The Piano 2.2
Part 2 - Andreas II
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The Piano
The music had stopped. Only the creak of wood. She held out her hand—open, offered. No resistance. Not submission. Something else. There were no corners left to hide the pain.
He raised the axe. No screams. No pleas. Only a thick waiting that stretched time. The cut was rough. The finger came away from the hand.
She stood still, watching the blood spill onto the floor. It hit her with a dry, precise jolt. Not just a finger. Something else she would never get back. Her way of speaking without words had been ripped away.
Her tears would not stop. When she finally looked down, her black dress was already red. Blood had soaked the fabric before she noticed. She didn’t cry out. She did not cover herself. She breathed hard. Her whole body was fixed on that exact point, the one bleeding, the one gone.
I could not feel my finger, and yet it throbbed. Adriana gripped my hand hard. Andreas covered his mouth; with his other hand, he brushed his ring finger without noticing. No one spoke. Still, all three of us reacted, as if we were there, each in our place.
The film moved us. It made us remember. It spoke of silences. Of bodies grazing without touching. Of something contained that kept burning. My mother had bought it as a gift because she knew it was my favorite. She found it on sale at the supermarket. The Piano was the story we watched that day. Andreas and Adriana watched it with me. Not by coincidence. For something stranger, more inward.
Andreas sat in the armchair beside us. Adriana and I shared a blanket. He seemed calm, but his gaze kept flicking from the screen to us, again and again, looking for a place to land and not finding one.
Each time Adriana leaned toward me or touched my leg, I noticed a small change in Andreas’s movements. Nothing obvious. Only a compressed adjustment. He tossed off light comments about the film, lines that landed without weight. His voice tried to join in. His eyes, not so much.
He stood, unhurried. He said he was getting water. His steps were measured, almost solemn, as if leaving a scene he did not know how to continue. I followed him with my eyes. His silhouette stretched on the wall, thin, steadier than he was. A question grazed my tongue, but I didn’t let it out.
“What do you think of Andreas?” Adriana asked, snapping me out of it. Her tone was light, but her eyes searched for something else.
“He’s a good guy. He’s always been that way. We’ve known each other since we were kids,” I said, trying to sound neutral.
She nodded, though the gesture hung there.
“He’s handsome. Has that mysterious air, don’t you think?” she said, one eyebrow arched, half a smile.
I did not answer. I just looked at her. I tilted my head and held her.
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Definitely something brewing...