Swan's Fire

12. How's Your Skin?

Her eyes fixate on me like a hawk, a piercing gaze that sends shivers down my spine as we dance. The atmosphere is thick with tension, an overwhelming sensation that clings to the air. "Again," she demands, a monotone command that leaves no room for negotiation. We repeat the routine, an exhausting cycle of movements.

"Again," she repeats, her voice devoid of any empathy or patience. This time, I begin but come to a halt, gasping for breath. "Do you have any corrections?" I manage to utter, hoping for a glimmer of guidance. She looks bored, her arm casually draped around a theatre seat, legs crossed, and a clipboard perched on her lap. Her demeanor betrays no secrets, but her critical gaze remains unwavering.

Finally, she stands up, the spotlight of her attention now squarely on me. "Elara told me that she saw you crying," she announces, and I gasp, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Not in front of everyone, please. "That you were very upset," she continues, circling around me with a deliberate pace. "And I should take it easy on you," she concludes, her words echoing through the silent theater.

"I didn't tell her that," I quickly interject, attempting to salvage some semblance of privacy. "Maybe you need a little break, like a day or two?" she suggests, her tone insinuating a forced concern. "What does that matter?" I mutter, my frustration palpable. "Huh, or maybe a month. What do you think?" she challenges, her voice escalating in volume.

"She shouldn't have said anything," I protest softly, hoping to redirect the focus away from my vulnerability. "No, you shouldn't be whining in the first place," she retorts, her words a cold indictment. "I didn't," I insist, my voice barely audible. She pauses, her disapproving gaze lingering on me. "You could be brilliant, but you're a coward," she declares, leaving me to absorb the weight of her judgment.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, a reflexive response that only seems to fuel her disdain. "No, stop saying that. That's exactly what I'm talking about. Arrête d'être si faible, encore une fois!" she shouts, (Stop being so fucking weak, again!) her frustration cutting through the air. The music starts, and I reluctantly move to my partner, who lifts me as we resume the dance, the weight of her harsh words lingering in the space between each movement.

I storm through the bustling company halls, my determination cutting through the air like a sharp blade. The dressing rooms beckon, and my eyes scan the mirrors for the one person I need to confront. "Elara," I call out, my tone demanding attention. She looks at me through the mirror, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Oh, look who's decided to grace us with her presence," she remarks casually, her tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. "I need to talk to you," I declare, my voice cutting through the room's chatter. "Okay," she shrugs, unfazed by the urgency in my request. "Now!" I add, my voice soft but commanding. The other girls giggle, and Elara shoots them a glare, commanding them to silence. We move to a quieter space, away from the prying eyes and eager whispers.

"What's up?" Elara asks, a pin between her lips as she absentmindedly fondles her hair. "You told Minji about last night?" I inquire, a directness in my tone that brooks no evasion. "Oh, uh, yeah. I ran into him in the morning, and he said you guys were having some trouble," she replies, her nonchalance evident. "Why would he talk to you?" I press, suspicion creeping into my voice.

She scoffs, removing the pin from her lips with a flourish. "Excuse me, your highness. I just told him that you were working your ass off, and I think you'll be great," she explains, her words carrying a hint of self-assuredness. "Well, you shouldn't have," I retort, my tone growing darker as a shadow of displeasure crosses my face. She pauses, taken aback by the intensity of my reaction, before scoffing dismissively.

"Okay," she says, her indifference echoing through the space between us. Without another word, she walks off, leaving me to stew in the aftermath of our brief confrontation. I follow suit, the air heavy with unspoken tension and unresolved grievances.

"I hope she isn't making you work too hard; she has a reputation for that," my mom remarks as I burn the edges of my ribbons. The acrid scent fills the air as I focus on the task at hand. "You've been coming here late so many nights; you can't blame me for being worried about you, that's all," she adds. I look up at her from the floor, the flames dancing at the tips of the ribbons. "She's not," I assert. Mom hums in response, seemingly satisfied. "Good," she states, her knitting needles clicking softly.

"I just don't want you to make the same mistake I did," she continues, her voice carrying a weight of regret. "Thanks," I say, the words slipping out without much thought. She scoffs, chuckling softly, "Not like that. I just mean as far as my career was concerned."

"What career?" I inadvertently speak my thoughts aloud. She pauses her knitting, looking at me intently. "The one I gave up to have you," she confesses, her words laden with unspoken sacrifices. "At 28, so 'little old Haerin'," she mocks, and I mutter, "Only what?" She insists, but I don't respond. "Nothing," I murmur softly. She sighs, changing the subject, "How's your skin?" I chew the inside of my cheek, avoiding eye contact, "Fine," I reply curtly.

"See, leaving it alone," she comments, pushing me to acknowledge the progress. I hum in response, trying to redirect her attention away from my inner struggles. "Let me see," she demands sinisterly. I look down, still avoiding her gaze. She stands, becoming more insistent, "Take off your shirt."

"No," I firmly refuse, but the bell rings just in time, saving me from complying. She glances at me before walking off. I hear distant talking until the door closes. "Who was that?" I demand as she returns. "No one," she dismisses, but my curiosity persists. I hastily get up and rush to the door, unlocking it. "It was no one!" she insists. I call out, "Hello?" Elara turns around, "Hey," she says. I shut the door behind me, my brows furrowed.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Elara, a mixture of suspicion and annoyance in my tone. "I just came by to apologize. You're right; I should've never spoken to him about you," she admits. "Sweetheart?" my mom interrupts from behind me. I turn to her, frustration evident in my expression. "Give me a second," I tell her. She shuts the door, and I turn back to Elara.

"Your dinner," my mom says, trying to redirect my attention. "Mom, please," I say evenly. She shuts the door, and Elara smirks, "She's a trooper." "How do you know where I live?" I cut her off, suspicion creeping into my voice. She raises a brow, "I have my ways," she teases, giggling. "Jesus, relax. I got it from Suzy at the office."

I let my brows relax slightly, and Elara continues, "Look, I just feel really shitty about what I did, and I just really want to make it up to you. So how about I take you out to dinner?" she suggests. "I don't think—" I start, but she cuts me off, knowing I would say no. "Okay, that's fine. What about, um... drinks?" she proposes. Suddenly, the door opens behind me. "Sweetie, you need to rest," my mom says, surprising me.

"Wait," I say to Elara before going inside. "What are you doing?" Mom questions, a note of concern in her voice. I grab my shoes, scarf, and coat. "I'm going out," I declare. "What?" she exclaims, bewildered. "Haerin, you're on the stage tomorrow!" she calls out, but I'm already heading out. Elara smiles and trails behind me as we embark on an unexpected evening away from the shadows of the stage.