Lamentations 3:8
Even when I call out or cry for help,
he shuts out my prayer.
As the sound of morning bells echoed through the walls of the convent, Jimin woke up pressed against Wonyoung’s side. She could feel warmth emanating from her body, a stark difference with the coldness of the ambient air. The next thing she felt was a sting across her back, a cruel reminder of what she had done to herself the day before.
In silence, they dressed. Wonyoung’s gentle fingers guided Jimin into her robe, careful not to brush against the raw wounds, pressing soft kisses to her neck as she did. Their eyes met briefly, and Jimin only saw tenderness reflected back at her.
During morning prayers, Jimin knelt at her usual pew, her back screaming with each movement, her hands clasped so tightly around her rosary that the beads dipped into her palms. Wonyoung was kneeling a few rows before, Jimin had told her to do so before they had entered, not wanting to draw any more attention.
Footsteps echoed at the entrance of the chapel and Jimin sucked in a breath, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. Every head turned to watch them pass, including Jimin’s, and she had to refrain herself from widening her eyes in terror.
They stopped beside her pew and her mouth opened and closed involuntarily several times.
“Sister Jimin,” the Reverend Mother said quietly. “Come with me.”
Jimin’s hands went numb, and she had to bite her tongue hard not to stutter out something incomprehensible. She forced her eyes up to meet the Reverend Mother’s and found no warmth there, only cold eyes staring down at her pitiful state.
“Now.”
Jimin managed to stand and the rosary slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a clatter that echoed through the chapel’s stone walls. She didn’t bother trying to retrieve it, too focused on the hundred possible scenarios rushing through her mind.
No, no, no, not yet. Not like this.
Still, she followed the Reverend Mother out of the chapel, aware of the eyes burning on her already aching back, of Wonyoung’s head snapping to watch her go, horror plastered across her face. For a brief moment, their eyes met, but the chapel’s closing door refrained Jimin from mouthing, “I’m sorry.”
Step by step, Jimin painfully headed toward her own funeral march. And not even the deliberate slowness of her feet on the ground could have saved her from what was to come. This wasn’t a waltz of grace and pride; this was one of shame and infamy.
God, please. Please, anything but this. I’ve disappointed you, I’ve failed you, I’ve forgotten how to love you. But please, please spare me. Please have mercy on my poor soul. Please show me that my devotion to you has at least once been useful. Show me that I’m not a complete failure, that there is still hope for me somewhere in this world.
But God, as always, said nothing, did not answer her cries for help.
He stood silent. And ignored whom used to be, his most devoted servant, heading straight toward a painful death.
In the middle of shelves full of leather-bound books, walls that seemed to close around her, and an overwhelming scent she couldn’t name, Jimin waited for what she expected to be the final blow. Father Jules stood beside the desk, his hands clasped behind his back, his facial features closed. The Reverend Mother stood by the window, her face twisted with something close to satisfaction, which Jimin did not quite understand. It seemed that she had been waiting for this moment.
“Sit,” the Reverend Mother said coldly, and Jimin flinched.
She rushed to sit on the chair positioned in the center of the room. She pressed her hands flat against her thighs to refrain them from shaking, though it did not work. The Reverend Mother did not take a seat; she remained standing, looking down at her with unfiltered disgust.
“A fellow postulant of yours has brought some very disturbing information to my attention,” the Reverend Mother said slowly.
Jimin closed her eyes and bowed her head at the words.
“She told me,” the Reverend Mother continued, “that she heard sounds coming from your room last night. Sounds that seemed to be.. inappropriate for a house of God.”
Jimin gripped the edge of the chair to keep herself from falling, planting her feet on the ground as hard as she could.
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