Perfectly Scarred

Does it?

I sit by Lisa's bedside at the hospital, in complete stillness, surrounded by stillness. It's a stark contrast to the hours leading up to this, and the journey in the ambulance to get here.

Her family just left to pick up the things that she needs. Not that Lisa will need it. I sighed.

Lisa is not yet stable and still unconscious. The probability is that she might fall into coma, I've been crying for hours and my eyelids feel heavy, like life has given me a rest. Over the past three weeks I have felt that if I didn't keep moving, then I'd never move again, and yet life has stopped me dead in my tracks as if to say, No more, Roseanne, no more.

I don't even feel like moving now. I feel paralyzed like half of me is dead. I wouldn't know where to go if I did move. Here is the only place I need to be. My skin carries brands; Lisa has a bullet wound. Our scars and imperfections all have stories.

My scars give me strength, remind me how I can overcome the toughest times in my life; Lisa's brand and her wound will remind her that she is a valiant, that she protected me. Every day we look at our bodies, we live in our skin, and we will never forget.

I forgot, Dahee is with me as soon as Lisa's family left. She said she wanted to see
Lisa, I gave up arguing and let her instead.

A nurse arrives, Judy, she's nice. She removes my cold and untouched green tea from the bedside unit and replaces it with what smells like berry tea.

"I'll keep trying," she says, good-humored. "This was sent from the castle for you."

She hands me my backpack, the one that was taken from me when I was brought to the fish-gutting warehouse this morning. I'm grateful for it, desperate to get out of the detainment clothes I was given at the castle to replace the red slip, and not just because they're soaked in Lisa's blood.

"Ms. Dahee, there are some men here to see you," she says, the kindness gone from her voice.

Dahee lifts her head from the bed where she's had it buried beside Lisa. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, her nose constantly streaming like her eyes. We have been sitting together, quite comfortably, in complete silence for hours now.

"Is it the police?" She asks, sniffing. "You can tell them to come in." She wipes her face with the sleeve of her shirt in preparation. Two men in suits enter.

"Ms. Kim, we'd like a word with you in private, please."

"It's okay." She stands, pulling her jeans up by the waist. "Roseanne was there when it happened. She's a witness, too. We've already talked to your men, uniformed police, but I'm glad and appreciate you're taking this so seriously. You're detectives?" They nod.

She makes her way over to them to shake their hands. "Ms. Kim, we're here regarding other matters. This is not about Lisa. Carina has been arrested and taken into custody."

"Oh. Then what is this about?"

The two detectives look at me and my stomach churns. This is about me. About the footage that was aired.

"As we said, we think it's best if we talk to you in private." This is said more officially, but Dahee is not ready to go without a fight.

"If this is about the actions of the Society, then I can tell you it's already been addressed. I no longer work for the Society, I've been removed from my position. There will be an announcement made first thing in the morning at a press conference. I'm also told there's an inquiry into the Society's rulings, so I'm sure you'll find this is all in hand, gentlemen, it is being dealt with internally. I suggest you talk to the head judge, Judge Ramirez, about any matters."

She is in judge mode, trying to control everything, trying to be above everyone and everything. But she lacks power now, gone is her vibrant red robe, her Chamberlain of Perfection crest, replaced with a crumpled checked shirt and bloody jeans. This is off-duty Dahee trying to command control, cleaning-out-the-garage Kim, wash-the-car Dahee, drive-Roseanne-and-Jisoo-to-the-local-farmers'-market Dahee. I never saw the monster in her.

"If it's about Roseanne, then she has been granted her freedom. That, too, has been settled within the Society. She was due to start a prison sentence, but I think that will be waived. In fact, I'm sure of it."

"This isn't about the actions of the Society, it's about your actions against Roseanne Park, which are a criminal matter," the detective says.

The other pipes up, less sensitive than the first. "We're also investigating the claims of Mila Cruz, Arya Bennett, five guards who were present during the Branding Chamber crime, and four teenagers from Seoul secondary school, among others."

Crime. And there it is, the face that I wanted to see for so long. The look of shock, at being put in her place by people in authority, by the law, a realization that she was wrong, that she is not above everybody, that what she put me and so many others through was wrong.

I see it flash in her eyes, the confusion, the self-doubt, the self-hate, the apology, the questions. The veil of self-assurance all falls down.

"We've given you hours. We did wait for this news before talking to you. We'd like you to accompany us to the station." Dahee appears torn at the prospect of having to leave.

I think of being dragged off the grocery store away from Jisoo, the whistles ringing in my ears. Paraded through the courtyard to a hissing crowd, the branding chamber, the pain of six sears on my body, in bed for a week, tied up and locked away by supposed friends, the supermarket riot, buried alive, paraded half-naked through the streets.

The worst thing of all, having to run from my family. This was all at her hands. I watch Dahee being taken away.

Our eyes meet, and in that look I see everything I have felt over the past eight weeks. And I know she is feeling it, too.

The question is, does it make me feel better?