There’s something about me having sex with my somewhat, not exactly, but in some fashion, stepbrother, in a random hotel in Seoul that is fitting—an inappropriate person in a soulless place. The marble counter is empty but for the hotel-size soap and the plastic-wrapped toothbrush ready for the next traveler. My life is like that. Other than my mom, Ellen, I don’t have people to share things with. I’ve let my high school and college friendships lapse. I have no deep connection with the people I work with. The last time I had sex was with the minor league baseball player that last summer of college.

Hooking up with a vacation fling is perfect for me. No commitment means no emotional investment. I’ve never allowed anyone to get too comfortable with me. I’ve held myself aloof from people, never letting anyone create too much permanency in my heart, never letting anyone come too close, always leaving the door half-open. It’s why it was so easy to come to Korea. I hadn’t anything back home that I wanted to cling to, and it’s not because people back home aren’t special or that there aren’t things to become attached to, but because I want to be the one to do the leaving. I was abandoned by Wansu and then Pat. By age eleven, I was done with that nonsense.

At least, that was the lie I told myself. But, of course, I wanted a connection. I’m human, so when Lee Jonghyung sent me the email, I thought that this was my opportunity to forge something meaningful, something lasting. It was the idea of that connection that lured me here, because if I had put any thought into it, I would’ve recognized that I was only running halfway across the world because I was ashamed or afraid to admit the problem was me.

It was easier for me that Lee Jonghyung was dead. If he was alive, I would’ve had to open myself up to be hurt again, which is why I lashed out at Wansu. When she asked me what I wanted, I made sure to be as cruel as possible. Better that I say those disappointing words than wait for her to say them. But I’m here now and I’m no longer a child. I’m a woman, fully grown, and so I should face what I started and then cope with the fallout, no matter what it is. I have only four days left here in Seoul, and I will not spend them hiding. I pull on the socks and set the shoes by the door.

Saying that is fine, but executing my new resolutions are another thing. I don’t have a phone. I don’t know where Choi Wansu lives, but Yujun would know. He’s still lying in bed, one strong arm across his eyes. The sheets are pulled down far enough that I allow myself a three-second leer before reaching for the phone he casually tossed on the table last night before I attacked him. I turn it on and stare at the lock screen. I don’t know enough about Yujun to make any kind of guess at his password.