Vicious Spirits

by Kat Cho

  “You have to stop holding back what you feel just to take care of the rest of us. I don’t need it. Your mom doesn’t need it. Miyoung doesn’t need it.”

  “I just . . . I don’t want to waste any time.”

  “Why would living our own lives be wasting time?” Jihoon frowned.

  “When my dad was alive, I don’t think I ever really appreciated him the way he deserved. And then he was just gone. I feel like I never realized how important he was to me until he wasn’t there anymore. And I just don’t want to lose out on the chance to make important memories with the people I love.”

  “Oh, Somin.” Jihoon leaned forward and enfolded her in his arms. She wanted to push him away, she felt so embarrassed by the words that had come flooding out of her. Like those of a frightened child. But she couldn’t hide it anymore. It was like all the fear she’d felt this summer had barreled through the walls that had always kept this hidden.

  She pulled out of Jihoon’s arms, averting her face. “I don’t know where the worry comes from. It’s just always been there.”

  Jihoon nodded. “Even when my parents left me, I knew they were still alive out there somewhere. I knew that they weren’t completely gone from my life, no matter how much it felt like that. But now . . . after Halmeoni died, and now that my father’s really gone . . .”

  Somin raised horrified eyes to him. She hadn’t meant to unlock this pain for him.

  She started to say that they didn’t have to talk about this right now.

  But Jihoon saw her expression and laid a hand on her shoulder. Comforting her even as she saw the tears pooling in his eyes. “I think I get it,” he said. “I wish every day that I’d realized how much Halmeoni did for me. And I regret every day that I wasn’t able to tell her that I’m so proud she’s the one who raised me. I think I do fear it a bit, losing you. Because I love you so much, too.”

  That did it. The tears that Somin had been holding back this whole time rushed forward.

  She leaned into him, and they held each other. “But,” he said into her hair, “I also trust you. And I know I can trust that if you do go, you’ll always come back someday.”

  Somin pulled back in confusion. “I never said I wanted to go anywhere.”

  “I’m your best friend,” Jihoon said. “You don’t think I can tell you want to leave this place as soon as we graduate?”

  “Not forever,” Somin said quickly, like she had to defend this secret dream of hers.

  “I know.” Jihoon nodded reassuringly. “And I think you should tell your mother.”

  “It’s not the right time.” She could feel nervous flutters in her stomach at just the thought.

  “If you keep putting it off, then you’ll never tell her.”

  “What if she gets upset?”

  “You’ve had fights with your mother before,” Jihoon said.

  “I just don’t know how to leave her,” Somin said. “What if I leave and then something happens to her?”

  “What if you stay and you start to resent her?” Jihoon asked.

  Somin pouted because she couldn’t argue against that logic.

  “Talk to her,” Jihoon said. “Don’t have regrets.”

  “When did you become so bossy?” Somin asked. “I don’t think I like it.”

  Jihoon laughed. “I love you, Lee Somin.”

  “I know,” Somin said.

  “You’re supposed to say it back.” Jihoon batted his lashes.

  “No, I don’t want to because you’re being so ridiculous.”

  “And you love me for it,” Jihoon said with a wink.

  “Yeah.” Somin sighed. “I guess I do love you.”

  67

  JUNU STARED AT the packing boxes. They’d been delivered ahead of the movers arriving tomorrow. Maybe he should reschedule. He wanted to make sure that the more delicate things in his apartment were prepped for transport. No, that was just a delay tactic. He’d decided to leave, and he would.

  He knew leaving would hurt Somin, but it was better this way. She didn’t belong in his world. He’d always known this. She could have died on that mountain because she wasn’t able to let him go and he’d never have forgiven himself. Because he loved her, he had to let her go. And maybe one day she’d realize it was for the best. Or she wouldn’t and she’d hate him the rest of her life. Maybe that was for the best, too.

  Miyoung stepped into the foyer, then stopped short at the sight of the boxes.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “I’m going to start a bowling league,” Junu said. “What does it look like? I’m moving.”

  “Moving?” Miyoung asked, frowning. “Why?”

  “I just feel like it’s time. I think I’ve stayed way too long here. But don’t worry. I own this building. You can stay as long as you want.”

  “Oooh,” Miyoung said with a knowing nod. “I get it. You’re running.”

  “What?” Junu said, taken aback. And surprised by the smile that spread on Miyoung’s face. “I am not,” he insisted. But his heart raced like he was caught doing something wrong. “This is just my thing. I go somewhere, hang around until I get bored, and leave.”

  “Except you’re not bored this time. You’re scared.” Miyoung shrugged as she took a pair of shoes from the shoe cabinet.

  “Don’t you have school?” Junu scowled.

  “It’s Sunday,” Miyoung said.

  “Shouldn’t you be killing yourself studying for the suneung exam, then? You’re fully human now, why don’t you act like it?”

  “You just don’t want me here pointing out that you’re scared.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Junu said. But he couldn’t think of a way to convince Miyoung she was wrong. She just was. There was nothing else to it.

