Rifiuto 

Sparse of sun rays slips into his chambers. Heats the room. ‘Till the hotness overwhelms him, sweat drips across his forehead and keeping his eyes closed is not a viable option. So puts a hand over his eyes, stretches his fingers. Incredulous pain jolts him awake, spreads from his fingers all the way to his chest.

His hands are all bandaged. And he can’t remember why or who did it. Can’t bring himself to be curious. His eyes land on the tray nearby. He stretches his trembling hands, grabs the pot and pours himself a cup.

He chugs a drink one after the after. Gulps it down as if he’s inhaling it, the taste of alcohol burns his throat. He drinks until he forgets the shape of that lovely porcelain face burnt into his memory.

What was it that troubled his mind greatly yesterday? He pours over his hazy memories for that explanation that eludes him. His memories are all over the place, like pieces of shattered vase. He can’t pick them up, even if he tries.

But he sees some pieces of memories, one immensely vivid as the cup he’s holding. Or is it? He rubs his eyes twice. Honestly, he can’t tell.

He sees Hae Su, with her brows all furrowed. She cups his face in her tiny hands. Her touches are ghostly, incorporeal – lacks of the warmth he’s familiar with.

Her lips mouthing words that his ears failed to make out. The edges of his vision remains cloudy, as Su continues to speak words he can’t hear.

There’s tears in Su’s dark brown eyes. She clasps her hands together, as though pleading. Pleading for what, he wants to yell back at Su, speak up!

His throat’s all locked. His hands reach for Su’s face. It never touches hers.

So hears light footsteps echoing in the chamber. Gazes away from Su just a fraction of a second, returns his sight to Su. She’s not there. Where is she? He knows she’s here. The footsteps … It’s not hers.  

It’s not his, either. That much he knows. He’s all lying flat on his back, his legs barely move since he woke up. He tosses a glance at the footsteps’ owner. Sees long (feminine) hanbok sweeping through the ground. Part of him wonders if it’s Su.

It’s not. It’s never Su, chants what’s left of his unclouded mind.   

Yeon-hwa enters their chambers with a tray. Takes a seat beside him. She hands him another cup, no words ever leaving .

He greedily snatches the cup from her smooth hand, swallows it like it’s water. Her worried eyes (they look like honey, under the sun’s sparse ray) settle on his bandaged hands so fleetingly, he thinks he dreams it up.

He wills himself to sit up, “I saw Hae Su,” he starts, when the silence between them becomes unbearable. The ringing in his ears stops, his lips curl into a triumphant smile, forgets the reason why he hates that buzzing sound.  

She pours herself a cup, and murmurs, “How is she?”

He forces his mind to recall. Recalls of … Su, what else he’s missing? Right, Su needs him. She said so, last night.  

“I need to save her,” he sputters, tries to get to his feet. His legs doesn’t move the way he wants it. In his haste, So stumbles a little. Nearly plants his face against the floor.

Yeon-hwa blocks him, puts an arm around his shoulder, and redirects him back to the bed. He shoves her to aside, turns his heels for the door.   

“I need to go,” he slurs, “she needs me.”

Yeon-hwa lets out a sigh, a sad smile tugging the corners of her lips, “Su’s not in any danger,” her voice’s all muffled. She latches her grip over his forearm, attempts to cease his movement.

He’s taller than she is. Stronger than she is. And he drags her along until they close the distance between them and the door.

“Not today, brother. Su can wait,” she replies, puts all her weight to her feet, halts him from taking one step further.  

He squints to get a better look at Yeon-hwa. It does him no good. He can’t make out of Yeon-hwa’s features as well. He shakes his head, hopes the haziness in his vision to disappear as well.

“I have to go, before it’s too late,” he snaps, jerks his arm away from her.

It doesn’t stop Yeon-hwa from gripping his arm again and pulls him close – too close that So can smell her scent, even as his nose losing its sensitivity, “You’re not in a position to save anyone, husband.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he counters with all his might. Nobody does. He stands to his feet, only to fall again. He’s willing to settle for a crawl. And crawl, So goes, desperation fuelling every pained step.  

“Hae Su’s a married woman,” says the woman whom shares his bed with (but not his heart), and she closes the door. Barricades them inside this suffocating chambers.

“No, she’s married to a monster,” he reasons to his wife who doesn’t listen to him, “He plays the devil’s music. I have to.”

“She’s a mother,” Yeon-hwa reminds him, apologetic and gentleness weaving in her tone. She drops to her knees, sits by his side. Holds his face in her hands – solid, heat radiating from her shaky touch.

Their eyes met, before he looks away, gathers his withering strength.

She doesn’t liberates him from her hands, doesn’t release her sight from him, “You cannot do this, brother. This is not your responsibility,” she utters. He can’t quite pin down the tone she’s using, a mixture of sadness, sympathy and … whatever it is, he doesn’t think he ever hear that sea of assorted emotions from her, when he’s so used to the hard edge of her voice. It always is, especially when it’s Hae Su. 

“I will protect her and her child,” So babbles, gazing at his sister in defiance, “I’m the emperor and I will protect Su from everything,” pounds his fist against his chest. He’s the emperor, goddamit why isn’t she listening?   

She leans on her knees, runs her fingers through his hair, and untangles the unruly knots with one hand, “How far will you go, brother? You want to tear a wife from her husband, a child from its father or a mother from her child?”

The question pierces through his hazy mind. He remembers, Su and her loving gaze at her child. He remembers, Su’s smile when she spoke of the man she married to. She’s happy. Isn’t that what he wanted for her, since the beginning of everything?

“Once you bring her into the palace, what then? Make her as your concubine? Or another court lady?” Yeon-hwa continues, each sentence slaps him hard, slaps some sense into his alcohol-crazed mind, “Her child? Are you going to subject the child to a life in the palace? As a soldier? As another court maid?”

His throat releases these ugly bawls that he doesn’t recognise. His body quivering under the terrible realisation of what he fully intends to do. To strip Su of what brings her happiness, of her husband, of her child.

She continues, her finger wipes a stray tear tender, “Will you stoop as low, no—lower than father to satisfy your need? Who are you deluding?”

“I-I … Su,” his voice trails off, his justification disappears quickly before he could even latch on it. Yes, who is he deluding? Yeon-hwa or himself.

He raps his bounded fist against his temple. Once. Twice. Thrice. Forcing himself to dig deeper into his misty memories, and mumbles, “Sister, I saw her yesterday and she’s happy.”  

“You’re tired, brother. You drank too much,” Yeon-hwa says, helps him to his feet.

“She needs me,” comes out like a weak excuse from his mouth, “I can still save her. It’s not too late,” he babbles, like a lunatic (perhaps, he’s one).

Together they stagger back to the bed.

“Hae Su,” he whispers for his ears only. Repeats her name like a hymn that would wash away the emptiness festering inside his heart. Repeats it long enough, perhaps Hae Su will reappear before his eyes.

His ears keep peeled for a voice that never comes. Instead, a blanket’s drawn over his chest. Delicate fingers massages his scalp in a soothing rhythm.  

“Sleep well, husband,” Yeon-hwa – his sister, his wife – whispers into the shell of his ear, rocks him back and forth, until he dozes off.