My Light, My Jimin

Chapter 40: Eraser

"You think they're wrong for calling him a predator," she says.

"I think they got carried away. When the accusations came out, he knew everyone would assume he was guilty. He even made sure I knew the risks before we started meeting together in the afternoons."

"Are you angry with him?"

"For leaving? No. I understand why he did it, and I know that I'm partially to blame."

She takes a deep breath, as though she's trying to calm herself. "Honestly, Jimin, it wasn't your fault. What I'm hearing is that he is a man to give up quickly when the chips are down, and you fought for him against people accusing him of hurting you. You're still protecting his name by making me call him a professor."

I bite down on the inside of my cheek. "He didn't do anything to me," I say. "He touched me outside the technical building, big fucking deal."

"Jimin, take a breath."

"Do you not believe me?"

"I believe you," she says. "But I need you to slow down and listen."

I'm surprised by her words, and they bring me down enough to apologize and lean over to pluck a few tissues out. I don't use them, not yet, just ball them up in my fists for later. "I'm sorry. I'm panicking."

"That's okay," she says. "It's an understandable reaction. This is a tough situation for a teenager, or, actually, a young adult, to be going through. Take as much time as you need."

I know I'll start to cry if I respond with how I feel, and I know that in the end my words have no meaning, so I unfold the crumbled tissues in my hands and start folding into squares, making them smaller and smaller until they're just an inch wide.

"I don't consider myself to be abused," I say after a while. "Definitely not the way you do."

Her dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You don't?"

"I don't think of myself as a victim. I knew what I was getting into, as fucked up as that sounds."

"You were underage."

I continue restating the same old lines. He and I were two people wanting the same things; our relationship built on the rocky foundation of secrecy and lies, but never abusive. The more alarmed Mrs. Chae-won's expression becomes, the more I talk. When I say he and I had the kind of love story people would be jealous over, she brings a hand up to her necklace, twisting it uneasily.

"And if I'm being completely honest," I say, "I think the world is making him out to be something worse than he is."

Her face scrunches. "Is that what you believe?"

"Yes."

And with that, our session has ended. She turns her focus to the coffee table and stands, her necklaces crashing into each other. We're silent as I pay. She won't look me directly in the eyes, says she has another appointment she needs to prepare for.

I leave the office and walk toward the ramen shop, resisting the urge to go back and yank the necklaces right off her chest. Outside, the sidewalk is empty except for a man whistling to himself a happy tune. It's obvious my story won't be seen, not even by a therapist.

I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly I see stars. He's still there, walking beside me, telling me how pretty the autumn leaves are. The high school has just let out, and kids in hoodies and scuffed sneakers hang around a boba tea shop. Their laughter rings in my ears and I force myself to keep walking.

It isn't until I almost run into a familiar face do I finally stop. I recognize the man instantly and feel my breath woosh out of my lungs.

"Hello, Jimin," Professor Kim Namjoon says to me. His hair is protected by a blue knit cap and his trench coat reminds me of Yoongi's aside from the blue color. He's older, and it shows on his face, but he looks at me as if I'm a bird in winter; a sight no one expects to find.

"Hi," I say back to be polite. My thoughts scatter. It's odd to see a professor outside of a campus life, much less one that I basically threw under the bus for Yoongi's and my own sake. I'm not even sure he's realized how much trouble I've caused.

He shifts on his feet, seemingly uncomfortable. "Actually, do you have a moment to talk?"

This, I did not expect at all. But I accept, and we sit on a bench outside the ramen shop, right in plain view of the passerby's. I notice the distance between us, how he chooses to sit at the edge of the bench, giving me enough room to prop my legs up if I wanted.

Professor Kim clears his throat. "I thought about emailing you again," he says, "but I figured it would be better to do this in person."

I watch him rub his face, take a deep breath.

"This is uncomfortable for me," he says.

"Should I be worried?" I ask.

"No," he says quickly. "Or, I don't know. It's just, I caught wind of your last conversation with, um, Yoongi. I heard the story about you two through word of mouth, and though I haven't witnessed anything, I thought. . . well. I don't know what to think."

I swallow hard. "Well, you're sitting next to me, so you must be okay with me."

He nods. "I am, yes."

I wait through a log pause of silence, plenty of time for him to reveal the truth.

"I guess I feel a little responsible, knowing what I know," he says. "Yoongi is my friend, and at the end of the day- I mean, it's not exactly- you know what, I'll just cut the crap."

My mouth goes dry as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, scrolling through pictures on his camera roll until he lands on a picture of a brown box with a label of an address. "What is this?"

"A chance for you," he says. "I have no idea what happened between the two of you, but I know for a fact he would never hurt you; he cares about you too much. This is a gift he sent me and my fiancé yesterday. Do what you will with this, and whatever you do, don't rope me into it."

We sit in silence, my gaze lowered to the ground.

"You don't need to worry," I say. "It isn't what you think, what happened."

He says he believes me, and we let it go.