"Where's that useless boy?" My mom slurs as she stumbles into my room. Her eyes scan the dimly lit space before settling on my grandmother and on me curled up under the thin blanket. "You're as useless as they come," she hisses, grabbing my legs. "Get down from that bed now and go to work. I need money for a drink."
Her fingers, cold and rough, yank at my blanket, pulling it away. Her words are like sharp knives, cutting through the air, stinging more than the physical touch of her hands. My body tightens instinctively, but I don't say anything. What could I say that wouldn't set her off even more? I don't move fast enough for her liking, so she pulls harder, her nails digging into my skin. I wince but say nothing, my throat tight, my chest heavy.
"Why don't you go to work yourself?" my grandmother's voice cuts through the tension in the room. She stands up from the bed, her face worn from years of dealing with my mother's reckless ways, her hands shaking slightly from frustration.
My mother scoffs and turns to her, ignoring me for a moment. "My life was better when he was in school," she snaps, her voice dripping with bitterness. "I was always getting money from those rich kids, and their parents. They didn't mind, especially with him being so good at what he does." She slaps the side of my leg again, as though it's my fault that I'm here, instead of continuing the education I had to abandon.
My gaze fixed on the cracked wall across from me. I don't want to see the hatred in her eyes, the disappointment. It's a routine by now. I stopped hoping for anything different.
"Yi, leave him be," my grandmother says, her voice firm as she steps closer, yanking my mother's hand away from me. I know she's tired, too. She's been the one picking up the pieces, talking to me when my mother disappears for days on end. But she's old, and she can only do so much.
My mother sneers. "He's my son, and I can do whatever I wish with him. Why don't you go to your useless son?" Her voice drips with venom as she swings her hand at my grandmother.
I sit up quickly to hold my mother's hand, but my grandmother catches my mother's wrist before the slap can land. "My son may have his faults, but he doesn't treat his children this way, and Zhan is my grandson," she says, her voice steady but tired. Her grip on my mother's wrist is firm, like a barrier between storms, and in that moment, the air feels heavier, charged.
My mother wrenches her arm free, glaring. "You always take his side. Do you think I don't see it? You never defended me when I needed it, and now you're doing it for him. Useless. All of you, useless!" Her voice is rising, trembling with years of pent-up anger.
"What's there to support anymore? I supported you for years until you turned yourself into this person you don't even recognize," my grandmother hissed, her eyes cold and unwavering. She stood inches away, her words sharp and piercing, like icicles through the thin armor. "Do you even realize what you put Zhan through? The abuse, the sacrifices... all for what?"
"He is useless," my mother spat. "All his mates are graduates with money. But what does he have?" She hissed, the bitterness dripping from her words.
My grandmother's gaze was sharp, unwavering. "He has you to show for it," she replied. "You are the useless one, squandering her son's money on booze and drugs." She hissed back, the words cutting through the tension in the room.
Silence fell, thick and heavy, as they glared at each other, each wound reopened, each resentment exposed. I shrank into the corner, hoping to disappear, wondering how I fit into this fractured family.
"Both of you are the cause of my misfortune," my mother hissed, her voice laced with blame. "It's your responsibility to take care of me." Each word dripped out, shameless and heavy, as though we owed her for every hardship she'd faced.
I let out a bitter laugh, my voice slicing through the thick hatred. "Responsibility?" I echoed. "You threw that word away the day you chose yourself over everyone else"
But I know where this goes. There's no point in responding, no point in saying anything anymore. My grandmother knows too. She's seen this cycle play out too many times. She gives me a look, one that says, Stay quiet. Endure it.
I slip off the bed, not bothering to look at either of them. My bare feet touch the cold floor as I slowly make my way toward the door.
The morning air was crisp as I stepped out of the shower, the cool water rinsing away the remnants of sleep. I towel off quickly and slip into my work uniform, the navy blue top with the store's logo patched over the chest. I know my grandmother is already waiting outside, as she does every morning, ready for our routine walk to work. She's been my shadow, my protector, my only constant since I was a child. We always go out together, the familiar comfort of our companionship making the trek to the convenience store feel less daunting.
But today, I feel different.
I want to be alone.
I quietly push open the back door, the hinges groaning in protest, but I'm careful. I tiptoe through the narrow alleyway behind the house, the sun is just beginning to rise. The street smells like wet earth after the rain, and somewhere in the distance, I hear children laughing. It feels like a different world, a place I don't belong. But today, like every day, I'll go to work, just to escape. The memories surface with every quiet step I take. Memories I would rather forget.
My grandmother, strong, resilient had fought for me more times than I could count. I remember her marching to the school, her back straight, her voice fierce as she demanded justice, demanded that someone, anyone, protect me from the torment I endured daily. The cruel whispers, the accusations, the sickening gaze of Meng and her friends, who had turned me into their plaything while others stood by and watched. I can still hear their laughter echoing in my mind.
They wanted me to be weak, to break. They called me names, used me like a pawn in their twisted games. When the teachers did nothing, my grandmother would storm in, her eyes blazing with anger. But no matter how many complaints she made, no one helped. They couldn't or wouldn't stop Meng.
