Chapter 3

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[Sim Daejung and Perla Small]

The lady who has just turned to me has this fascinating aura that captures whoever surrounds her, including me. The fact that she's talking to me kind of catches me by surprise. Usually, strangers ignore me or throw disgusted glares at me, either believing I'm a transgendered person or a woman. I'd like to believe they envy my well-built figure and my long hair, but I seriously doubt it's mere jealousy.

So, why is she talking to me? What does she find in me that other people on this wagon don't?

Too many questions at once spin in my mind, until she simply asks, "What's your name?"

I hesitate, unsure of whether she'll believe me. "Sim Daejung," I answer, before pointing out, "Before you ask, Sim is my surname."

She nods. "Oh, okay. So, I assume you're from South Korea. Are you correct?" Technically, she is, but I already left my goddamn home country ages ago and don't feel like going back, not after what I went through.

I just nod back. Instead, I notice that her left hand is bandaged. I don't know why, but I feel the urge to ask her what happened. She notices that I'm staring at her hand and retracts it. I apologize immediately, but she dismisses it.

"You don't need to apologize. It's that… it's quite a long story and I don't want to bore you." How can she bore me? I'm sitting here doing absolutely nothing except looking around here and there, so the least I could do is to try and have some conversation.

After seeing my desperate glance, she sighs. "Well, I don't know if I should tell you why my hand is injured. At least, not here." She must be hiding a secret. Whenever I catch one, I want to know it, to delve into its deepest details. I know I shouldn't nose around, but she's already treating me as her confidant. She trusts me.

She deflects. "By the way, I should get off at the next stop. So, I guess I'll see you soon." She stands up, but I follow her. Realizing that I'm a little too close, I try to distance myself, but it's too late. She turns at me and shoots a weird glance at me. Does she already think I might be stalking her?

Instead, she just believes it's all a coincidence. "Oh, so you're getting off at my same station. Interesting," she comments. I refrain from deadpanning at her or throwing in some puns because it isn't appropriate.

She scratches her head. "Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, I'm such an idiot. My name is Perla Small. As you can see it… my surname doesn't really reflect me." She's right. She's so tall, a lot taller than most women I've met in my life so far. I'd say she's at least 178 cm (or approximately five feet ten, as Americans prefer) tall. My mother would envy her, but that's no longer my business.

To my shock, Perla comments, "Hmm… Sim Daejung… That's not new to me… I'm pretty sure I've heard this name, or something similar, before. I don't know why, though." After seeing my suspicious glance, she clears her throats, showing signs of hesitation. "I swear, I think I've heard a name that's similar to yours before-"

Our conversation is cut short when the next station is announced. I don't even pay attention to the name that echoes through the speakers and just follow Perla. I want to know her first impression of me. On another note, I think that not finishing a conversation would be a shame in this case.

When I'm out of the station, she notices that I've been following her and deadpans. "Are you stalking me or what?" I scratch my head. She's just caught me red-handed and I don't know how to get out of this situation. Maybe I can make some random excuse—I mean, we've barely met each other today—but she won't believe me.

I try to laugh it off. "Me? A stalker? What make you think I'm stalking you? Come on, I'm all ears." My laid back approach doesn't work as she throws me a sideways glare and shakes your head. I've just blown my chances to get to know her better.

At this point, I'm too embarrassed to ask her for indications. I just watch her leave without turning her back at me or saying goodbye. I'm on my own, and kind of deserve it. Since I don't want to compromise my already tight budget by finding an accommodation, I decide that sleeping on a bench in a park might not be too bad, after all.

***

I

was wrong. I literally reek of desperation and rotten fish. Why the heck did I end up sleeping in a dark alley, in the middle of garbage? I don't even know if and where I can take a shower… well, unless someone drains me. I guess I need to leave the New York metropolitan area if I want to find some peace, but how? I'm running out of options, time and patience.

Dejected, I walk down the street, my bags in tow and my head low. I can hear voices of little kids and old ladies gossiping and calling me names, but I don't care. I'm so used to this shit that it doesn't bother me anymore. They can talk all the crap they want, I just take it and make them believe they got their satisfaction at dragging me down.

Desolation is nearly sucking what's left of my energy when I realize I'm almost crashing on a woman who's walking in the opposite direction. I stop and bow to apologize, but she ignores me. I raise my head and notice that she's flipping me off. "Fuck off." I mutter. This prompts her to turn to me.

"Excuse me? Have you got a problem?" The lady is feisty, I see… I know I'm at fault, I shouldn't have pushed her and I shouldn't have told her to fuck off when she gave me the middle finger. But, to be fair, she was plain rude. I didn't necessarily want her to accept my apologies, but I thought she'd be polite.

Once again, I was wrong. That's a feeling I don't like. It usually means that a certain person or situation is worse than I think. The mess I'm stuck in is no exception.

I snap my fingers to get out of my toxic thoughts and then turn to the woman. Now, I recognize her. She's tall and has that complacent smirk on her face, just like Perla Small, the girl I met on the subway. The finger she raised at me is bandaged, like Perla's.

That's not a coincidence. It's her. I've just pissed her off again, and there's no escape. Why can't I just stay out of trouble?

She snaps. "You! What are you doing here?" Her voice is raised, not out of anger, but out of shock. As she slowly approaches me, she wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Oh my gosh… Have you slept in a trash can?"

I smirk. "Well, not exactly inside, but nearby. That was the best place I could find for the night, and it came for free." Okay, I shouldn't joke too much about this topic. If the police had caught me, I wouldn't be here boasting my knack for finding undesirable places where to sleep.

"Oh, really? Didn't it come with a shower?" she asks in a taunting tone, her hands on her hips. I, however, can't take her seriously in that pose, especially after what she has just said. She continues. "I guess the answer is no. I know a place where you can wash up. Follow me." I do as she asks and walk behind her at safety distance, followed by my atrocious smell of rotten fish, sweat and stinky cheese that aged like milk.

Anyway, does this mean Perla trusts me?

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