A Beautiful Butterfly

Chapter 16

With the bandaged hand, Jinyoung pulled open the door of a salon. Like someone whose mind did not exist in the present, he walked in, never looking around and his eyes only fixed on where he was going.

"What do you need, mister?" a salon girl asked him.

"A haircut."

"This way please." She led him to a seat and he mindlessly sat down on it. In the mirror, Jinyoung could see his own emotionless, stony eyes and tightly pressed lips. This was not him. No, it was not. It was a monster that he had kept hidden inside him all the time and was now slowly springing to life.

"What kind of haircut would you like?" The girl asked, standing behind him and looking at him through the mirror. "We've a hairstyle book. Would-"

"As short as possible."

"Oh, yeah, I see," she said, a little startled, before starting her work.

His long hair, which he had cherished and kept as something that reminded him of his father; and yet he felt nothing when it had been cut off little by little. His heart was empty, not as a result of its longing for something or someone but that of its numbness.

There was no more hair that had covered his nape, ears, forehead and eyebrows. All of it was gone and all he was left with was a clean cut that was only slightly longer than that of a soldier. Yet nothing interested or surprised him, not even this new haircut.

He paid and left the salon, his wordless exit having imprinted the image of himself as a cold person in the salon girl's memories of customers.

He walked along the sidewalk, not towards the dorm but further away from it. And never stopping once, never glancing around. Until a clothing store came into view.

A salesgirl greeted him and inquired what he wanted. He took out more than half of all his allowance for the semester and put it on the counter. I want all the T-shirts, jackets, pants, anything I can wear, within that amount. Excuse me? The salesgirl could not believe what she had just heard. Jinyoung repeated.

At last, another girl behind the counter checked the money and told the salesgirl to do as asked. Several minutes later, the salesgirl returned with dozens of clothes and pants in her arms.

"Would you like to try them on in the fitting room?" the cashier girl inquired.

"No need."

She calculated the cost and at last, gave him the bags of the clothes, thanking him dutifully.

He had used most of the money his grandparents had given him. But there was no remorse. Because it was not him. He was the monster itself that he had given life.

Wonpil was tidying his wardrobe when Jinyoung entered the dorm room. Wonpil, having spent the previous night at one of his friends' place, had no idea of what had been going on.

Just at the first glance at Jinyoung, he gasped and started a series of questions. What had happened to his hair? Had his hand been hurt? Was something wrong? Had something terrible happened? Where had his adorable roommate, Jinyoung, had gone? Why was he not answering?

"I've no desire to talk about anything, Wonpil. Leave me alone for now."

Jinyoung dropped the bags near the bed, onto the floor, and taking a towel, went straight into the bathroom for a long shower.

The moment Wonpil had opened his mouth, with his worried eyes, was when Jinyoung had felt the first guilt about all his recent actions. But the guilt was too insignificant to make him regret. No, there was no trace of regret. The monster stirred inside him was still smiling at him proudly.

Wonpil was sitting on his bed, the wardrobe and unfinished work all neglected, when Jinyoung came out of the bathroom.

"Why didn't you remove the bandage? Dress, I'll get the antibiotics and a new bandage."

Jinyoung did as he was told and let Wonpil treat the bruises and cuts on the back of his injured hand. Wonpil did not ask anymore what had happened but Jinyoung knew, sooner or later he would have to talk about it anyway. So he did and his roommate listened to him attentively, all the while bandaging his hand.

"I don't want to judge who's right or who's wrong," Wonpil said, at the end of Jinyoung's narrative. "Just whatever you decide to do or whatever you're feeling, don't think you're alone, Jinyoung. I'm here. There're still those who care a lot about you."

"I know," Jinyoung said, "I know, whatever happens to me, you, grandma and grandpa are always going to be by my side."

In the afternoon, just after Wonpil had left for his part-time job, Jinyoung's grandparents videocalled him. No, he was not ready for their reactions. He was hesitant to answer the call and the phone continued to ring.

His grandparents came into the camera view as he took the call, and a strong sense of comfort ran through him despite all his misgivings. They were shocked by his new look and for several seconds, were wordlessly staring at him.

"I had a haircut," Jinyoung said quietly.

"Oh, my baby, why did you? You've always loved your long hair! It'll take too long to get that length of hair again!" his grandmother said, regretfully.

"I'm not going to keep it long again, grandma. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry!" the grandfather cut in, "You look better with the short hair. I've always wanted my grandson to have such a manly look. Don't mind your grandmother."

"But why, Jinyoung? Why suddenly? Did someone tell you to?" She was still incredulous.

"I did of my own free will," Jinyoung murmured.

"Don't upset him anymore," the grandfather told the grandmother, before turning back to him, "How're you doing? Everything fine?"

Jinyoung nodded and doubted his expression matched his answer. But his grandfather looked satisfied and his grandmother did not seem to notice anything amiss in him.

"We were waiting for you call," his grandmother said, as affectionately as ever. "Have you had lunch yet?"

Jinyoung said, "Yes," although only now he remembered it was already over lunch time. "Grandma, you're not mad at me anymore, about this haircut?"

"Oh, silly boy, I wasn't at all mad. I was just upset you'd that long hair you'd always been fond of, cut. As long as you're satisfied, we're satisfied too."

Jinyoung smiled genuinely for the first time ever since the previous afternoon. Not because his haircut had been approved of, but because whatever happened to him, there were, as Wonpil had said, still those who cared about him, accepted him and loved him for who he was.