Flowers and Broken Hearts

Sorry

Song Jinhee, 25, Present day

Jinhee's fingers skated over her chest, gliding down slowly below her ribcage, feeling the soft bare skin that seemed to stretch endlessly. She wondered how it must have felt underneath Jimin's fingers - if it was as smooth as he always said it was, if her scars were as amazing as he always mentioned they were. She wondered, watching her semi-naked self in the mirror, if she was really as beautiful as everybody said, or if they were just saying it because of their pity for her.

Her crimson brassiere was a contrast to her pale bluish skin, a contrast to the bony hands fingering the scar beneath her ribcage. The scar had already faded with time -nothing more than a pale line that reached her belly button - but it stood out even so with the way her skin looked.

She reached up, slightly pulled her bra down, and stared at the other healed scar above her right breast. She remembered when Jimin had asked her where she got both of her scars and she had lied, telling him she got it in the car crash when her parents had died. She never told him she wasn't there at the accident though; she had been lying on a hospital bed, hemorrhaging to death when her parents crashed. She never told him she got the scar on her chest from the central catheter she had for chemotherapy. She never told him the other scar was from a kidney transplant. She never told him she spent sixteen full years inside a hospital, barely surviving from her sickness and the torture of not being a normal teen. What she told him instead, were lies.

Jinhee, don't be stupid.

Chin's voice kept repeating itself inside her head. She couldn't help but wonder if she really was being stupid about giving up the treatments, if she really was being stupid about letting her life go. After all, didn't her parents die for her? It was almost as if they bargained both their life for their precious only daughter. The moment they both lost their heartbeats, Jinhee's heart started beating. Even now, as she stood there, scrutinizing her reflection in the hospital bathroom, her father's blood flowed in her bloodstream, and her mother's kidney battled with the failure of its organ. They died for her accidentally, but intentionally either way.

Was she being stupid? Jinhee couldn't help but ask herself again and again. She was used to being on the verge of death, but when the threat had disappeared the last five years, the fear of dying came back. She had gotten too used to those years of freedom, that she had forgotten what it was like to always have death beside her. Jinhee had gotten too used holding Jimin's hand, that when death tried to hold hers, she screamed and backed away. She had gotten too used to being so strong, that now that she became weak, she could not do anything but stare at herself helplessly.

Maybe, Jinhee thought, maybe she was being stupid. Maybe Chin was right. But even if she tried those treatments again, she would die either way. Her kidney had failed; what she needed was another transplant. But that would mean needing a relative that matched her blood type, blood cells, and basically everything, and she had no relatives left behind. She was all alone. If treatments would mean another sixteen years of suffering, being stupid was not a matter anymore. Jinhee can be called stupid anytime and anywhere, but that would not change anything. She'd still die.

Even after the locked door behind her clicked open, Jinhee could not stop staring at herself. She reached over for her shirt, but stopped when she realized who it was. It was Mrs Kang, an old nurse who used to care for her when she was still staying in the hospital.

"Honey," she said. Her head seemed to float from the doorway with the way her clothes blended with the background. A key dangled from her fingertip. "We don't lock doors, remember?"

"Oh." Jinhee pulled the shirt over her head. She knew this all along. "Right. Sorry."

Mrs Kang waved her words away like flies. "Are you done? I need to check your blood pressure." She then shook a clear cup with pills visible inside. "Also, your meds."

Jinhee followed her out of the bathroom unto the bed, laying down as she was instructed. Mrs Kang attached the sphygmomanometer then proceeded to take her pressure.

Jinhee licked her lips as the cuff began to tighten. She wanted to ask a question, but she had been asking it almost every time the old nurse came. "W-what time . . . ?"

Mrs Kang smiled. "You'll be home in a couple of hours, dearie. Don't you worry, no one's locking you up here."

She had nothing else to to do but nod. The nurse had ripped the rubber cuff off her arm, much to her relief. She brandished the cup of pills and a glass of water to Jinhee. "Now, drink that. No complaining."

Jinhee did, then she stuck out her tongue at the bitter residue. "Ew. Still disgusting as ever."

Mrs Kang laughed once more. She took both cups from her, placing the glass on the side table. She moved as if to walk away, but she stopped, a strained smile plastered on her face.

"Jinhee-" Mrs Kang choked, clearing her throat and trying again. Jinhee noticed her hands were shaking. "Jinhee, i-if you ever want to continue the-" she cleared her throat again, a slight urgency clear in her face. "The t-treatments. If you ever want to continue them, call us, okay?"

So this was what it was about, Jinhee thought. Mrs Kang was trying to convince her too. Of course. But that was normal; after all, Mrs Kang had been taking care of Jinhee even before she could talk proper sentences. Mrs. Kang had been there, watching as Jinhee grew from a spiny little girl to a strong, careful woman. It was normal for her to feel remorse after Jinhee announced that she wasn't taking up any treatments.

But Jinhee could feel guilt as she said the only sentence she could say. A sentence that contained only two words. Contained all her guilt, sadness, and hopes.

"I'm sorry," Jinhee said, trying to smile, but she couldn't. The strained smile on the old nurse faltered.

"I'm sorry," she said again, as if it would change anything.

Then just like that, she broke once more.