  “I recognize exactly what you’re doing because it’s what I used to do for the first eighteen years of my life. Run away from my problems. Or let someone else clean them up for me. But you forget, I once literally left the country and my problems stayed with me. It doesn’t matter where you are when your problems exist in here.” Miyoung pointed to her head.

  “I’m not . . . I mean, that’s just not . . . What would I be running from?”

  “From the looks of it, you’re running from what you want because of what you think you deserve.”

  Junu frowned at that. “You’re not making any sense.”

  Miyoung leaned forward so her face was lined up with Junu’s, then enunciated each word. “You have feelings for people here, so you are running away because you think you deserve to be alone.”

  “What?” Junu practically shouted, jerking away from her. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “No, it’s not. You care about Changwan. You can’t deny that.”

  Junu shrugged. “Maybe. But he’ll be fine without me.”

  “Sure,” Miyoung agreed. “He’ll probably be okay.”

  That stung, Miyoung’s easy acceptance that Changwan didn’t need him. Wait, that’s what he wanted. He wanted to be able to leave without feeling any guilt over it.

  “But it’s more than just Changwan,” Miyoung continued. “You said you kept trying to help me because you owed me a debt. Gaesori.”

  Junu raised his brows. Miyoung so rarely cursed.

  “You care about me,” she said. And it wasn’t a question; she sounded so sure of herself. “And I have to admit, despite myself, I guess I care about you, too. I mean, I’m at least glad you’re not dead, so that’s progress.”

  Junu huffed. His throat felt tight and he coughed roughly to clear it, but it didn’t seem to help.

  “And you care about Lee Somin. You care about her more than you care about yourself,” she said. “Don’t you?”

  Junu smiled wryly. “You really must be confused if you think I care about anything more
than I care about me. I’m my favorite thing in this world.”

  Miyoung’s face scrunched with skepticism. “No, I’m not buying it. You’re talking to someone who spent her whole life lying to everyone, including herself. I know how to see through BS. And you’re full of it.”

  Junu’s smile faltered. There was no getting through to her.

  “What do you want me to do?” Junu finally said, pacing in frustration. “I’m not used to caring about people. Or being someone others can depend on. I’m a selfish prick who thinks of his own safety and interests first. I’m not someone worth having around.”

  “Yeah, and I used to devour human energy every full moon. People change.”

  “I’m not a person,” Junu said stubbornly, crossing his arms.

  “Neither was I. But that can change, too.” Miyoung gave him a small smile. “Come on. You’ll never know unless you try. Think of it as a new adventure.”

  Junu groaned. “I think I liked it better when you ignored me. At least then you didn’t make me face my own issues. We could just be two broken people floating around each other in blissful peace.”

  “Yeah, I’m not really looking to do that anymore.” Miyoung rolled her eyes, then reached for the door. “Do you want to come with me?”

  “Where are you going?” Junu asked.

  68

  SOMIN HUDDLED IN her room, letting the afternoon pass her by, before she persuaded herself to talk to her mother. Jihoon was right this morning; she had to say something or she’d always regret it. And if Somin was anything, she was a person who faced things head-on. It was her signature move.

  If she could face a mountain god, she could face her own mother . . . she hoped.

  Her mother was watching some soapy daytime drama that was more melodrama than substance. At least they always seemed that way to Somin.

  She sat on the couch, pretending to watch the show for three minutes before she couldn’t fake it anymore. “Eomma?”

  “Hmm?” Her mother’s eyes never left the screen.

  “What would you think if I didn’t go to college in Seoul?”

  “College?” Her mother’s eyes finally drifted away from the television. “Outside of Seoul? Like in Gyeonggi-do?”

  Somin frowned. “No, like farther.”

  Her mother finally seemed to realize Somin wanted to have a full conversation and muted the television. “You mean outside of the country?”

  Somin pursed her lips. Was that disapproval she heard? Maybe she should let this go for now. Except she wasn’t sure when she’d find the courage to ask again.

  Her mother stood up and walked into the kitchen, and Somin worried she’d upset her. But her mother came back with a folder. She sat, placing it between them on the couch.

  Somin opened the folder and found a bunch of crinkled pamphlets for universities all over the world. She’d thrown them away at the beginning of the summer. “Why do you have these?”

  “I found them a while ago when I was cleaning your room so Jihoon could stay with us. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but you’ve seemed so distracted lately. I guess you’re not as distracted anymore.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew about these.” Somin stared at the cities depicted in the pamphlets, places where things seemed so different. So new.

  “Hey. I might be a bit scattered, but I’m still a mother. And mothers know what their kids are up to.”

  Somin dearly hoped not. If her mother knew about what she did over summer break, Somin was sure she’d have a heart attack.

  “Why did you throw these away?” her mother asked.

  “I just didn’t know if I should be applying to places like this.”

  “Why? Is it the money? Because I’m doing well at the office. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “I guess I worried how you’d react if you knew I wanted to leave. You need me here.”

  Her mother let out a heavy sigh. “Somin-ah, I think I’ve been a bad mother.”

