothing against his hair. I press in close from the other side, wrapping my arms around any part of him I can reach. He doesn’t say anything, just leans into both of us, shaking.
We get him inside. My mom cleans the cut above his eyebrow that I hadn’t even noticed until she dabs at it with a damp cloth, Ryowoon flinching but not pulling away, staring at the wall the entire time like he’s not really there with us.
My dad sits quietly on the edge of the room, holding a bag of ice against his jaw, a complicated mess of emotions on his face.
Nobody talks much. There’s not much to say that would make it better.
We end up in my room again, the two of us laid out on my floor mat since there’s only room enough for one to a bed, blankets pulled up to our chins even though summer’s still holding on outside.
Ryowoon curls in first, his back to me, and without thinking about it I move in close behind him, pressing my chest to his back, my arm slung over him the way we always end up sleeping when he stays over, tangled together like two halves of the same person.
His breathing shaky, though I don’t think he’s crying, so I just hold on tighter, my face pressed against the back of his neck, breathing him in until his shoulders finally go still and his breathing slows.
I don’t fall asleep for a long while after that, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to him breathe.
The next morning I find my dad in the kitchen before he leaves for work, and the words just spill right out of me in a rush.
“Appa, can Ryowoon just live with us?”
He goes still with his cup halfway to his mouth, and then he sets it down slowly, looking at me for a long moment before he crouches down to my level, resting his hands on my shoulders.
“Seyeon,” he says gently, “I know you want to help him. I know. But we can’t just take him from his own house, that’s not how it works.”
“Why not?” I demand, upset and scared. “His dad hurts him. You saw it.”
His face falls, for a moment I think he might not have an answer at all, but then he sighs, and his hand comes up to smooth over my hair.
“I know,” he says quietly. “But he’s still Ryowoon’s father.
Legally, there isn’t anything we can do about that, not without a lot of trouble that would only make things worse for Ryowoon in the end.
All we can do is give his dad time to cool down, and then Ryowoon can go home again, and things will settle for a while. ”
“Until it happens again,” I say, a frown flickering across his face because he knows I’m right. He doesn’t argue with me about it.
“I know it doesn’t feel fair,” he says instead, his eyes sad. “I’m sorry, Seyeon. There isn’t much more we can do right now.”
I don’t understand it. All I know is that Ryowoon has to go home eventually, has to walk back through that gate and into that house, and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it.
He leaves two days later, once the swelling on his face has gone down. I watch him walk down the hill from our gate, his small figure getting smaller with every step. I want to run after him, to drag him back, but I don’t. I just stand there until he’s gone from sight.
That night I can’t sleep. I lie flat on my back staring up at the ceiling.
I keep thinking about the sound he made when his dad grabbed him, his voice when he screamed my name, and every time I close my eyes I see it again, replaying itself over and over until my chest feels so tight I can’t breathe right.
I cry myself to sleep that night, and the night after that, and the one after that too.
My mom comes in every time. She lies down beside me on the narrow mat, her arms wrapping around me, her fingers stroking through my hair slowly until my breathing calms and the tightness in my chest finally eases enough to sleep.
It goes on for days. I don’t get over it, not even after Ryowoon shows up again a week later, bruises faded, acting like nothing happened at all, grinning at me over the fence.
I smile back and pretend I’m fine too, but there’s a hard knot lodged behind my ribs that stays there for a long, long time after.