“Calm down, calm down! Calm!” the doctor yells at Yeong-hye. “Tranquilizer!” The head nurse tries to hand him the syringe.

“Don’t!” In-hye screams, her voice drawn out like a wail. “Stop it! Don’t! Please don’t!” She bites the arm of the carer holding her and throws herself forward again.

“What the hell, you bitch!” the carer groans. In-hye takes Yeong-hye in her arms, soaking her blouse with the blood her sister has vomited up.

“Stop it, for god’s sake. Please stop…” In-hye grabs the wrist of the head nurse, the one who is holding the syringe with the tranquilizer, as Yeong-hye quietly convulses against her chest.

—

Yeong-hye’s blood is splashed all over the doctor’s white gown, even on his rolled-up sleeves. In-hye stares blankly at the splatter pattern. A whirling galaxy of bloody stars.

“We need to transfer Yeong-hye to the main hospital right away. Please, go to Seoul. They’ll have to give her a protein injection into one of her carotid arteries to stop the gastric bleeding. The effect won’t last long, but it’s the only way if you want to keep her alive.”

In-hye takes the letter requesting Yeong-hye’s admittance to the main hospital, which has just been drawn up, puts it in her bag and leaves the nurses’ room. She heads for the bathroom and manages to make it into one of the cubicles before her legs crumple beneath her and she falls to her knees in front of the toilet. Quietly, she begins to vomit. Milky tea mixed with yellow stomach acid.

“Idiot.” Her trembling lips repeat the word as she washes her face in front of the mirror. “Idiot.”

It’s your body, you can treat it however you please. The only area where you’re free to do just as you like. And even that doesn’t turn out how you wanted.

When she lifts her head, the face she sees reflected in the mirror is wet. Eyes from which so much blood has spilled in her dreams. Eyes from which that blood always refused to be wiped away, no matter how fiercely she scrubbed at it with her hands. But the woman’s face is not crying, not now. It’s only staring wordlessly back at her, like always, betraying not even the faintest hint of emotion. The wailing cry that tore at her ears a little while ago was so raw, so full of anguish, she finds it difficult to believe it came from her.

She reels along the corridor, staggering like a drunk. Desperately trying to keep her balance, she makes her way toward the lobby. All of a sudden the sunlight is pouring through the window, brightening the gloomy space. It’s been a long time since In-hye has seen such light. Some of the patients are sensitive to the light and grow agitated. While the rest of them flock over to the window, gabbling excitably, a woman wearing ordinary clothes walks over to In-hye. In-hye narrows her eyes, her vision swimming, struggling to make out the woman’s face. It’s Hee-joo. The whites of her eyes are red; perhaps she’s been crying again. Has she always felt things so deeply? Or is it just because she’s a patient here, one who’s emotionally unstable?