Fairy (요정) ✓

Chapter 1

[Sim Daejung]

“Time’s up, Sim, you know.” Mrs. Willhite isn’t the woman who jokes a lot, unfortunately for me. Even though I’ve always done my duty as an inmate, paying my rent by the deadlines and trying to stay out of trouble—okay, the latter is a lie, I can’t just ignore the feeling that she dislikes me.

Her tone is so eloquent that makes me wonder when she’ll throw a party for my departure. Jokes apart, she taps her left foot on the floor, much to my annoyance. “The money is in this envelope. I’ll finish packing what’s left of my stuff and leave,” I answer, handing her a white envelope containing 600 bucks.

She snatches the envelope and retorts. “Great, because when you finally get your fucking face out of here, I’m at peace for once. You are nothing but bad news, Sim Daetung, you know that.” She had enough time to make an effort and learn to pronounce my name correctly. This is the last straw. That poisonous snake deserves a lesson.

“It’s Daejung, not Daetung. If you can’t even pronounce my name, then why do you bother sassing at me?”

She isn’t pleased by my words. The way she glares at me and points that finger at me is just not it. “Just get the fuck out of here. Last warning.” She then slams the door behind her as she leaves.

It’s a shame that she’s no longer inside, because my last words for her are not really nice. I’m tired of walking on eggshells whenever she passes by. Someone needs to give her a piece of her own mind.

I open the door and scream at the top of my lungs. “Fuck you, Ginger Willhite!”

***

I’m happy that I don’t have to deal with that viper anymore. She was literally the only one who was cheering for my departure—for all the wrong reasons, of course. The other inmates, on the other hand, weren’t as happy.

Anna and Lee are disappointed that I’ll miss their baby shower (but, hey, WhatsApp exists, they can send me pictures over there), while Lily wonders when I’ll ever return. I already miss them all, even the lady with nine cats who lives at first floor.

But not the tenant. She is a wound that needs to close as soon as possible. She’s the one who put an end to my stability in life. She was my biggest problem during my stay at Haute Heights. Her attitude towards me until now just proved me right: she’s a bitch.

Now, all I need to do is to move on and start fresh for the first time in four years. It’s going to be hard, who am I to deny that? After all, who else puts themselves in a situation like mine, knowing that messing up might land them in trouble? Even though it’s been seven years since moving from South Korea and one since finally earning my Green Card, I could still lose it within a few hours and be booted out of the USA.

Enough with the negativity. If I have to move on, I have to start with my attitude. I can’t be defeatist, not now. I never back down from challenges, not even the toughest one. Today isn’t the day when I quit, and none will ever be.

***

It turns out I’ll have to find better luck elsewhere. I hoped, in a rather foolish manner, to find a new permanent place where to stay straight away, but it looks like I haven’t been accustomed to so much hardship lately.

The only place I can stay the night is this quaint B&B in Harlem. I mean, that’s quite good, considering that it’s only a temporary option until I find another place. The problem is, I’m on a very tight budget. Because of that bitch, I’m running short of money and am likely to have to cut down on some meals, unless someone gently invites me to lunch here and there.

The owner is a nice lady in her late fifties who claims to have bought this hostel in 1989 after a fortune telling. I’m tempted to laugh as she tells me the story because it reminds me of a meeting my father had with that strange woman back in South Korea when I was eight. However, I just decide to keep quiet as I don’t want to end up in the streets.

She takes me to a small room at first floor and grins. “Is this your first time here?” she asks, believing I’m only a desperate tourist.

I shake my head. “No, I was here about two years ago, after the fucking pandemic was over, for fun. But, here, in this hostel? It’s the first time.”

She smiles back at me and points at me to leave my luggage by the wardrobe. “Suit yourself,” she says, before trotting back downstairs as she hums a melody I don’t think I recognize.

I leave the bags next to the wardrobe as the lady instructed me to and flop on the bed. It’s a single bed, but reminds me of that in my old apartment at Haute Heights. It’s quite comfortable. I won’t have trouble sleeping well.

To keep my eyelids from shutting, I slap myself. ‘Snap from it, Daejung! You need to stay awake! You need to come up with a plan.’

Unfortunately, the slap doesn’t really seem to work and, as soon as I take my shoes off and throw them at the corner, I slowly drift into sleep.

***

As soon as I wake up, I realize it’s already 11am and dozens of notifications pop up on my phone. It’s quite old—I bought it back in 2015, way before leaving Korea—and it has a half cracked screen. I’ve never bothered fixing it or buying a new phone because I’m too lazy. I know I should watch my budget, but, hey, this old gadget might stop working one day or another.

Anyway, I stretch myself before sitting back and finally paying attention to my phone. All the notifications come from KakaoTalk, and from the same person, the one who tormented me since after I agreed to play Secrets with some inmates. (Okay, I should’ve deleted it as soon as I settled in the States.)

Most of them are just messages saying, ‘Daejung-ssi, where are you?’ and ‘You can’t ghost me forever.’ Usually, I either ignore that kind of messages or just answer something like, ‘I’ll text you later,’ when even they know I don’t really keep my word.

But the last one is different from the rest. It’s more direct, more straightforward, it’s a full fledged threat. I read it slowly, my blood thickening in my veins.

‘I’ll be after you, one day or another. We’re meant to be together. You can’t escape your destiny. Sim Daejung-ssi, will you stay with me?’

My heart and my mind are fighting inside me. According to logic, I should block this person. They could be harassing me and would take any measure to make sure I fulfil their perverse desire. But my heart just tells me to reply to this message, to stop this person’s ache and tell them honestly that they’re creepy and that I’m not interested in them.

However, all I manage to type is, ‘Just tell me once for all, who are you?’