Recompense [ Inso's Law ]

4: Manual Override

It took some time and some effort, but her parents gradually let up on tending to her every move. She could go to the kitchen and make some food without her mother taking over. She could reorganise her room without having her dad insist on helping her. The suffocating supervision eased up, and Yeomin could finally breathe.

Admittedly, the creeping feeling of uselessness never disappeared, but Yeomin tried not to dwell on it. Regardless of how true or false it was, thinking about it didn't do her any good. (Shame flooded every corner of her mind until she was choking on regret. She shouldn't have yelled. They did everything they could to help her, and she's been nothing but ungrateful.)

Outside of everything else, her parents seemed determined to get her out of the house much more than before. Something about it being "good for her." It seemed like every day she'd be dragged to the movies, to a park, to go shopping, or just on a drive around the city. Yeomin liked the drives the best. There were no stares from others as she got around in her crutches. In the blur of neon lights and tall buildings, Yeomin could let everything else fade away.

Truth be told, Yeomin wasn't used to the attention. Over the last few months, she's probably done more things with her parents than she has in the rest of her life. She wasn't even used to going out this frequently with her friends. Usually, she went out on her own.

Now, the situation flipped. And it was so completely foreign that Yeomin couldn't tell whether she liked it or not.

(A part of her itched to go out on her own. To escape into a single moment of normalcy.

She once asked her mom. Guilt and fear battled across the woman's face, crumpling it into pure dread. Yeomin's heart dropped, but she understood why. Even if she could walk properly, the last time she went somewhere on her own, they got a call from the hospital.

She didn't ask again.)

Occasionally―especially on nights when she suffocated on thoughts of people she would never meet again―Yeomin found herself almost envying her younger self. The feeling was always quickly replaced with revulsion at the very thought―of continuing to be the same awful person―of continuing to be a mere puppet at the hands of the story.

'Are you sure you ever stopped?'

Even through her disgust, Yeomin still longed for the blissful ignorance. For the simplicity. For her―

As surrounded by her parent's love as she was, Yeomin felt cripplingly alone.

Annoyance burned bright during the beginning. Now, every one of its crackling embers was smothered as soon as it appeared. And without its light, there was nothing left to notice but the cold, empty darkness.

But there was no use focusing on something she couldn't change.

So she left it to linger and rot like every other reality she'd pushed to the back of her mind.

Ignoring the weight on her back, Yeomin pushed forward.

――――――――――

Time slipped through her hands like sand, and she did nothing but watch it fall. A day passed. A day became a week. A week became a month.

...

Her dad's birthday came up. She tried to bake a cake with her mom. Tried. They welcomed her dad home with a chocolate cake from the bakery down the street. Much to her mom's chagrin, Yeomin kept the image of her flour-covered head as her contact photo.

...

Her bookshelf stared at her, depressingly empty. Half of the books she's re-read over five times. The other half is the driest textbooks known to man. And she's even begun to read those! She should really go to the library.