pushed her only to get her away from me. She shouldn’t have followed me over that bridge.”
“What happened to her?” Jihoon asked, trepidation thickening his words.
“She survived,” Miyoung said. “I don’t murder innocents.” She eyed him, her face pinched in defense. It spoke volumes. It told him no one had ever taken her side.
“So it was an accident.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
“If it wasn’t, would you be here still? Would you even talk to me if you thought I hurt an innocent person on purpose?” Miyoung’s voice rose.
Jihoon hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But that’s not the case.”
“That’s your problem. You want to be friends with the noble monster, but you forget that I kill to survive. I’m not a good person,” Miyoung said. “I never pretended to be.” Her voice cracked in desperation.
“I don’t forget,” Jihoon said. “I just know there’s more to you than that.”
“Don’t say that.” Miyoung’s voice echoed angrily off the bathroom walls. “You don’t know! You don’t know what I’ve done. Stop pretending like you do.”
“I know I don’t like it when people bully you. Even when the person doing the bullying is yourself.”
Jihoon had come to realize Miyoung cared, about everything. She was someone who killed to live, but she had a soft heart. It must have torn her apart that her very existence caused pain for others. And knowing that, Jihoon hurt for her even as he didn’t know how to help her.
“I can’t stop seeing them.” Her voice trembled. “They remind me of what I’ve done.”
“Who?” Jihoon asked, desperate to understand her, convinced if he could, then he could finally help.
Miyoung huffed out a breath, tears brimming, but she never let them fall, so complete was her need for control.
Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at the text. Then without another glance at Jihoon, she pushed past him and out the door.
22
WHY DOES AHN Jihoon have to be so frustratingly understanding? Miyoung thought.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message from Nara.
I’m outside your school, please can we talk?
Miyoung raced down the hallway despite the warning bell telling students to return to class. She couldn’t go back right now. Her head was pounding with the start of a migraine and though she refused to acknowledge them, the shadows of phantoms still swirled around her. If she stood too still for too long, she could just make out their whispered words.
Murderer.
Monster.
Yokwe. Beast.
The yeowu guseul swung in her pocket as she walked outside. It felt like the beats of her life were being tapped away every time the bead thumped her side.
With the front gate locked, she had to climb over the side wall. With any luck this would get her out of school and help her avoid Nara.
But there was no such luck. As her feet hit the pavement, she heard the shaman’s voice calling her, “Seonbae!” Nara jogged up to her, slightly out of breath.
“What are you doing here?”
“You’re not answering my calls.”
“We have nothing to talk about,” Miyoung said, turning to walk up the street.
“You shouldn’t be shutting me out,” Nara said. “I can help you.”
Without a word, Miyoung walked through a random doorway that led to a narrow staircase beside a dented elevator. The sign beside it gave a directory for the building: a cell phone store, a noraebang, and a small rooftop café.
“Where are we going?” Nara asked.
“Somewhere we can talk in private,” Miyoung said. Inside the elevator, she pressed the button for the third floor.
“A noraebang?” Nara asked, confused.
Miyoung didn’t reply as the elevator deposited them into a cramped lobby. Bright neon lights flashed against mirrored walls. A small concession stand offered anything from assorted snacks to soda to alcohol. A handwritten sign boasted they had the newest K-pop songs for karaoke. Miyoung approached the man sitting behind the counter, which was coated with some sticky substance.
“Can we get a room for an hour?” Miyoung asked.
He glanced at Miyoung and Nara’s school uniforms, then shrugged and quoted the room price in a lazy drawl. It seemed he didn’t care about truancy as long as they paid.
The room smelled like stale beer and soju, but it was private. Miyoung picked up the giant square controller and indiscriminately picked a song. Loud trot music blared out of the speakers. Music of their parents’ era, or at least Nara’s parents. Miyoung doubted Yena ever listened to music. The lyrics to “Love Battery” danced across the screen, accompanied by generic scenes of flowers and nature.
Miyoung turned to Nara. “Talk.”
“These spirits,”