Page 88 of Damian & Jun: Episodes 1-4
“Then don’t shame him by making a scene. Go home. Wait. Tell his friends to stop making fools of themselves. They are only making trouble for him.”
“I don’t think you understand me when I say Jun is my person, Professor. I’m not a guest in his life. I’m not an acquaintance. There is little that I will not do for him. He will not be asked to bear the pain of his leaders’ avarice.”
Mr. Su stiffened. “Perhaps you do not understand the meaning of family, Mr. Sathers. We only survive together because we sacrifice for each other.”
Damian all but bit his tongue. You think I don’t understand. I most assuredly do.
“Our definitions of family are vastly different, then,” he said aloud.
“Perhaps, then, there is more distance between us than I had thought,” said Mr. Su. “I had thought we understood each other, that we valued the same things. I’m disappointed, Mr. Sathers.”
Damian lifted his chin. “In my definition of family, Mr. Su, we don’t sacrifice the weak and the young for the pride of the old.”
Blood flushed Mr. Su’s cheeks. “If you follow this path, my son, then you will never be welcomed in my home again. I will not know you.”
Actual tears burned the edge of Damian's vision: “Then we are enemies, my old friend. Jun is my person.”
Mr. Su swallowed, tears also welling in his own eyes. He reached for his cane and gripped it convulsively. “You are so willing to burn this all down for one man. Be the man of reason I know you can be. Jun will survive. You will survive. Don’t throw away what you’ve built.”
“You may be content that a life has not ended, but that’s not how human trafficking works anywhere.”
Mr. Su flinched. “You have no… Jun will be free to go. Once he has…finished.”
“Rape.” Damian let the word hang in the room, using the worst, ugliest form that he had. “Once he has been raped.”
Mr. Su sighed, his head hanging down. His hands were shaking. “You judge me, Mr. Sathers. You act as if I do not know what I am allowing. It is a sacrifice. I have never lied to you. Many make difficult choices. You survive. And society is stronger for it.”
A tear ran down Damian’s cheek, hot with rage and disappointment. “What kind of society?”
Mr. Su refused to answer, refused to look at his face.
Damian closed his eyes, tears running down both cheeks. “I love this society, Professor. It’s my second home. I’ve given her years of my life. I intend to give her years more. I’ve been an ambassador and advocate. I’ve plotted paths of success for her.”
“I hope this interlude has not ruined all of that for you, Mr. Sathers.”
“Only because I do not believe you speak for all.” Damian pulled out his phone. “I believe in the children more than you.”
“What are you doing?” Mr. Su started forward, cane striking the floor.
Damian hit send on the voice file. “You seem to think that society relies on stable structures to survive. I know better.”
“What do you mean?”
“Society survives when it can grow, when it prunes that which needs to be cut and evolves that which needs to change. It’s only as strong as its weakest link. It’s time you stop treating its most vulnerable link as its strongest.”
“I do not understand you.”
“Tell me, this, Professor, and it barely matters which fucking country I visit or where I live: why are the strong men, the leaders, the ones who must be indulged in their every fantasy and desire? Why do the children, the silent, the dependent have to absorb the pain of those fantasies? Why do they have to wake in the morning and go on as if nothing happened in the dark the night before? And yet this is called stability, this is called respect. This is what you expect from Jun.”
Mr. Su looked away again.
More tears ran down Damian’s face. He didn’t bother to wipe them off his jaw. “Could you stand there, old friend, and tell Jun his fate, tell it to his face? Could you tell him bend over, Jun, and take it. Good boy, now dry your tears and get back out there under the stage lights—don’t let them see the blood. Tell him he belongs to his fans by day and his jailers by night.”
Damian’s voice contorted into something ugly he barely recognized. “Could you tell him, without double entendre, that he has no agency? That he must submit to their touch, that he must choke on their excitement. Could you tell him: ‘Smile, Jun, the camera wants more. Good boy, Now get back on your knees and suck. And don’t forget to honor your elders. They’re looking out for you.”
Mr. Su grabbed the wall. “Get out! Get out.” He sagged down the wall onto a stool, his hand against his heart. “You don’t understand.”
“Then STOP it.”
