Eyes Full Of Stars || Park Sunghoon

25 ¦ Inhale Exhale

"Take a deep breath," Dr. Murphy prompts me as his fingers clasp the drainage tube. Immediately, I take a deep breath through my nose and clasp the hand of Teresa, who is sitting by my bedside to assist me, a little tighter. 

"Now, exhale as hard as you can!" As forcefully as I can, I blow out all the air that is in my lungs through my mouth. This is the moment when I feel a painful tugging between my ribs. A startled sound escapes my lips and I crush Teresa's fingers with my hand.

"That's it," Dr. Murphy tells me, disposing of the tube that had been stuck in my body until a few seconds ago in the trash. "You didn't tell me this was going to hurt," I reproach my doctor, looking at him indignantly, while nevertheless letting my head sink into my pillow in relief.

"I'm going to put a sterile pressure dressing on you now. You can have the stitches removed by your family doctor in ten days," Dr. Murphy explains to me in a friendly manner and applies the sterile pressure bandage with the help of his assistant. "Nevertheless, I would ask you to remain as much as possible on bed rest. Even after your discharge" 

"And when will I be discharged?", I want to know. "Tomorrow morning, my colleagues in radiology will take a final X-ray," Dr. Murphy explains to me, looking back and forth between Teresa and me. "So if all goes well, there's nothing standing in the way of a discharge by tomorrow afternoon." 

Although my mother, Teresa and I don't have to go back to my father thanks to Sunghoon's offer, the thought of my discharge fills me with dread. What if my father finds out where we are? 

It can only be a miracle at all that my mother accepted the proposal to stay with Sunghoon. But one word from my father would be enough to convince Mom to come home with him. What do I do if it comes to that? 

On one hand, I can hardly leave her alone with him, but on the other hand, under no circumstances do I want to be under the same roof with this man. My fear of what he is capable of doing is too great.

Anyway, I am surprised that he has not yet set foot in this hospital to visit us. I think back to the day he first beat me up. The following day he told me to cover the marks of his violent act even in his presence. He could barely look me in the face. Maybe that's why he's not here. Because he can't look at what he did. 

Does he regret being violent? But if so, why does he keep doing it instead of resolving to make himself better?

I will never forgive him for what he did to me. After all, he doesn't even try to make himself better. He is and will forever be the same monster who almost beat his daughter to the grave. The same monster who regularly beats up his wife.

Just yesterday I noticed a bruise on my mother's arm that clearly must have come from him. I wonder why mom can't see what a monster her husband is. Not even now that I'm lying here does she want to see it. 

"Thank you so much," I thank Dr. Murphy and his assistant, who have just finished applying the tourniquet. Relieved, I slide my patient shirt back down so my bruise-covered chest is no longer on display. 

"If you develop any discomfort during the day, please press the patient bell immediately," Dr. Murphy says, pulling off his gloves. "I'll see you tomorrow after the X-ray." "Thank you, doctor," Teresa thanks him. Dr. Murphy pulls up the corners of his mouth and gives us an appreciative nod before he and his assistant leave the hospital room.

Ignoring the slight pain on my chest, I sit up and reach for my empty water bottle sitting on my nightstand. "Give me that," Teresa says, rising from her chair to take the bottle from my hand. "I'll get you another bottle."

Teresa leaves my room, leaving the door ajar behind her only to return not a minute later with two full bottles of water. She fills my glass and hands it to me. "What would I do without you?" I ask, sipping the cool liquid that runs pleasantly down my dry throat before putting the glass back on the nightstand. 

Smiling, I look at the middle-aged woman I've known for as long as I can remember. All my life she has taken care of me as if I were her own daughter. She comforted me when I was sad and laughed with me when I was happy. I confided all my secrets to Teresa, asked her for advice when I was stuck. She is like a second mother and a best friend at the same time. 

"I have a question. But it's a very private question," I say. "Go ahead," Teresa replies with a smile, stroking my brown hair lovingly. "Have you ever wanted children of your own?" I ask curiously. 

The smile on her lips dies abruptly and I can feel her backing away. Obviously this seems like a really intimate question and immediately I regret asking it. "I'm sorry if I offended you with that. You don't have to answer that," I say immediately, shaking my head vigorously. 

"It just never worked out for me to have children of my own," the middle-aged woman replies, tucking one of her brown strands of hair behind her ear, which has come loose from her tied-up hair. As she does so, she glances at her wristwatch and rises from the chair, which is by my bedside. 

"Sunghoon's driver is about to pick me up, I should be heading downstairs gradually," Teresa states. As a farewell, she reaches for my hand and squeezes it gently before leaving the room. 

"Teresa," I stop her one last time. Immediately she stops and looks at me across the room. She raises her eyebrows questioningly. "Thank you for always being there for me." "Of course," she replies with a smile on her lips before waving to me one last time and pulling the door shut behind her.

A/N: Hmm why is Teresa acting so weird about this topic...?