Page 24 of Marked By Him

Her whole face comes alive when she does—her large, expressive eyes narrow, her cheeks rounding and her tongue sticking out between her teeth. It’s such a unique manner of laughing that it feels earnest. It’s a look most men would probably enjoy earning from of her.

You would never know she’s troubled in these moments.

She’s merely being herself. A woman who is positive and happy by nature, even if life has sought to steal these things away.

Men like me have preyed on her like we tend to do. If I had a heart, any concept of mercy, it would make me feel sorry for her. Instead, I’m reminded how these traits of hers are ultimately a weakness.

Only the strong survive. Those who are weak eventually get eliminated.

It might as well be me who does it.

On Tuesday, the mother/daughter duo take a cab across the city to Gamcheon Culture Village.

I’m out of their sight, just close enough that I can surveil them through the maze of pastel buildings and winding streets.

They stop at every mural. Her mother makes Monroe pose with a painted pair of angel wings, then drags her to a blue staircase with flowers spilling down the rails. Monroe obliges, rolling her eyes in that half fond, half resigned way adult children do when they still love their parents.

Once her mother finishes taking a dozen near identical photos of her at the stairs, Monroe insists she joins her.

It becomes a photoshoot for them as eventually a fellow tourist offers to take both their photos.

They come across a hungry stray cat who approaches them. Monroe kneels to let it pick up her scent, then strokes him affectionately behind his ears. Her mother offers a few leftover pieces of a pastry she’d stashed in her purse.

I grit my teeth, irritated by their effortless displays of kindness.

Just more reminders of how weak they both are. They might as well hang signs on their backs welcoming predators to take advantage of them.

Don’t they realize how dangerous it is to move through life like this? Don’t they understand that kindness only makes bad guys view them as easy marks?

If Monroe realizes this, she pretends otherwise.

She acts as if the very mark inking the inside of her left wrist doesn’t exist. It’s as though she’s decided to put it out of her mind for the duration of her mother’s trip.

Once or twice I notice she draws her left hand away when her mother reaches for it. She’s careful to keep her arm pinned to her side, always donning bracelets to disguise it.

They spend Wednesday at the Haedong Yonggungsa Temple.

It’s humid by the sea, the warm air fragrant with the smell of salt. They walk the temple grounds slowly. Her mother is wide-eyed and reverent as she admires every statue.

Monroe humors her every whim, making sure she gets to explore everything.

For a brief moment, she slips away to the rail overlooking the ocean. Her smile is nowhere to be found this time.

She leans forward, elbows braced, and stares at the water like it might hold the answer to a question on her mind.

There’s a weariness in how she looks, finally showing cracks in her facade. She may be bright and joyous around her mother, but deep down, she’s worried about the mark.

…she knows the Baekho Pa will be coming for her.

Thursday, they spend the morning into the afternoon losing themselves inside the Seomyeon underground shopping center.

If there’s one activity these two can do together and never grow bored of, it’s shop. They can shop for hours and hours, like it’s some fucking sport.

I’m half tempted to corner Monroe in a dressing room and end it there.

Just to get out of this tedious surveillance. Just so I won’t be forced to get the sound of her infectious laughter stuck in my head more than it already is.

Monroe holds up a sequined blouse to show her mother, then makes a face and puts it back. Her mother disagrees, insisting she buy it.

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