Someone?
It had been two weeks since she recovered in the hospital. Two weeks of lifeless eyes, hesitant nods, and empty assurances.
She was discharged sooner than expected, though only under tight restrictions, including frequent visits, follow-ups, and, most importantly, continual supervision. They referred to it as a suicide watch. It was ironic. She hadn't been aiming to die. It didn't matter to them, though. Just having that option was sufficient.
Sowon was now home, albeit the word "home" felt weird. It didn't provide warmth or comfort; it was simply four walls and a ceiling that separated her from the outside world.
Her sister had not contacted her since she was in the hospital, and neither had she. It wasn't personal—at least not in the way you'd expect. Her sister had a family, a husband, and a little daughter who needed her. There was no need for her to bear the burden of Sowon's issues.
Their last exchange was both a warning and an appeal, as well as a barrier. Sowon understood what remained unsaid. I can't keep saving you.
She did not blame her.
Her mother had stayed for a few days after her discharge, hovering about, cooking meals she scarcely tasted, and keeping a watchful eye on her. But she, too, had to leave. Something regarding troubles at their previous residence—a difficulty with the house, the neighbors, or other matters that Sowon had lost interest in.
She was suddenly alone again.
Calm, in a way.
Except that tranquility had never felt heavier.
Meonji had changed since the accident. It had not left her side, quietly observing her every move. It would nudge her hand repeatedly until she acknowledged it. Other times, it would vanish for a bit before reappearing with something in its small mouth—a water bottle, a blanket, or, more frequently, the bottle of medication she had taken that night.
The first time Meonji did it, she just stared. The small dog had placed the bottle on the floor in front of her and barked quietly, almost as if saying, Are you going to be okay?
She'd laughed. Not because it was amusing, but because she didn't know what else to do.
She knelt down and ran her fingers softly through its fur. "You're watching me too, huh?"
Meonji had wiggled its tail, eyes filled with fierce loyalty, unconscious of the gravity of the situation.
Since then, it became a habit of giving her the bottle every night, occasionally keeping it in its jaws while sitting by her bed, as if to ensure she didn't forget.
It was an unbelievable scene. A little dog stands vigil over an adult woman.
But some nights, she felt herself appreciative for it.
Even though she was alone, someone was still watching out for her.
Days faded into nights, and time continued its inexorable march forward.
Sowon existed in limbo, alternating between reality and a veil of emptiness. She kept herself occupied in the most thoughtless ways possible—cleaning, changing furniture, and browsing through her phone without truly absorbing anything.
She ignored social media. It had been months since she had checked the group chat and seen any updates from the other members. She convinced herself that it was better this way. Holding onto something that once belonged to her served no purpose.
However, when the silence became too overwhelming, she would open her phone's gallery and sift through old photos.
GFriend in their dressing rooms, making faces for the camera.
Sinb was fast asleep on the couch, wrapped in a jacket someone had placed over her.
Eunha is holding up a peace sign beside a platter of food she had proudly prepared.
Yuju was taken off guard by one of Yerin's jokes and burst out laughing in the middle of the song.
Umji is seated cross-legged on the floor, deeply focused on a book.
Sowon stared at herself in the mirror, half-dressed in a performance outfit, with an unfathomable expression in her eyes.
They were only photographs. Just memories.
But they remained like ghosts, haunting the hollow spaces where laughter once was.
She needs to move on.
She should erase them.
She never did.
One night, she sat on the couch, staring at the unfinished dinner in front of her. The television was turned on and playing some random program, but she was not paying attention. Meonji sat next to her, observing her with anticipation.
The weight in her chest had not subsided. It had settled in firmly, crushing down, stifling but comfortable.
She moaned and rubbed her temples.
Perhaps she should phone someone.
Perhaps she should reach out.
Maybe she should say something before the stillness consumes her.
Her fingers hesitated over her phone, with the group chat still unread.
She paused.
Then she locked the screen and set the phone face down on the table.
Not tonight. Perhaps not ever.
Meonji whined and touched her hand. She forced a smile, scratching behind its ears. "I’m fine."
The words felt like a lie.
The silence remained.