It wasn't just the abuse, though. They tried to pay us off, like that would erase the hurt. Every time they offered money, my grandmother would throw it back at them with a venom I admired but could never quite replicate. She held her head high, her pride unshaken.
My mother, though? She didn't care. She'd take the money, every single time, just so she could feed her addictions. The alcohol, the drugs—it was all that mattered to her. Not me. Never me. She never asked what they did, or if I was okay. She only cared about her next fix, oblivious to the damage they had done, the nightmares that kept me awake at night.
The day I dropped out of school, I went straight to my grandmother. She listened, her eyes kind, understanding. She suggested enrolling me somewhere new, a fresh start. But I shook my head. I was done with it all. I couldn't face it anymore, the humiliation. Meng and her gang had taken everything from me, the dignity, the courage. I started hiding, desperate to avoid them. But whenever they found me, their laughter cruel, their fists relentless. Every punch, every kick stripped away a piece of me. I was lost, shattered, barely holding on.
When my mother found out, her face twisted in fury, and her hands reached for whatever was closest. Plates, books, and a vase shattered around me as she hurled them in my direction. Her voice was sharp and biting, spitting out words that cut deeper than the glass on the floor. "You're a disappointment!" she screamed. "How could you be so reckless, so stupid, so foolish, Why didn't you endure what they were doing to you?" Her words pierced my heart, leaving wounds invisible but more painful than any bruise. I shrank back, too stunned to respond, feeling a wall rise between us that I wasn't sure could ever come down.
I only felt relief when they left Jeju Island, off to university, leaving me behind in the mess they'd created. But even though they're gone, the shadows of what they did still linger.
As I walk down the empty alleyway, I realize that no matter how far I go, those shadows will always follow me.
Work is always the same; you either meet good people or hot-tempered ones who don't even want to see you breathe. I'm used to both.
I walk into the house, letting the door creak closed behind me. My grandmother is sitting in her favorite chair by the window, frowning slightly as she knits. I can tell she's waiting for me.
"Grandma," I say softly, stepping closer to her. "I'm sorry I left this morning. I just needed some time alone."
She sighs, her expression softening. "It's okay, dear. I understand," she says, patting my hand. "But next time, just let me know, alright?"
"Alright, Grandmother," I nod, relieved. I settle beside her, the warmth of her presence always soothing.
After a moment, she reaches into her sweater pocket and pulls out a folded wad of money, pressing it into my hand. "Take this and buy yourself a new pair of shoes," she says.
I shake my head, closing her hand around the money and giving it back. "No, Grandma. Use it for your medication instead."
She chuckles softly, eyes crinkling at the edges. "I sold a lot of vegetables today. Don't worry about me." She presses the money back into my hand, her voice gentle yet insistent.
"Thank you," I whisper, tears wetting my cheeks. I hate that we live like this—that my mother's debts are a weight we carry alone, paying back a loan shark little by little, barely scraping enough to eat.
Grandma notices my tears and pulls me close, wiping my cheeks. "Everything will be fine. I promise."
I nod, faking a smile, wanting to believe her.
Just then, the back door creaks open, and I quickly slip the money into my shoe. We say nothing, waiting in quiet understanding.
"Zhan, can I talk to you in my room alone, please?" My mom's voice echoes from the doorway as she enters the house.
"There's rice and vegetables in the kitchen if you're hungry," my grandmother says in a soft, distant voice. She avoids looking in her direction, focusing on her knitting.
My mom doesn't respond to her but shoots me a look, her expression hard. I sigh and follow her to her room. The room is almost bare, with just a mattress on the floor and a few scattered clothes. She's sold nearly everything for a fix.
She sits on the bed and gestures for me to come closer. "Zhan," she says softly, "I'm sorry about this morning. I don't know what came over me."
I don't reply. Apologies are as common as her next outburst. I've lost count of the times she's said she's sorry, only to hurl insults at me or Grandma again the next day.
She clears her throat, nervously. "Please, could you go to the Creeping Carpet Chemist? I went there this afternoon, but he said I should come back tonight. I'm too tired to cross the long road, please."
I shake my head. "If you need it that bad, why don't you go yourself?"
"Please, Zhan, I'm not taking it like before. I'm trying to cut back, but I can't quit all at once," she pleads, her voice wavering.
I want to say no, but I feel a familiar tug of sympathy, despite everything. "I don't have any money," I reply.
"I already paid. You just need to pick it up." She gives me a small smile, relieved. "Tell him Yi sent you. His name is Black."
I walk toward the living room. Grandma's face is grim as she pulls me close. "Don't go."
"She'll break things again if I don't," I murmur, trying to convince myself more than her. "The rain is coming, and we haven't even fixed the roof yet."
Grandma sighs. "I'll go then. I can't stand to see you doing this for her."
"No, Grandma. The road's long and dangerous. I'll be quick." My voice softens as I reassure her.
She watches me with worried eyes. "Please be careful," she whispers as I step outside.