Page 55 of The Way Back Home

I see it every time I look at him. The way the scar gets darker against his skin, the way it pulls when he smiles. Every time I grit my teeth and pretend I don’t see, pretend I don’t remember the empty look in his eyes and the hollow sound of his voice that morning.

For a while it seems like that might be the worst of it for the summer.

We spend most of our time in the woods with the others, climbing trees, skipping stones down by the creek, lying in the grass smoking cigarettes and arguing about nothing. Tonight we stayed late, playing a stupid game Haeil came up with, seeing who could break the most bottles with a rock. Ryowoon won, grinning wide when his rock shattered three in a row, and Haeil called him a show-off while the rest of us laughed.

It’s well past ten by the time Ryowoon and I start heading back, the streets dark. He has one arm slung over my shoulders, both of us still laughing about Yoohan nearly braining himself with a rock when he tried to throw it backwards over his shoulder.

“Idiot’s going to kill himself one of these days,” Ryowoon says, grinning.

“Probably,” I agree, shoving at him lightly. “You’re not much better.”

He opens his mouth to argue and then both of us jerk our heads toward the direction of his house at the sound of sharp cries cutting through the night.

Not human.

Ryowoon’s arm drops from my shoulders and he takes off, sprinting, his longer legs clearing twice as much ground as mine. I’m right on his heels in seconds, my pulse thundering in my ears, my stomach knotting up with dread well before we round the wall and stare into the yard of his house.

Sickness floods me instantly.

Ryowoon’s dad is standing in the middle of the yard, disheveled, his shirt half untucked, shouting and slurring words. He’s swaying on his feet, a bottle clutched in one hand, and beneath him there’s a curled form on the ground, whimpering, yelping.

Nuri.

I can see her lying on her side, still chained to the doghouse, her body curled tight, and Ryowoon’s dad brings the bottle down over and over, smashing it against her side, her legs, anywhere he can reach. The sound of her sharp yelps and whimpers cuts through me like knives.

I have a second to feel the horror crash over me and then Ryowoon is barreling into the yard, launching himself at his father, shouting.

Ryowoon’s not as big as his father yet, but he’s getting close, and his weight is enough to knock the older man away from Nuri. They hit the ground hard, grappling, Ryowoon’s dad cursing and flailing, still clutching the bottle.

I leap into action, running into the yard. My hands shake as I drop to my knees beside Nuri, gathering her up carefully. She’s whining, high and thin, her body hanging limp in my arms, and when I touch her side my fingers come away wet. She yelps sharply in pain and I nearly drop her, my throat closing up.

I yank the chain from her collar with numb fingers, my hands clumsy and shaking, and then I wheel around, stumbling toward the gate. I carry her out past the wall and set her down on the curb as gently as I can, her body trembling against the pavement, her breaths shallow and fast.

I wheel back toward the house, looking around wildly.

Lights are still on in the houses down the street. Windows lit up, curtains drawn. The neighbors are home, they have to be. They had to have heard the shouting, the yelps, the sound of breaking glass.

But no one’s coming.

No one’s opening their doors. No one’s stepping outside to check what’s happening.

They won’t come, I realize, my stomach hollowing out. They won’t come for the dog.

They didn’t come when they heard a full-grown woman and a little boy screaming and crying for help all those years, and they won’t come now.

I spin and run back into the yard.

Ryowoon and his father are rolling on the ground, fists flying, grunting and cursing. I freeze for a second, my heart hammering, because I’ve never seen Ryowoon hit his father back before. Ryowoon’s always just taken it, curled up and waited for it to be over.

But he’s not taking it now.

He’s trying to fight back, swinging hard, his knuckles connecting with his father’s jaw, his ribs, anywhere he can reach. His dad curses, grabs a fistful of Ryowoon’s shirt and hauls him closer, slamming a fist into his face. Ryowoon’s head snaps back but he doesn’t stop, keeps swinging, his breathing ragged and harsh.

Ryowoon’s holding his own because his father is drunk and slow, swaying, his movements sloppy. But his dad’s still bigger, heavier, and I know how fast this can turn. I’ve seen it happen before. One good hit and Ryowoon goes down and doesn’t get back up.

I see an opening when his father draws back for another swing, his balance tipping, and I dive in. I grab Ryowoon around the middle and yank him back hard, using all my weight to pull him off.

Ryowoon fights me immediately, thrashing, his voice thick with fury and pain as he shouts, “Let me go, Seyeon, I’m going to kill him, I’m going to fucking rip him apart!”