  “What?” Somin had never heard anything more ridiculous in her life. After seeing how her friends had suffered, Somin knew now more than ever how lucky she was to have a mother like hers. Not everyone grew up knowing they were loved like she did. She’d never had to doubt it.

  “I should have had this talk with you a long time ago,” her mother said, folding Somin’s hand into hers. “You are the child in this relationship. Not the mother. And you need to stop trying to take care of me all the time.”

  “What?” Somin frowned. Where was this coming from?

  “It’s your senior year. I want you to start to think about what you want out of life.”

  “I want to be able to take care of you. We’re a team, you and me.”

  Her mother nodded. “Yes, we’re a team. But I think you need to realize that people on a team have different roles. My role is to be the mother. Your role is to be the child.”

  Somin smiled, but she was confused. “We’re not a normal mother and daughter. We’re different. We’re special.”

  Her mother winced. “That’s what I always told you when you were younger because I was so scared you’d see I had no idea what I was doing. And I’m sorry I leaned on you too much when you were younger. I didn’t have the ability to be a strong mother for you before. But I know how to be one now.”

  “Don’t say that,” Somin said, tears filling her eyes. “You’re the perfect mother. You always have been.”

  Her mother pushed Somin’s hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek. “I’m not perfect. But I am your mother. And you need to listen to me. You need to do what’s best for you. And I will be fine. A mother sacrifices for her child, not the other way around. Do you understand?”

  Somin nodded, kissing her mother’s palm. “I love you, Eomma.”

  “I love you, too, Daughter. That’s why I want you to think about what you want from now on. Okay?”

  Somin nodded.

  “Will you look at the pamphlets again? Think about if you want to apply to any of these places?”

  Somin smiled. She’d been right about one thing: She did have the perfect mother. “Sure, Eomma. Why don’t we look at them together later?”

  69

  THE FOREST WAS quiet as they stood beside the maehwa tree.

  Miyoung held a handful of lilies. She was unwilling, or maybe unable, to let go of them just yet.

  “She saved my soul,” Junu said.

  “She saved mine, too,” Miyoung whispered, tears thickening her voice.

  “She was a good person.”

  Miyoung swiped away her tears. “You don’t need to lie to me. I knew what my mother was. I don’t need you to pretend that she lived a virtuous life.”

  She finally placed the lilies underneath the plaque that just had Yena’s name carved in hanja.

  It had been the right thing, letting go of Yena. Not only for the world but for her heart. Still, it hurt. Like a dull knife being driven further and further into her chest. And the pain had existed for long enough that it was just a constant dull throb now.

  “Listen,” Junu said quietly. “I’d known Yena a long time. Long enough to know dozens of names she had before she was called Yena. She was different before you were around.” That got Miyoung’s attention, and she finally looked up at him. His lips were pursed, his brow lowered in thought. “She was colder. There was something about her that was more frightening.”

  “What?” Miyoung asked.

  “She didn’t care. About anything,” Junu explained. “But then one day, she shows up at my door and she’s different. She says that she’s back in town and she needs a place that’s safe. Safer than anything I’d ever provided her with before.”

  “Are you telling me you were my mother’s Realtor?” Miyoung asked.

  “I find anything my clients require as long as I don’t need to ma
im or kill to get it.” Junu shrugged. “I was used to finding homes for your mother whenever she rolled back through Seoul. But this time was different. I’m really good at my job, but this time, nothing was good enough for her. And finally, I asked her why she was being so picky. I asked her if she didn’t trust me. And she looked at me and said, ‘I don’t trust anyone when it comes to my daughter’s safety.’”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m telling you that Yena lived her life for you, and that was a good thing. Because before you were around, she had nothing to live for. Someone like us with nothing to live for is a dangerous thing. I should know.”

  “She shouldn’t have dedicated her life to me like that.” Now Miyoung pressed her hand against the tree, like it could bring her closer to her mother. If she pressed hard enough, she could almost feel a warmth.

  “I’m telling you that you saved Yena’s life. The last eighteen years of her life, she was the happiest I’d ever seen her. Well, as happy as Yena could be.”

  Miyoung shook her head, but some of the tension that came with guilt melted away.

  “And what if I don’t know if I can be happy without her,” Miyoung whispered.

  “You can be,” Junu said. “But it won’t be easy to get there.”

  “I had to let her go,” Miyoung finally said.

  “You did. It was more than just the tear between worlds. With her lingering here, you weren’t able to actually mourn her. You were still holding on to the ghost of her. Just like I did.” Junu let out a long breath. “I let my ghosts drag me into darkness for too long. You should learn from my mistakes. Take this time to move on.”

  Miyoung knew it had been right to let go of her mother. But she hated that she felt like her mother had just died all over again. It was like the pain would never abate. Like she’d live this way forever. “When will I feel better? When will I stop hurting so much every time I think of her?”

  “Maybe never. You might never fully stop hurting.”

  “Why?” Miyoung whispered, and she didn’t know if she was asking him or some heartless god.