Twisted Rope

Black Swan

"A dancer dies twice — once when they stop dancing, and this first death is the more painful." Martha Graham.

"If this can no longer resonate / No longer make my heart vibrate / Then this may be how I die my first death." Black Swan, BTS.

A couple of days later, they arrived back at their house. A security escort accompanied their car, and they drove directly into the drive before the gates closed behind them. Security guards stood at the gate. A small group of journalists and photographers had been waiting at the gate and had tried to take pictures, but had been held back. As the car drew up outside the house, there were shouts and calls to him.

"Ri Jeong-hyeok, Ri Jeong-hyeok, how are you?"

"Have you recovered yet?"

Jeong-hyeok paused and waved his right arm towards them in greeting before he went inside. He wasn't ready to do more than that at the moment.

The girls were delighted to be home and rushed off to their rooms, keen to catch up with friends like they used to. Lim Sun-Hee greeted them warmly and fussed over them all. Seri too felt relieved to be back and hoped it would help Jeong-hyeok. He had been quiet and subdued since he had had the news. She was sure he was upset, but he hadn't wanted to talk about it with her. Perhaps he wanted to put on a brave face in front of the girls.

After lunch, she helped Lim Sun-Hee clear up and then went looking for him. He wasn't in the sitting area, so she headed towards his study and music room. She paused outside the door. She could hear scales played with one hand, melodic, fluid and elegant. Then she heard the left hand come in, stumbling, slow and clumsy. She winced. This was the reality of his injury. This was what he had to face. If it was horrible for her, how much more painful must it be for him. Should she interrupt or hold back? She decided to wait a bit. Next, she heard him play the piece she loved, the song he had written for his brother. Again, the melody came out clear and strong, but the accompaniment from the left hand was all wrong. Half way through he stopped, and she heard the piano lid shut with a bang. She opened the door and went in.

He was still sitting at his grand piano, and he didn't turn as she approached him. She put her arm around him and just said his name.

Then he broke.

He turned and threw his arms about her, holding her close, and sobbed. Heavy, racking sobs that left him gasping for air, his whole body convulsing. His arms tightly holding on to her as if she was a buoy in the sea. Without her, he would be swept away and lost forever. Even after all the pain they had gone through, she had never seen him cry as desperately as this, and she felt herself weeping as well. She could think of nothing comforting to say. She desperately wished she could make it right, but she couldn't. So she just stroked his head, holding him back. Hoping that she could make him feel more secure.

"I'm here. I'll always be here for you."

He continued to sob, clinging to her, his head against her tummy, seeking comfort. Eventually, he started to calm down, and he raised his head from where he had buried it. His eyes bloodshot, his energy spent.

"I'm sorry, I've made your dress all wet," he mumbled.

"What does that matter!" She continued to hold him, trying to soothe him as best she could.

He straightened up and wiped his tears away roughly with his right hand, his left falling limply back onto his lap.

"I don't know what I thought was going to happen. It sounds stupid, but I just wanted to see what would happen if I played. Maybe I would feel some hope." He stopped and said nothing, trying to control himself. "But there isn't."