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8

"Mina?"

The word hung in the air, a fragile bridge between two worlds.  "Shit," I muttered under my breath.

I slowly turned, meeting her gaze. Surprise flickered across her face, quickly replaced by something else…a raw, wounded vulnerability that stole the air from my lungs.

"Hey," I offered, a nervous smile twitching at the corners of my mouth.  The usual bright spark in her eyes was gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness.

She looked away, her voice flat and distant. "What are you doing here?" The words were sharp, icy, and they landed like punches.

The smiling Chaeyoung, the one with the dimpled grin and infectious laughter, was gone.  This was a stranger, her face tight, her jaw clenched, her fists balled.

"I can explain—" I started, but the words caught in my throat.

"No. Just go," she cut me off, her voice tight.

"Please, Chaeyoung, let me—" I pleaded, reaching out, but she flinched away.

"Don't," she said, her voice raw with pain.  "You shouldn't be here."

"Chaeng…" I whispered, my heart aching.

"No," she said, her voice cracking.  "Just…leave.  I don't want you to see me like this."  A heavy sigh escaped her lips, a sound filled with exhaustion and a deep, bone-deep sorrow.

Her words hit hard, sharp needles piercing through me. But beneath the pain, I sensed the fragile threads of sorrow she was desperately trying to hide.

I did as she asked, backing away slowly.  The elevator doors slid open, offering a silent escape.  As they started to close, I caught a glimpse of her face – a single tear tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

(Chaeyoung's POV):

"She almost died because of you, and you can't even take care of her!  Useless piece of shit!"  The words were a venom-laced spray, each syllable a fresh wound.

I stood there, taking it.  One…two…three…the slaps blurred together, my cheek numb.  Yeah, Eomma, I want to die. I'm so tired.

I smiled, a stupid, automatic reflex born from years of this. A twisted coping mechanism, a mask to hide the pain.

"Look at this bitch smiling!  Think it's funny, huh?!"  The slaps continued, a relentless rhythm of pain.

When she finally stopped, breathless, she just turned and walked out.  Just like that.

I hissed, the pain finally breaking through the numbness. My cheek throbbed, but the smile remained, a ghost of a reflex.  It was a trauma response, a defense mechanism forged in childhood, a legacy of abuse.

Then I saw her – Mina – her face partially hidden behind the vending machine.  A wave of panic and mortification washed over me.

"Mina?" I barely managed to whisper.

She turned, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

I quickly looked away, hiding my swollen cheek. "What are you doing here?" I clenched my fists.  Why her? Of all places, why here?

"I can expl—"

"No! Just go!" I cut her off.  One more word, and the walls I'd built would come crashing down.

"Please, Chaeyoung, let me—"

"Stop, Mina! You shouldn't be here!"

"Chaeng…"

"No! Go. Just…go," I whispered, my voice cracking.  "I don't want you to see me like this."  The words were choked with tears I couldn't let fall.

I watched, my heart breaking, as she walked towards the elevator.  The doors closed, leaving me alone with the deafening silence and the roaring storm inside my head.  A single tear escaped, a silent testament to the years of pain, and the sudden, unexpected crack in my defenses.

Then, arms wrapped around me, warm and comforting.  I heard soft sobs, and I knew.  It was Mina.  She just held me.  I noticed her scattered shoes later, the silent evidence of her desperate run to me.

"Mina…" my voice broke. The walls I'd built, brick by brick, to protect myself…they crumbled under the weight of her embrace.  Eomma's slaps were easier to count than the lines I'd drawn between myself and the world.  But in Mina's warmth, in her silent acceptance, I finally let myself cry. I cried until my eyes were swollen, my body wracked with sobs.

(Mina's POV):

An hour later, Chaeyoung handed me a bottle of water. I chuckled, sniffing, and drank. She sat beside me, also drinking, the silence heavy with unspoken things.

"You shouldn't be here, Mina," she said, her gaze distant.

"My dad owns this place, Chae," I said, a wry smile touching my lips. "Myoui Medical Facility.  Figures, huh?"

She managed a weak chuckle. "Yeah, figures."

I glanced at her, seeing the faintest hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"My…sister," she started, her voice barely above a whisper. "My half-sister. She's in here."

I looked at the nameplate: Yoo Jeongyeon.

"She's been in a coma for four years…" she breathed, leaning her head against the wall.  "I was in high school then; she was starting college."

(Flashback scenes)

"That's why I'm not always home," Chaeyoung said quietly.

"I'm sorry," she added, almost as an afterthought.

I shook my head. "Don't be, Chae.  It's not your fault." My gaze stayed on the floor.

Chaeyoung stood. "Wanna see her?"

I followed silently. The room was spacious, clean, but cold and gloomy. The only sound was the rhythmic beeping of the machines.

There, in the sterile white bed, was a young woman, pale and thin, her eyes closed, her body wired to machines. She looked so peaceful, so still.

"Unnie, this is Mina Unnie, my friend," Chaeyoung said softly.  "Mina Unnie, this is Yoo Jeongyeon, my sister." She smiled, her gaze fixed on Jeongyeon's peaceful face.

It hit me then – the bright smiles, the carefully built walls, the hidden sorrow.  The girl who turned her back on herself, the girl whose pain ran deeper than words could ever reach.  This was the real Chaeyoung, carrying a weight far heavier than I could ever imagine.  Life, it turned out, was full of surprises, some beautiful, some utterly heartbreaking.