Chapter 3

1 Timothy 5:22

Do not be hasty in the laying on of hands, and do not share in the sins of others. Keep yourself pure.

This verse followed Wonyoung everywhere, haunting her and reminding her of what she wasn't in the eyes of God. Pure. She let the verse sit in a corner of her mind by all times. Do not share in the sins of others. She was the sinful one, the one betraying God and who couldn't fight hard enough to repent. She was the threat to others' purity. To Jimin's purity.

Wonyoung turned her head slowly, her eyes landing on Jimin's peaceful sleeping face. She looked vulnerable like this, and just looking at her felt like she was doing something forbidden. Create me in a clean heart, O god, and renew a right spirit within me. She wanted to turn away from her sin, be obedient, but she didn't know how. Her heart had been unclean since she had first discovered her aching longing for women, one in particular at the time. She had barely been old enough to understand the consequences of it, young enough to still believe that he would protect her from harm, that he would love her anyway.

She was barely eighteen years old when her parents sent her away. At the time, her childhood bedroom was still decorated with paintings and her bed still adorned with plushies.

It happened on a hot summer night, her best friend was supposed to sleep at her place, like she always did. She remembered them sitting on her bed, laughing over something that happened at school. Her best friend had leaned closer and she had felt her heart rate picking up drastically. She had felt butterflies in her stomach when their lips met and her skin burn when her best friend pressed her fingertips against her. Freedom, happiness, love, that's what she had felt.

What she had not expected was her mom opening the door without knocking. She remembered her horrified tone and her father's deafening silence, which hurt more than any word. Her mother spoke of sickness, of an influence, and of shame that would taint their family if they didn't do something about it.

They told her that God was watching, but never asked her if she was scared.

She did not hate herself for liking women, that had never been the problem. What terrified her the most was the certainty that God might hate her for it, punish her for it. His silence frightened her the most. Thinking that his punishment could strike her at any time sometimes made it hard for her to sleep at night.

Her parents had packed her bags before sending her to the convent, a place where she could pray, discipline herself, and let God reach her fully. There had been no space for conversation, she wasn't offered any choice. She had not cried when she stepped onto the small path leading to the convent, she cried later, alone, her sobs muffled into a pillow. That taught her that love was something that could be taken away from her, and ever since then, she had learned how to endure.

Yet, here, she had fallen in love again. It had been painful, a slow descent into what she considered to be the most beautiful and heartbreaking thing at the same time. She had fallen in love with a woman who believed that suffering was a language God understood best and that terrified her, because she knew what was to happen to people like them. Wonyoung wasn't blind, she had seen the way Jimin's hands had betrayed her when Aeri leaned too close, her cheeks reddening before she parted her lips to let out her judgmental words.

Her eyes were fixated on Jimin who was sleeping on her side, the blanket she had placed still covering her shoulders. Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed as if, even in her sleep, she couldn't get rid of her worry. Wonyoung had seen that look before, in her reflection after prayer, after confession, after nights where she had begged and cried for forgiveness. She saw herself in Jimin's eyes, in what was happening to her. When Jimin returned from confession earlier, she had recognized herself in her. She had also learned to refrain herself from saying too much, only allowing herself to say what was acceptable.

For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control. But if that were true, why did fear feel like the only thing keeping her alive?

She slipped from her bed and sank to her knees, her fingers sliding through the beads of her rosary as she closed her eyes. Lord, she prayed silently, I am afraid. She did not ask to be fixed, did not ask to be forgiven for what she did not regret. If I must carry this, then let me carry it without destroying her. She lifted her eyes to look at her again. She had to keep it to herself, if she didn't, she would destroy her even more. Loving her in silence hurt more than any punishment her parents had imagined she would suffer from. Loving her also meant watching her fall freely from where she had spent all her entire life, closest to God. And she couldn't do anything but to stay by her side through it all.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. She exhaled slowly, her fingers clenching around the hem of her sleeping gown. If this was the cross she had been given, she would carry it, even if it meant loving her from the shadows. If she couldn't be pure, she would at least try to keep Jimin good in God's eyes.

And if God was watching, if he was measuring her worth by restraint and suffering, she would give it him to him by letting her flame die down. She closed her eyes again, shaking her head faintly. "P-please, spare her, let me take all of her suffering," she whispered into the darkness.