A Way Home

Long Road Ahead

The $600,000 he stole stayed in a cash reserve. $400,900 left of it untouched. Taken by him as payout for the 365 days of torture.

Sehun had no intention to return it.

Tears flooded down her face, but in comparison every inch of Sehun's entire body wracked with agony. His shoulders bobbed. He struggled for air, every deepening heave a deadening, throaty cry. Eyes narrowly shut as pain tornadoed through him in the form of bombarding tears.

"I just wanted to be normal." Sehun scrubbed at his face uselessly. "I wanted to be like everyone else. I didn't want you to see me this way. It's embarrassing and shameful."

Her bottom lip quivered. Witnessing Sehun's breakdown. Unable to move where he stood. He didn't come to her to ask for strength and comfort. Half a room away and he seemed so alone like he'd always been without warmth.

Namjoo's heart broke over and over for him.

So, she went to him. Slowly stretching her arm up, touching his soaked face. Blinking tears as she assured him, "It's not embarrassing." Pulling him into her arms and touching the back of his head, she comforted, "You just did what you felt was right."

Touching her back, he cried, "I'm so sorry. I'm never who you thought I was. I'm so sorry." Tucking his head against her shoulder his body shook against her; the sobs a never-ending tale of his life.

Red-eyed, Namjoo requested for a sleeping cot hours later. The nurse wheeled in a pop-up bed so thin and uncomfortable Namjoo could feel the springs when she lay down. As night fell Namjoo listened to the silence hovering in the room. Encased in darkness despite the half-moon shining through the closed curtain.

A slight turn of the head and she saw Sehun sleeping with his back to her. He didn't ask her to go to him. He just lay alone the exact way he had so many times in his life. With no one to accompany him.

Namjoo didn't know how long she stared, but Sehun never budged. Curled up underneath an identical blanket she couldn't tell if he was cold or not. She wondered if he was awake. How often was he left alone, staring out at the moon, watching the stars flare and then leave him.

How many times had it killed him?

He must have been so scared.

At seventeen, Namjoo still sank into the comfort that her parents were just a way down the hall if she was scared. At seventeen, Namjoo heavily relied on her parents for safety. At seventeen, Namjoo had food on the table. At seventeen, her mom and dad still nagged her. Dress warmly in fall. Zip up your coat, you need to protect your heart and keep it warm. Take some money for lunch.

At seventeen years old, a child still needed their parents.

"Are you asleep?" Namjoo called out.

She got no answer.

Pulling the blanket further over her she continued lying on her side, watching Sehun the entire night.

After folding the blanket into a neat square, they received a visit from the attending physician.

Sehun was free to go.

He was required back for visits with the doctor who had diagnosed him with depression. They were to pick up medicine for him before leaving the hospital. On the outside the picture appeared perfect, but the problem was not internally solved.

Thanking the doctor Namjoo glanced at Sehun. Sitting at the edge of the bed again. His long legs easily reaching the floor. One light push and he'd be on his feet, but he never moved. His head hung low. His nose nearly perpendicular to the glossy floor.