black ribbons (jensoo)

chapter seven

Missed call from Lisa Manoban 18:36

Lisa Manoban (18:40): Chu

Missed call from Lisa Manoban 18:47

Lisa Manoban (18:53): Jisoo please talk to me

Missed call from Lisa Manoban 18:56

Missed call from Lisa Manoban 18:59

Lisa Manoban (19:03): At least let me know you got home safe

Lisa Manoban (19:15): Jisoo I'm not fucking around, they've just put a storm warning out for tonight, please don't do anything stupid

***

Unknown Number (19:25): Jisoo this is Seulgi

Unknown Number (19:25): Is everything OK?

Unknown Number (19:27): Lisa said you had a fight

Unknown Number (19:29): She's really upset if that's any consolation

Unknown Number (19:29): Well maybe upset isn't the right word

Unknown Number (19:29): She called me and breathed weirdly for five minutes and said 'fuck' and hung up

Unknown Number (19:29): But if it's about what we talked about at the weekend I swear I didn't tell her

Unknown Number (19:31): Oh wait

Unknown Number (19:31): I think I mentioned Jennie

Unknown Number (19:31): And she did go a bit quiet

Unknown Number (19:32): Shit I fucked up. I'm so sorry

Unknown Number (19:36): Anyway she's really worried about you

Unknown Number (19:40): Please call her

***

Jisoo walked in a straight line for the best part of half an hour. Passers-by moved hastily out of her way, evidently deciding that the drenched brunette with the murderous expression would be unreceptive to debating the finer points of sidewalk etiquette, or perhaps that someone braving the downpour in a peacoat and no umbrella was simply too crazy to be reasoned with.

Jisoo did actually have an umbrella, tucked away in her bag with her pointe shoes, but she started off too angry to put it up and then found that she welcomed the rain on her face. The weight of her sodden scarf around her neck and the drip of water down her collar gave her something else to think about. She took advantage of a red light to jam a couple more pins into her hair, sick of loose strands blowing stingingly into her face, but mostly she just shoved her hands into her pockets and walked and walked and walked.

She didn't plan to end up at the Public Library, but it was a route she'd taken a hundred times in the past, spending weekend afternoons in its gold-ceilinged reading room catching up on school. Going inside would have meant facing the compulsive helpfulness of the librarians at the welcome desk, not to mention scholars glaring over their glasses and bookstands as she dripped all over the nice shiny floor, so she sat down on the wet stone under the huge classical portico and hugged her knees. Everything felt tight, her skin stretched too thin over her bones, her body too small to accommodate her exhaustion and frustration and sheer, seething anger. Forced to a halt only because she couldn't feel her legs, she tipped her head back against the wall and focused on her breathing, visualizing herself repeating a step sequence back and forth across some clean, bright, empty studio. Tombé, pas de bourrée, glissade, grand jeté. Tombé, pas de bourrée, glissade, grand jeté. Tombé, pas de bourrée...