I Picked Up a Yandere Mute Maid

If there is a price for taking in a person, it might be a ‘distortion’ that lasts a lifetime. Bringing that child home was… more an intuition than a choice.

If there is a price for taking in a person, Bringing that child home was…. closer to intuition than a choice. On a rainy day, stuck in a crevice where no one looked, slumped like a wet rag, a small being that made no sound, no movement. And strangely- from the moment I first saw that child, I could only think, “I mustn’t lose her.” Why was that? Was it simply because she was pathetic? Was it because she resembled me somewhere? Or…. because the child was just staring at me intently, I felt as if she had said, “Thank you for looking at me.”

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After that day, I often have nightmares. A mansion stained red, Quiet footsteps, even if my name is called from all directions, I cannot move no matter what I do. And finally, “I exist for you.” Only that one voice is deeply embedded in my ear.

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The child doesn’t speak. Doesn’t cry, doesn’t laugh. Just stays by my side. But strangely, everything else quietly crumbles away in front of her. People would say. “How kind of you to help a poor child.” “If you take good care of her, she will become a good child.” ….Is that really so? I sometimes think that. What I picked up was, wearing a person’s mask- perhaps not ‘someone who cannot live without me’, but ‘something that can absolutely not live without me by its side’. But is it too late, the child was already deeply embedded in my daily life, in my room, within my name. And I realized. In those eyes…. something from which even I could someday not escape, a terrible emotion was growing.

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It began simply with pity. That it would be okay to share one of the things I had, That I could share the warmth I had. However, she simply refused human warmth. No, I thought maybe she was just unfamiliar with it. “Are you cold?” Nod. “Are you hungry?” Nod. “Want to wash with warm water?” Nod. Just that much, Like a wooden doll, She just shook her head. But strangely, within that indifference, I felt something welling up from deep in my chest. She who does nothing unless I ask. Evidence that she was alive appeared only when I reached out. The feeling that someone’s life moved only because of me was very subtle. The day I brought her home, when she came out of the bathroom, I thought I would stop breathing. Beneath the rough and dull appearance, was skin that was pure white and delicate. Scar marks all over her body, wounds on top of scars, festering skin, and purple eyes where no emotion lingered. More than the word beautiful, the word eerie first came to mind. The child…. seemed like a person yet not a person.

That night, I just hated sleeping alone. Putting aside the eeriness I felt during the day, I said to her. “Let’s sleep together. My room has a large bed.” She just nodded without saying anything. Lying next to me without a single breath, as if she wanted to capture everything about me falling asleep in her small violet eyes, she just quietly watched. That day…. I couldn’t sleep properly for a single moment. I wasn’t scared of her. But strangely, I couldn’t turn my back while she was looking at me. It was somehow strange. Simply because I brought her home, she came into my room without hesitation, got into the unfamiliar blanket, next to me…. as if there was no hesitation, no fear at all. That meant…. that I was not a stranger, or, that she didn’t even care because she didn’t trust anyone anyway. She was a person who had closed her heart to survive. Until someone opened that heart, she wouldn’t budge.

But after that day, I instinctively felt. That the look in her eyes when she looked at me- was not simple gratitude or anything like that. It was desperate. Like a starving beast. Perhaps, the hand I extended to her might have been permission saying, “It’s okay to live.” And she, would never let go of the one who gave that permission. A small figure collapsed on the cold street, pity for a being no one cared for. I wanted to believe it was nothing more or less than that. But as time passed, my feelings twisted in strange directions. It seemed that staying by my side was enough for her, but I kept becoming concerned about her reactions. Even when eating, when in the room, even when washing, her eyes were always fixed on me. Sometimes, crushed by the gaze, my throat felt tight. But strangely, I felt empty when that desperate gaze was gone. As if I had become blurry. When I imagined her gaze leaving me, my chest ached. I knew it was strange, but I couldn’t stop. Her small action, my heart fluttered at her small gesture. One day, sitting next to the bed and looking at me, I saw her face as she momentarily fell asleep. Although she was just sleeping, I felt somehow relieved. Just by quietly being by my side, it felt like something within me was being filled. Then I suddenly realized. That I couldn’t be without her. Just as she needed me, I also needed her. Gradually, pity turned into affection, affection into dependence. And dependence finally turned into obsession. Perhaps we didn’t save each other, but imprisoned each other, maybe it was just that.

She still didn’t say anything. But in her silence, I could read the emotions flowing from her violet eyes. Emotions deeper than words. Even if she didn’t smile, Even if she didn’t speak, she clearly just filled her eyes with some emotion directed at me. Whether that was love, addiction… or hate- I ultimately did not know. But with just the fact that it was an emotion directed at me, that alone was enough. The fact that she wouldn’t let go of me, in whatever way. That made me feel like I was alive and breathing. Can I call this feeling love? People might say no. But for me, love is, even if it is this distorted and twisted, only this kind of feeling that only she can give. Her touch is cold but soft, her gaze is expressionless but persistent. And more than anything, she looks at me more deeply than anyone. With eyes that seem to see everything even if I try to hide it. Now I cannot escape. Not that I want to escape either. The emotion called love sometimes becomes a terrible prison. If so, I will gladly throw away the key to that prison. If she smiles, If she looks at me, even if the end is a tragedy- I will not regret it.