Will it not be easier to just pretend?
I lie in darkness, hands on my side. A voice is speaking inside my head again. It happens more frequently now, these past few days. There is a voice speaking to me, a shadow, a whisper.
Will it not?
It will, I reply, in my head, just to silence the voice. But I think about it all the same, weigh it, test it. The voice is right. It will be easier to just pretend. Pretend I am a good girl, pretend I surrender. That I may get out of this hell.
Yet it will take time.
If I will have to pretend, I will have to empty my mind, forget myself, lose myself, for a very long time, or everything else will be for naught. If I will have to pretend, it must be convincing enough.
If he is convinced enough, it will be a giant step, taken forward for me. I wonder how much it would take from me. I might lose myself forever.
Do you have a choice?
I think about it long and hard. Here, I pause for a second, a minute, an hour. I think about it long and hard.
Do I have a choice? For the days that I've been locked in here, my instincts have been telling me two things: take flight; if I can't, then fight.
If I fight further, like what I've been doing for this whole time, I will end up in the worse condition. Fighting is futile, fighting further will result in a darker and smaller cage.
Flight, I don't have wings, yet. Later, when I acquire some.
But there is also the freezing, between the two, when I watch and wait, how things will unfold, prepare myself, get ready for the next move.
I will take the third path, then. It seems the most promising.
Can I gaze at his face, let him touch me, without flinching, without turning my eyes away? Can I?
Can I love without forgiving? They say love keeps no record of wrongdoings. It will not be love, then. It will be another kind, love without forgiveness. But it shouldn't matter. I will only have to cling to this type of love for months, years, till I am completely free.
Or maybe by then, I will have completely lost myself.
Then what next? After I obtain my freedom, what next? Do I kill him, bring my father justice, rule over my people? Will they approve of me, or has he poisoned their minds already? What do I do next?
I will worry about that later, I tell myself, after another hour of thinking. One step at a time. One step, forward. Time is moving again, away from me. I have to go after her.
Tomorrow, I will begin. The plan is simple: to lose myself. When the timing is right, then I will come find her again, my lost self.
Tomorrow, that's right. On the morrow. Even if he still doesn't come visit me tomorrow, I will begin with myself.
Today is the fifth day of his absence, if my counting is correct. He didn't show up yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, and the day before that. I count through the meals they bring me.
If I say I don't miss his presence, I would be lying to myself. I am alone in this room, with no one to talk to. I wish they would talk to me. But they won't.
I want to go outside so badly.
It's nighttime now, out there. I wonder how the moon looks like. I know it's nighttime because of the medicine they send me. The medicine is to be taken before bed.
My fever is gone days ago, but they continue to send me the medicine. The doctor's word, they said. They won't answer my questions further. But they won't also leave without seeing me partake the medicine.
They also won't tell me the cause of my fever. I can only assume it's fatigue, does fatigue come with fever? Or dehydration. Dehydration, it seems the answer. And the starvation, I suppose.
I lie in darkness, with my hands on my chest. My heart is beating, alive and well. I listen to it, take deep breaths, quiet myself.
Just follow the yellow light.
I am about to fall asleep when the door creaks open. The moment his shadow shows up, suddenly, I am a coward again. I can't do this, I tell myself. I can't.
Close my eyes, pretend I am asleep.
And you will always be a weak little princess, always running away!
His footsteps stop beside me, and the weight of him depresses the mattress. The moment he touches my forehead, I couldn't help but flinch a little.
"I know you're awake."
I try my best not to move, though my heartbeats must give me away, the way they bolt and leap.
"I'm sorry I didn't show up for almost a week. I had to leave the castle. I just returned this hour."
If I stay silent, he might just give up and leave. I hope he does.
"I understand if you don't want to talk to me right now." He sighs. "I'm tired. May I sleep here?" He waits for a moment. When I still don't answer, he plants a kiss on my forehead. "I'll take that as a yes. Good night, Yona."
A minute passes, turns into five, ten, fifteen. I peek through my half-shut eyes. He is lying on his back, chest rising in a placid rhythm.
I could choke him with a pillow right now. A million thoughts run through my head. I could. But will my hands stay still, and not waver? Can I really kill a person? I try to lift the pillow, but my hands are shaking.
I give up the thought. I turn my back on him, lie on my side, hug the pillow. I won't be like him. I won't be a murderer.
His arm is around me in an instant, and his chest pressed to my back. "I missed you," he says. "I'm sorry I had to leave you."
Will it not be easier to just pretend?
What the hell is wrong with me? I am crying again. My emotions are out of control, I cry easily. One moment I am angry, the next moment I am crying.
I don't know why I'm crying. Perhaps I am just lonely, or in grief, or in disappointment. Or none of that.
He must've sensed me crying. He begins to pat my arm, in light rhythm.
I hug the pillow closer. I don't want him to be here, doing this, but I am so lonely. I can't bring myself to push him away.
"It's alright," he says, with the same tenderness he used to show me when we were younger. "Even if you cry."
The same words, I remember. I cry harder, and fill the silence with my wails, and the night with my weeping.
Please, let this be all a nightmare. Please, I want this all to be over now. I want to wake up, and run into his arms, into the arms of the man I loved, where I will be safe, satisfied.
My head starts aching. Throbbing, pulsing. I stop crying. I am tired, I just want to fall asleep.
"I'm here," he says, in a soothing manner. "I love you."
Will it not be easier to just pretend?
I turn around to face him. "Do you really mean that?" I don't know what's gotten into me now. I don't know what I'm saying. "Do you really love me, Suwon?"
His eyes are fixed on me, unblinking. A long time ago I could not stare at them straight. Now I could. They remind me of his true nature.
"It is not love you feel for me," I say. "Love is kind. Wake up."
His eyes, they aren't showing any form of emotion right now. It's as if they're empty. How long has been like this? I wish I had noticed sooner.
"Love is kind," he says, as if thinking about the words, weighing them. "Then what I feel for you must be another kind."
He smiles, but they don't reach his eyes.
"Love is kind, you say," he continues. "That very definition states that my feelings are invalid..." His smile drops. "But is love really kind, all the time? When parents strike their children for discipline, do they do that out of love?"
He smiles again.
"Love is complicated, then," he says, shifting to lie on his back. "A complicated one."
I turn my back to him and hug my pillow. I wish could've known sooner. I wish I could've helped him earlier, before he became like that. He can never be fixed now, I know. Broken people, they don't heal easily, and they continue to wither, no matter how you try.
"I'm so tired," he says, yawning. "Let's just talk again tomorrow, okay? It's really hard to think when you're sleepy."
He doesn't love me. It isn't love. It's a twisted form, a dangerous one. If only I had known sooner.
In my head, I am counting. One, two, three, four...
I lie in darkness, and think about my plan. Will it not be easier to just pretend? It will; or not. But I don't really have any more choice. I have to try.
That's right. Tomorrow, I may start. If not, then the next day, or the next next day. It doesn't matter. I don't plan on rotting in this rotten cage.