Whispers of Refuge Box Set

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 12

Sun curled up on the mattress and bit her lip to keep from crying out loud. The bitter drink Mr. Lee had given her made her legs heavy. Her head was spinning. How could this have happened to her? How could she have let everyone deceive her? It had only been two days since she crossed the border with Min-Ho. Two days waiting in a filthy hotel room, eating no better than she had at her parents’ home. Two days spent locked up because her fat and blotchy new boss told her it wasn’t safe to venture out until he got her the appropriate identification papers. She had been so eager to start earning money to help her family back home. Then tonight Mr. Lee sauntered in, heaving around his enormous swell of a belly, and told her everything was in order. She was now a working woman.

Sun scratched her cheeks until her fingernails were bloody. Maybe if she were disfigured ...

“Horrible, isn’t it?”

Sun jumped. She hadn’t heard Mee-Kyong enter. Before tonight, she had wondered why Mr. Lee gave them each their own room when they easily could have shared one large bed. Now she understood.

“Mr. Lee told me you were starting.” Mee-Kyong covered Sun up with a heavy blanket but didn’t actually touch her. “It won’t always hurt that bad.” The words were so quiet Sun could barely hear them. She shut her eyes. She didn’t want to look at anyone. She didn’t want to face another human being for the rest of her life. Mee-Kyong lowered her face closer to Sun’s. “I got my bath tub ready for you. I thought you might want to wash yourself off.” She handed Sun a small flask. The acrid drink brought stinging tears to her eyes.

Sun swallowed. Mee-Kyong reached out her hand, but Sun didn’t take it. Clutching the blanket around her shoulders, she staggered on uneven legs, certain a bath would never wash away her filth.

***

Mee-Kyong knocked softly on the bathroom door as her mind blared accusations. It’s your fault she wasn’t prepared for this. You should have at least warned her. For a moment, she felt like she was at one of the nightly self-criticism sessions back at Camp 22. When there was no answer, Mee-Kyong considered just walking in. After all, privacy wasn’t a luxury Mr. Lee granted to his workers. Sun knew that now. Before long, anyone with money to spare could see her nakedness. Why should it matter if Mee-Kyong beheld the same?

How had she felt after her introduction in the prison camp? It was so long ago she could scarcely remember the guard or the circumstances surrounding their union. What she did remember, however, was the taste of the rice she ate afterward.

She had never been in Sun’s situation. She had been conceived in Camp 22, never stepping foot outside its electric fence until she escaped with Pang just a few weeks earlier. For most of her life, she lived like an orphan with dozens of other girls. Her friends from the dorm were the closest thing she had to a family. She always knew her body was not her own; her school teachers and overseers from the gulag could strike or abuse her whenever they saw fit. Many girls just withered away. They grew weak. They couldn’t handle the suffering, and so they eventually died. The methods varied remarkably, but in the end it didn’t matter. They died just the same. Mee-Kyong had vowed to survive, and so far she had. Her spirit was toughened by a lifetime of calluses, calluses Sun had never needed to develop. Mee-Kyong wondered what she should say to ease the child’s mind. She knocked on the door once more and finally opened it.

Sun lay face-down in the bathtub, her black hair billowing up on top of the water. Mee-Kyong ran to the body. She’s dead, and it’s your fault.

Mee-Kyong tried to ignore the angry shrieks of her conscience. She was only trying to help, and she would have continued to do so. The wimpy child just wasn’t patient enough. Mee-Kyong was hardly to blame. Stupid girl. Yes, of course she was hurt. Of course she was ashamed. But hadn’t Mee-Kyong told her it would get easier?

Mee-Kyong glared at Sun’s narrow shoulders. Her bones were as brittle as sand. The girl couldn’t even withstand her introduction. And Mee-Kyong had been seeing one customer after another, taking on extra men to give Sun a chance to be broken in easily. She had done so, despite being still torn and injured from childbirth. And Sun couldn’t even manage to live through her first customer.

Pitiful.

Mee-Kyong pulled the girl’s face out of the water and could still smell the liquor on her breath. Stupid child. Stupid, ignorant, naïve child. If Sun couldn’t survive an introduction, how did she think she’d ever make it to adulthood? Pathetic baby. Whatever puny mistreatment Sun suffered in one night was nothing compared to the lifetime of horror and despair Mee-Kyong endured in Camp 22. Had she flung herself into the bathtub as soon as things got painful? Ignoring the hot tears that spilled down her cheeks, she slapped Sun’s face.

Sun opened her eyes, turned her face, and vomited into the water. Mee-Kyong wanted to hug the girl and hated herself for it. “I told you it would get better. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

Sun’s lip quivered, but Mee-Kyong was thankful that the child didn’t cry. “I slipped in the tub. It was an accident.” She lowered her eyes.

Mee-Kyong raised an eyebrow, but she wasn’t going to argue. It wouldn’t kill anyone to let Sun keep at least a shred of dignity after all she had been through. There wouldn’t be much dignity in the days and weeks to follow. “It gets easier,” Mee-Kyong breathed. “I promise.”

Sun turned her head but didn’t look at her. “It was kind of you to save me.”

Mee-Kyong studied Sun and decided the girl deserved some honesty for once. “I didn’t think you were still alive.” She looked at Sun until the girl met her gaze. “Otherwise, I might not have.”