Proverbs 3:25-26
Do not be afraid of sudden terror or of the ruin of the wicked, when it comes, for the Lord will be your confidence and will keep your foot from being caught.
The discipline sat in her trembling hands. It wasn’t supposed to be a heavy instrument, yet, in between her fingers, it weighed a hundred pounds. Jimin knelt on the floor of their shared room, with nothing but her thoughts. Wonyoung was at evening prayers, and that left her with perhaps thirty minutes to do what needed to be done. To force the guilt out of herself before it consumed her whole.
Her fingers trembled as she tried to unbutton her cardigan. The simple gesture required a great effort on her part, each button slipping through her clumsy grip twice before she could manage to get it done. Just do it. Just get it done. You can’t even do this right. Her hands wouldn’t cooperate, they trembled like leaves under a storm and that forced her to pause, to press her palms flat against her thighs.
She could still feel their gaze on her, could still picture the looks on their faces. They had tracked every movement, catalogued each glance she stole at Wonyoung during prayers, each moment their hands had brushed when passing the hymnal between them. Their lips had pressed into a thin, knowing line. They had seen, they knew, all of them did. They were able to read through her like an open book.
One of them had stopped talking mid-sentence when Jimin walked past her in the corridor, her eyes following Jimin with something close to disgust plastered across her face. She had leaned to her right then, whispering to another postulant behind her hand, both of them glancing toward where Jimin and Wonyoung stood in the garden. The whispers had ceased when Jimin had looked their way, but the silence and the look that had followed were worse than any word spat straight to her face.
They can see what I’ve become.
She finally managed to get rid of her cardigan and let it fall from her shoulders. The cool air of the room kissed her bare skin. She was now left with only her undershirt, and could see her own breath fogging in front of her face. Her hands moved to the hem of the shirt, and she hesitated.
This is my penance, my expiation. This is the only way.
She pulled it over her head in a swift motion, before she could reconsider. The fabric rubbed against her already sensitive skin before leaving her back bare and exposed to what was to come. She was vulnerable, standing in front of a cliff, knowing no one would catch her during the fall.
The crucifix hanging on the wall stared down at her; Christ’s face was twisted in an agony that would never end, his body torn bleeding for the sins of the world, for her sins. She had added to that suffering with her own weakness, her depravity, her inability to control the desires that lived beneath her skin.
I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.
She picked up the discipline again. Reverend Mother had given it to her earlier that day, when Jimin had gone to her office with her head low and her voice barely above a whisper, asking for a tool that would perhaps bring her peace, or perhaps destroy her even further. The Reverend Mother had studied her silently before retrieving it from the wooden cabinet.
“Physical penance is a serious matter, Sister Jimin,” she had said quietly. “It should never be taken lightly.”
“I understand, Mother.”
But Reverend Mother couldn’t understand, no one ever could. How her skin burned whenever Wonyoung touched her, how her heart raced when Wonyoung smiled, how this all made her want things she had no right to have. The discipline felt like the only possible salvation in her hands. It promised cleansing, whispered about a purity that was no longer of reach.
She positioned herself carefully, her knees pressing into the hard floor, her spine straight. Her free hand rested against her thigh, her fingers curling into a fist. She could see her reflection in the now darkened window, a ghostly figure kneeling in the candlelight, ready for punishment, waiting for something that would probably never come.
Do it. Just do it. You deserve this. You need this.
She slowly raised her arm.
Her breath came out in short, shallow bursts. Her entire body was shaking now, her muscles tensed under her skin, anticipating a pain she had never felt before. She had spent her whole life trying to avoid it, but nothing else seemed to be working anymore.
One. Two. Three.
She counted but didn’t move an inch.
One. Two. Three.
Do it, coward.
One. Two. Three.
She couldn’t bring herself to hit on the third number, too scared of what it would make her feel. Her arm hovered in the air, trembling, the cords swaying slightly, their knotted ends catching the candlelight. She knew what they would do to her skin, knew they would mark her as the sinner she was.
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