Jihye closed her eyes and sighed, the kind of sigh that carried ten years of exhaustion she hadn't even lived yet. Stripping out of her damp hoodie, she tossed it on the chair in the corner. She didn't answer the voice. She'd learned—sometimes silence was the solution.
But silence was gasoline to this one.
The voice snapped again, louder this time, practically rattling her skull.
"Ya! You're ignoring me? Aish, Jihye, CAN'T YOU HEAR WHAT I SAID, YOU BITCH!"
The word cracked through her head like a frying pan to the face. Jihye winced, clutching her ear though it did nothing to muffle the phantom volume.
'Enough,' she thought, gritting her teeth. Out loud, she muttered through clenched jaws, "I went to get medicine for mom. Now leave me the fuck alone. I need to get ready for work."
A beat of silence.
Then, a mocking laugh.
"Oooh, medicine. So noble, so tragic. What are you, the lead in a K-drama? Should I clap? Should I cry?!"
Jihye yanked her T-shirt over her head and threw it toward the laundry basket. It missed by a mile. "If you don't shut up, I'll grab the scissors and cut my own ears off," she hissed.
Another voice—this one softer, sly, like velvet—slid into her thoughts.
"Aigoo, don't be so dramatic. Ignore her, Jihye. You'd look terrible without ears."
Jihye groaned and thunked her forehead against the bathroom door. "It's too early for all four of you."
But the angry one wasn't done.
"Four? FOUR? Don't lump me with those clowns! I'm the only one who actually gives a damn when you act like an idiot!"
"'Idiot'? Look who's screaming in her head like a fishwife at a market," the sly one drawled, feigning a yawn.
"Fishwife?! Say that again, you skinny hag!"
Jihye squeezed her temples.
She needed her medication but she had to eat something before taking it.
Groaning, she walked the two steps into the bathroom—one perk of her shoebox apartment, everything was always two steps away. She slapped the light on, squinting at the too-bright reflection staring back at her.
Dark circles. Damp hair plastered to her cheek. The faint red mark where she'd bashed her forehead against the door.
Perfect. Just perfect.
"Ohhh, look at you," the sly one purred, leaning in her mind like a cat in silk. "Messy, tired, tragic. You look like the morning-after, minus the fun. You could at least put on lipstick."
"Lipstick?!" The angry one practically spat. "She looks like a raccoon that lost a fistfight with a garbage truck!"
"Don't say garbage," a third voice whispered—soft, hesitant, the one that always crept in with shadows. "Trash… blood… the noise…"
Jihye froze. Her fingers curled white-knuckled on the sink's edge. For a moment, the fluorescent hum of the bulb morphed into screams, echoing, stretching. Her breath hitched.
"Shut up. All of you. Please." They all went silent but not after a grumble and murmurs.
…
Dressed in a beige long-sleeved blouse tucked into high-waisted, wide-leg cream trousers and flat heels, she grabbed her bag. A quick glance at the clock: 8:37 a.m.
Shit.
Snatching up the report she was supposed to submit to the chief secretary, Jihye dashed out of her apartment.
Only to slam straight into her next-door neighbor as she barreled toward the staircase.
The neighbor—a woman in her early forties, dripping in gaudy clothes and heavy perfume—let out a gasp as a box of new sneakers tumbled from her hands.
"Yah! Are you blind? Do you know how much these cost?"
Jihye bowed quickly, breath still ragged. "I'm sorry, unnie, but I'm running late for work—"
"Unnie?" The woman's eyes bulged. "Who is your unnie? Oh, and 'sorry'? Your stupid sorry won't buy me new shoes!" She jabbed a finger so close it almost poked Jihye's eye. "Aigoo, tsk tsk, kids these days. No manners, no home training."
'What the hell is wrong with this ugly bitch?!' Her angry alter personality bellowed in her mind.
Jihye's temple throbbed. She hadn't taken her medication yet. Her chest tightened, emotions rising like a tide.
'Give her one hit to her ugly jaw and let's see if she still runs her mouth!'
The woman sniffed, lips curling. "I really pity your mother. Hmph!"
That was it. The dam cracked.
Before Jihye could stop herself, another voice slipped free from her lips—sharp and furious.
"Lady, the shoes are still in the box. Unless the box has feelings, calm the hell down."
The woman gasped, scandalized. "What did you just say?"
Before things could explode, another tenant peeked his head out from across the hall. "Enough, enough. She's late for work—go, Jihye-ya!"
The woman spun on him, finger raised. "You—"
But before she could wind up her next tirade, Jihye bolted down the stairs like her life depended on it.
"Sheesh!" the neighbor shrieked after her, doing a full 360 spin in fury—but Jihye was already gone.
By the time she turned back, the male neighbor had closed his door.
The woman's face darkened until it was practically black and blue with rage.
•
Jihye hit the street at a half-run, half-stumble, the humid air slapping her like it owed her money. The bus stop was three blocks down, and of course every light decided to turn red just to spite her.
'We'll never make it,' the anxious voice muttered. 'We'll be late, fired, doomed—'
"Shut. Up." She gasped, weaving between two ahjummas carrying grocery bags.
The bus was already pulling up when she skidded into sight, panting like she'd sprinted through a thousand miles.
"Wait—WAIT!" she yelled, heels clacking against the pavement. She smacked her palm against the closing door just in time, nearly losing her bag in the process.
The driver gave her a flat look that said one more stunt like that and I'll leave you for the pigeons. She bowed anyway and stumbled inside.
The bus was packed—shoulder to shoulder, sweat to sweat. The smell of too-strong cologne mixed with damp umbrellas and leftover tteokbokki. Jihye squeezed into a spot near the back, one hand clutching the overhead strap.
A teenage boy with headphones was blasting trot music so loud even the angry voice in her head paused to complain.
'This kid's trying to kill my eardrums! Turn it down before I rip those headphones off!'
"Don't," Jihye hissed under her breath, earning a side-eye from a woman beside her.
As the bus lurched forward, she slammed into a man scrolling on his phone. He gave her a glare sharp enough to peel paint. She mouthed a quick sorry, gripping the strap tighter.
Her sly alter hummed in amusement. Oh, what a glamorous morning. Late, sweaty, and now you smell like shit. Oh, when will we become rich? hmm? I deserve silk sheets, a penthouse view, and—ah yes—a tall man with smooth abs to pour me champagne while I lounge like a goddess.'
'Abs?' The angry one scoffed, "You're out here fantasizing about muscles when our rent will be due in a few weeks? Pathetic. You know nothing else but men, you shameless cow.'
'Cow?' The sly one gasped, offended to her core. 'At least I have taste. Unlike you—what do you even want, huh? A lifetime supply of boxing gloves? A punching bag husband?'
'Better that than drooling over some six-pack like a thirsty dog!'
'Excuse you? Dogs are loyal. You're more like a rusty rice cooker—loud, broken, and nobody wants you!'
'Rusty—? Yah! You stringy hag!'