I used to think it was normal for parents to hit their kids until I reached the age of six. That was the age when I first began to understand the world around me, when I noticed things about my life that didn't quite add up. As I looked at the other kids my age, I noticed that, none of them had bruises on their arms. They seemed to relish the thought of going home, bursting through the classroom doors with beaming smiles, arms wide open to embrace their parents, while I would shuffle away, a heavy stone resting in my stomach, dreading the return to my parents.
Why was it me who felt this lingering dread? What had I done to deserve such a twisted upbringing? I often spent hours lying awake at night, trying to comprehend the cruelty of the two people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. I couldn't shake off the haunting thought that somehow, I had earned their disdain, that I was the source of their anger, and that they dispensed punishment as if it were a rite of passage.
As morning light spilled through the cracked window, illuminating the dusty floorboards, I glanced at the clock-it was 9:00 a.m. I had to get to work, I still hadn't heard my parents come back yet which was good. The echoes of their absence punctuated the oppressive silence of the house. I still hadn't bothered to treat my wounds; it seemed pointless, a futile effort in the face of a pain so deep I hardly felt it anymore. The throbbing had faded into a dull thrum, one that reminded me I was still alive, even if it felt like only a shadow of who I once was.
I forced myself to rise, but my limbs were completely numb, as if my body had resigned itself to the constant ache. After several agonizing moments, I finally managed to get up, using the wall for support as I staggered toward the bathroom like a marionette with tangled strings, each step a battle against the heaviness that clung to me.
Pushing open the bathroom door, I braced myself as I caught a glimpse in the mirror. I looked... horrible. My reflection revealed a gaunt face, cheeks unusually hollow, my eyes bright red, rimmed with shadows of sleepless nights. My nose was stuffed, making each breath feel like a labor. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to awaken some semblance of consciousness, and grabbed my toothbrush with shaky hands.
As I pulled my shirt off, a quiet wave of dread washed over me. I stared into the mirror, confronting my own skin, marred with ugly, angry purple bruises that told stories of pain I wished to forget. I gently applied ointment over the bruises, cringing at the stinging sensation, pressing my lips into a thin line, detaching myself from the pain as best I could.
I slid into a loose black shirt that covered all the bruises on my arms and slipping on a pair of faded pants that had seen better days. The apron that accompanied my work uniform felt like a shroud, draping over my body as I rushed downstairs. Each step sent a fresh wave of pain radiating through my legs, a reminder of the night before, but I pushed it all aside. I had to stay focused-I had to keep moving forward.
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I arrived at the store, my heart racing for reasons I couldn't quite understand. I quickly swung the door open and stepped inside, the familiar chill of the air conditioning washing over me, mixed with the faint scent of cleaning products and fresh produce. Scanning the aisles, I made my way to one of the checkout stations, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on everything around me.
As I stood behind the register, I watched shoppers bustle about, their carts laden with colorful packages and fresh ingredients. Parents pushed their kids around, happily chatting about upcoming dinners or weekend plans, laughter echoing in the air like a distant melody. I felt a pang in my chest, a longing I couldn't name-how nice it must be to share moments like that with one's family, to feel warmth and companionship instead of fear. I wish I could do that with my parents.
I was pulled from my thoughts when the soft jingle of the doorbell signaled a new customer entering the store. My eyes flicked over to the front, I saw someone who looked familiar, black hair, a sprinkle of freckles dancing across his nose-the sudden realization hit me, it was the angel boy from yesterday
I watched as he approached towards my checkout aisle.
"Hello," he said, his voice soft yet clear. I hadn't realized I was just staring at his face like an idiot
"Um... hello," I managed to stammer, shaking off my surprise. I tore my gaze away from him and began scanning his items. Why was he buying groceries so early in the morning, anyway?
"Are you alright?... you look like you're about to pass out any second," he said, I felt like I was about to pass out as well. I was slightly glad he didn't mention anything from yesterday.
"Yea, I'm fine" I mumble, clearly lying.
"I hope your alright" he says, I quickly glance up to his face. His face really looked like he was genuinely worried about me. I slightly nod my head as I finish scanning all of his items, I watch as he places his groceries back into the cart.
"Well... um, I guess I have to get going now, bye... Hyunjin"
He remembers my name, I felt my hear flutter slightly as I watch him leave the store.
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These chapters are really boring right now but i promise they'll get better.
