In Every Heartbeat

1

His voice resonated in Jiwon's head; a husky rasp that was slightly breathy if he took on the gentlest tone. Jiwon could picture him already. In his mind's eye, Junhoe sitting by the ledge of the full bay windows, sketching or probably in the midst of scribing a sonnet under the warmth of the midday sun was a vision that Jiwon treasured. He was sitting by that same window now, except that winter had crept against the glass, a frosty intruder that brought only cold and despair. Everything in the world adopted the watered down wash of whites and blues. He did not put up Christmas decorations this year. It was the third year that he stopped celebrating it. There were no mistletoes, no egg nogs laced liberally with Kahlua and no beribboned gifts under Christmas trees. Nothing. With him gone, Christmas had apparently died.

There was the thrum of the elevator. Gail coming right on time for the laundry. He wheeled his way into the master bedroom, not really wanting to have company today. He found that his life denied of Junhoe seem to be a terminably miserable existence. As a matter of fact, it almost feels as if he did exist at all. It was probably the wheelchair. It still made people uncomfortable, which was why he avoided going out at any cost. He detested human interaction even from the beginning, because people who recognised him were quick to give him that look. That look filled with pity and sympathy. It was worse with people who did not recognise him. They always attempted to help when he obviously was not helpless.

Once upon a time, he had everything; money, fame and power. He had built his empire from scratch. A kid whose dreams took him beyond the urban, middle-class upbringing in Fairfax, Virginia to the deep, dark underground of South Korea's rap scene where he had taken everyone by the storm. His raps were legendary and in time, so was his reputation. He shifted from the box apartment of Dongdaemun to a penthouse in Seoul and within five years owned a building where he brought in his own stable of artistes under the same roof. Under Surf Incorporated, he managed artistes, who were just as talented and dedicated as he is, to pursue their dreams. He owned a yacht and even a private jet; gallivanting around the world without a care.

He had been snowboarding in Aspen when tragedy struck. His board had skidded over loose snow, flipped him over mid-air and landed him clean over a tree stump hidden by the packed snow. Winter was definitely not his season. His back was snapped in three places. The doctor said that he was lucky to be alive. He could have told the doctor, thanks and fuck you. The first year had been spent on what he had amusingly called his 'Gyro Prison'. a three hundred sixty degree hospital bed that suspended him. He already felt dead; when you spent your early twenties not being able to feel when you had to go, you might as well be dead. When he was finally unbuckled for therapy, he went for it like a rabid dog.

That first week saw him back in his 'Gyro Prison'. He had pushed too hard and in the process had snapped the bone in his right leg, much to the consternation of his physiotherapist, who had quit immediately. Jiwon had lain there on the mat on the floor, gazing at the white bone poking through his kneecap. He had heard the tearing and the crunch of the bone, seen the blood seep through his pants, but he had felt nothing and perhaps that had been the worst of all. Not feeling the pain.

Five years of therapy, not the physical one, there was no way he could walk even with prosthetics; he was clinically dead from the waist down. Five years of mental therapy and him accepting that he could no longer function as a full bodied human turned him absolutely bitter. His empire was in disarray, all the money pumped into his treatment and also filling the suitcases of opportunists out to drain him dry. He made the wise decision to cut loose and have enough to at least purchase himself a wheelchair friendly loft with a built-in studio. He spent most of his days drowning his lungs in whisky.

When attempts were made by his minder for him to see a specialist in neuroscience, he had kicked up a fuss at the waiting room. He had wheeled his chair into a side table, crashing vases even as the receptionist beeped for security. He had reacted so violently that he accidentally tipped his chair over and he fell helplessly to the side. He remembered flailing like a dead fish and feeling like one.

"Someone get me the fuck up!" He screamed blue murder against the tweed carpet of the posh office. There was a flurry of activity behind him, but it stopped or rather he sensed someone stopping it.

"You want to get up?" It was the first time he had heard Junhoe's voice. Back then, even in his rage, he remembered how deep it sounded; full-bodied and strong.

"YES! YOU FUCKER! GET ME THE FUCK UP!" He screamed, his face positively filling up with blood. A shadow hunkered over him and for the first time too, he saw the face that the voice had belonged to.

"I'll help but first, you have to ask me nicely." The face that came into view was perfectly sculpted and definitely created to be admired. Jiwon, however, was in the throes of a helpless rage that was unabated, he could not care less if Adonis himself had bent over him offering help. He was angry and his anger was making him absolutely unreasonable.

"GET ME THE FUCK UP! OR I SWEAR..." He screamed, but this Adonis only snapped his fingers in front of Jiwon's face, shutting him up and getting his attention immediately.

"Listen. Because I am going to say this only once." That voice filling the silence that followed with a natural boom that commanded nothing, but absolute attention. "I am going to help you back up, but once I do, the first thing you are going to do is apologise to this lady right here behind the reception counter. Can we agree to this?" He countered. Jiwon struggled against the carpet, aware that his urine drainage bag had listed sideways and that there was going to be a major cleanup soon if he was not placed upright. Adonis clucked his tongue to get his attention again. "You are not answering me. Do we have an agreement?"

"Yes, yes we do. Yes please. " Jiwon ameliorated immediately, realising he was close to tears now. A spill would have been a monumental embarrassment. Adonis moved. He did so in one fast and swift motion. He uprighted the wheelchair and that baby was pretty heavy machinery. Then Jiwon was slung gently upward, effortlessly carried, before being settled comfortably onto it. It was done by someone who had experience with handling a paraplegic. He must have seen the surprised look on Jiwon's face.

"My late brother was born with cerebral palsy. He was in a wheelchair most of his life. He was nicer than you though. Now, about that apology?" He reminded Jiwon. Jiwon looked at the receptionist, who looked harried by the broken pieces of furniture and looking even more apprehensive at Jiwon now, as if he could get up and attack her.

"I'm sorry." Jiwon muttered, not quite daring to look her in the eye. The security guards, who had stood by the entrance in uncertainty, were now backing up and out. Jiwon managed an embarrassed wave and an apologetic look.

"That's much better." Adonis commented now while he adjusted Jiwon's urine drainage bag.

"Mr Koo? The doctor will see you now." The receptionist called.

"Ah, "Adonis sighed heavily, "That would be me. Well, it was not a pleasure meeting you..." Jiwon glanced up as Adonis stood up at his full height. There was something about the way he held himself up that impressed Jiwon. The smile on his lips was surprisingly filled with good cheer and a sincerity Jiwon had never seen from anyone he ever encountered since he lost the use of his legs.

"I'm Kim Jiwon." He held out his hand, trying for a smile that probably came out stiffly, because he had not done so for quite awhile now. Adonis grabbed hold of his hand, lengthy fingers engulfed Jiwon's bony ones, warm and effusive in greeting.

"Koo Junhoe." He stated with good cheer and that was how they first met.