But deeper than the embarrassment, there was a more terrifying sensation: she liked it. The warmth of the kitchen, the soft pressure of the grandmother's touch it was a drug she had never been prescribed, and it was making her heart ache in a way that had nothing to do with cardiology.
I shouldn't allow this, she told herself fiercely, trying to rebuild her mental walls. Closing her eyes and shaking her head every now and then when old woman wasn't looking. This isn't my grandma not a fact that she would do this even if she was mine not that I enjoy this fetish or would have let her do this. This isn't my business. I'm an intruder here. Every time she leaned into the warmth, she felt like a thief stealing Ra-ik's inheritance. I don't deserve this. I'm just an occupant in his bones. I have no right to this love.
Then another sound in her head interrupted her thought process, Longer the explanation, bigger the lie Maeng Se-Na! not that I have to state it out loud and clear for you to know… its your own motto afterall…
Her lip trembled. Not because she was a six-year-old, but because she was a thirty-two-year-old woman who realized she had no idea how to be a human being without her white coat. She had never felt so small, so defenseless, so utterly stripped of her armor. And the most of all she was scared of the way she was loved. She was scared to love or be loved; and then tears again started falling down her eyes.
I am completely, utterly, absolutely doomed. she thought as she looked up at the worried teary eyed old woman.
It was later after the foot had been treated with the gravity of a major surgical wound and the food had been prepared that the grandmother pressed her palm to Se-na's forehead and stopped.
"You're warm," she said, her voice dropping into a register of sudden concern. "Ra-ik-a, your cheeks are red."
Se-na reached up and touched her own face. The skin felt febrile and hot.
It's not a fever, she thought, her internal voice screaming in a pitch of pure, unadulterated embarrassment. It's a systemic humiliation. She thought.
In the kitchen, every time the grandmother moved past her to stir the pot or reach for a bowl, a soft, dry kiss would land on the top of Se-na's head. Or a gentle hand would squeeze her shoulder. Or the old woman would murmur, "My sweet little lion," while tucking a stray hair behind Se-na's Ra-ik's ear.
Dr. Maeng Se-na was a woman of iron-clad boundaries. She shook hands firmly. She kept a three-foot radius between herself and her residents. She was a professional machine. She had never, in her entire adult life, been snuggled or lets say in her vocabulary, violated like this.
Each tiny gesture of affection from the grandmother had felt like a small electric shock to her dignity. By the time they sat down to eat, Se-na felt like her entire body was glowing with a frantic, awkward heat. She felt terrifyingly vulnerable, stripped of the cold, sterile distance that usually protected her.
But deeper than the embarrassment, there was a more terrifying sensation: she liked it. The warmth of the kitchen, the soft pressure of the grandmother's touch it was a drug she had never been prescribed, and it was making her heart ache in a way that had nothing to do with cardiology.
I shouldn't allow this, she told herself fiercely, trying to rebuild her mental walls. Closing her eyes and shaking her head every now and then when old woman wasn't looking. This isn't my grandma not a fact that she would do this even if she was mine not that I enjoy this fetish or would have let her do this. This isn't my business. I'm an intruder here. Every time she leaned into the warmth, she felt like a thief stealing Ra-ik's inheritance. I don't deserve this. I'm just an occupant in his bones. I have no right to this love.
Then another sound in her head interrupted her thought process, Longer the explanation, bigger the lie Maeng Se-Na! not that I have to state it out loud and clear for you to know… its your own motto afterall…
"I'm not sick," she said abruptly to stop her thinking, but the voice that came out was thin and cracked. She tried to look stern, like a Chief Surgeon delivering a diagnosis, but it's hard to look authoritative when you're wearing a cartoon bear and your face is the color of a ripe tomato.
"You feel like you have a fever," the grandmother insisted.
Before Se-na could pull away, the old woman pressed the back of her hand to Se-na's forehead. It was a gesture older than thermometers, and for the first time, Se-na felt the true, suffocating weight of it especially after that thought process that was telling her that she was lying to herself that she didn't yearn such love.
"oh noo" Se-na whispered with a resigning defensless reaction. "It will go even higher now." she tried to pull away from old woman but the more she pulled away the more old woman got closer. She could feel the mercury of her shame rising with every second of contact. It was a vicious, cycle: the more the grandmother worried and touched her, the more flustered Se-na became, which only made her skin hotter, which in turn only made grandmother worry more.
Grandmother sat back, studying her, and then with both hands she squished Se-na's cheeks. She didn't just touch them; she bunched them up until Se-na's lips were forced into a small, helpless 'O' shape.
"Aigooo…My poor baby," the grandmother cooed. "The stress must have been too much. You're burning up."
I am a Chief Surgeon! Se-na's mind shrieked, even as her face was being kneaded like bread dough. I have published three papers on cardiac anomalies! I have commanded entire operating theaters!Woman!!! Leave me!!!!
But none of that mattered. The realization hit her then, sharper than the embarrassment: My life is gone. She wasn't just trapped in a dream; she was trapped in an erasure, and she knew that if she tried to explain the mechanics of a myocardial infarction right now, the grandmother would probably just kiss her forehead and tell her that she had a very creative imagination.
She looked at the grandmother's face, that had worry etched on it and at the love that was so pure it felt like a physical weight pressing down on Se-na's chest, but then her eyes softened with a sadness;
I am an imposter in the only safe place this boy has, she realized with a sharp pang. I am taking the love meant for him, and I don't even know how to say 'thank you' without feeling like I'm going to explode from the sheer awkwardness of it.
The last thread of her professional composure snapped. It wasn't just the fear of being trapped; it was the sudden, crushing grief for the woman she used to be only hours ago the woman who didn't get "squished," the woman who was in control.
Her lip trembled. Not because she was a six-year-old, but because she was a thirty-two-year-old woman who realized she had no idea how to be a human being without her white coat. She had never felt so small, so defenseless, so utterly stripped of her armor. And the most of all she was scared of the way she was loved. She was scared to love or be loved.
"Ra-ik-a?" the old woman whispered, her eyes filling with tears of her own.
And Se-na Dr. Maeng Se-na, who hadn't let anyone see her cry since her first year of medical school felt her eyes fill with a salt-heavy heat. She looked down at the small, round hands in her lap, feeling the grandmother's warmth still lingering on her cheeks, and then tears again started falling down her eyes.
I am completely, utterly, absolutely doomed. she thought as she looked up at the worried teary eyed old woman.
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