The Dance We Remember (Love and Other Dreams #4)

Chapter 29

Aurora

Yesterday, he stayed with me until the nurse came to take me to the hospital room. Today, he has been here all day. Maxime has been caressing, kissing, and hugging me incessantly. We haven't spoken much to each other. How could we, when there are no words to describe what has happened? So we sat in silence until the nurse kicked him out. Since then, I've been alone with the three other patients sharing my room.

It's nearly midnight. Any moment now, a new day will begin.

The elderly lady with the cut on her forehead has been snoring for hours, and the woman with the broken leg keeps changing her sleeping position at least five times a minute, groaning in pain.

But I don't care.

I stare into the obscure darkness outside the window. Dark veils drift across the sky, and the moon occasionally peeks through.

Still, I don't know what to think or feel.

Grief? Loneliness? Anger?

No.

Guilt.

Yes, that's it. Among the whirlwind of emotions inside me, guilt is the strongest. If only I had paid attention to the warning signs my body gave me, maybe I wouldn't be lying here now. If only I had admitted to myself that I needed to rest, my baby might still be alive.

I was selfish, desperately reaching for the stars, failing to realize I already held them in my hands.

My baby.

The first time I heard the heartbeat of that little wonder, all my doubts vanished in an instant. I knew which dream was more important and why.

I shouldn't have risked it.

The bed next to mine creaks again. A tear creeps cold and wet down my temple.

It continues like this the whole night. And as the day slowly breaks outside the window, all I wish for is to seek refuge in my mother's comforting arms.

She would find the right words to stop the tears from flowing. She would rock me gently and lend me some of her strength to ease the cramp in my chest.

But just like with her death, I must now cope with this loss on my own. Back then, I was convinced I had to be strong and keep fighting.

Keep fighting, no matter what.

I was sure that was how it should be. Yet it's exactly that mindset that brought me here.

So what is right? When is it better to fight, and when should one surrender? I don't know. I know nothing anymore.

The old lady snores more intensely. The grinding begins, followed by a groaning sound. Outside in the corridor, someone bustles back and forth. Doors open and close. Cutlery clinks.

I pull the blanket over my head.

"Breakfast," a woman's voice sings. It rattles loudly. Footsteps approach. "Wake up." Someone shakes me roughly.

Reluctantly, I pull the blanket back. "I'm awake," I croak, but the nurse pays no attention. She places the breakfast tray on the metal bedside table and leaves.

I glance at the plate with two slices of white bread and various plastic containers. Do they really think I could eat now?

I don't even bother to hold back my tears and pull the blanket over my head again. Curled up, I let time flow over me as if I were a stone jutting out from the riverbed.

At some point, I’m taken for an examination. The young doctor with the nickel glasses tells me with a smile that everything is fine and I can be discharged today.

Everything is fine.

Yes. Exactly.

"I'll send your samples for analysis. We'll find the cause of your miscarriage," he says, but I'm not really listening. Let him do whatever he wants. After all, I know I’m the reason.

"Can someone pick you up?" he asks, his gaze fixed on my medical records.

I grunt in agreement as he takes notes. Maxime was supposed to be here by ten o'clock at the latest, or at least I believe he whispered that to me yesterday when we said goodbye.

Maxime.

The man whose baby I killed.

My God, what have I done?

"Alright, then we have everything we need." His cheeks lift. "Take it easy in the coming days. It will take time for your body to recover." He talks to me as if delivering a weather forecast.

Fair and sunny with just a few small clouds. Nothing worth mentioning.

Idiot.

I gaze up at the neon light on the ceiling and nod silently. Equally silent, I accept the folder with self-help groups and addresses of therapists that he hands to me.

"Don't hesitate to seek help," he advises before leaving the treatment room as if trying to escape from me.

I crumple the folder and let the nurse take me back to the room. There, I drag myself into the shower and put on the jogging suit that Maxime brought me yesterday. I tie my hair into a tight bun.

My reflection stares back at me with red-rimmed eyes. Deep shadows accentuate my cheekbones, and my skin is pale like November fog.

Accusingly, I stare back.

I feel no pity. Only contempt. Maxime and I lost our baby. And with our elimination from the tournament, we lost our dream of dancing too.

How could you do that to him, Aurora?

In the distance, a pounding emerges.

You have to make this right.

Suddenly, Maxime's face appears next to mine in the mirror. Quickly, I lower my gaze. How could I look into his eyes after what I've done to him?

"Hey, my love." He sounds too affectionate.

He pulls me into his arms. His warmth leaves me breathless; his love overwhelms me.

"I heard you're allowed to go home," he says, kissing my cheek. "Let's get out of here as soon as possible."

We should. It's time to be myself again. I don't want anyone to pity me, and I don't want to pity myself either. I manage to nod decisively and walk to my bed with lowered lids to pack my few belongings.

One by one, my phone, tissues, and socks find their way into Maxime's backpack. The magazine I didn't touch and the full water bottle. Finally, there's only my hairpin left on the bedside table.

It's shaped like a lily and sparkles in various shades of red. One petal is bent.

It shouldn't be a problem to touch it, yet I'm frozen.

Come on, Aurora. Don't be like this. It's just a hairpin.

Just as I think I have enough strength in me to touch that one item that should have gone into our memory box as a reminder of the championships, Maxime steps forward.

"I'll dispose of it." He hastily hides the hairpin behind his back and forces a smile.

"No, I want to keep it." I need to confront what happened, and this hairpin will help me with that.

He looks at me uncertainly, as if not knowing what to do for a moment. As if he has to fight a battle within himself. "Come on, there's a surprise waiting for you at home," he says painfully, and I can't help but wonder if he won or lost his internal struggle.

In any case, I don't want him to smile at me like that, and he shouldn't be kind to me. He shouldn't pretend that there's nothing for him to hate me for. And most importantly, he shouldn't act as if the sun is still shining somewhere in this world.

But I don't say anything. I have no right to. So I nod briefly and reach for the backpack, which he immediately takes from me as if I couldn't carry it myself.

Silently, I follow him to the reception, sign some papers, and allow myself to be directed to the waiting taxi.

"Rue Lisle 24," I hear Maxime say firmly as we take our seats in the back. Then he puts his arm protectively around me.

Fortunately, he doesn't try to cheer me up during the ride. Maybe he understands that it's impossible anyway. Even when we arrive and climb the stairs together, he says nothing.

He opens the apartment door and signals me to enter with a strained smile. "Welcome home."

I try to at least lift the corners of my mouth. "Thank you," I whisper tonelessly and step inside the two-room apartment.

The first thing I see is the clothesline with photos of my family in the hallway. Then I spot my favorite pillow, the cozy blanket, and on the dresser next to the TV, our memory box. I peek into the bedroom. Behind the half-open closet door, my sweaters and T-shirts are neatly arranged.

"Do you like it?" Maxime wraps his arms around me from behind. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll get it right away."

A mountain of guilt piles up inside me. I'm sure he didn't sleep a wink the past two nights organizing the move of my belongings from Sky's apartment to this place.

He gently rests his chin on my shoulder. His cheek brushes mine. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk to anyone, well, Sky, I mean, or anyone else." He pauses as if he doesn't know what he's getting at. "You're safe here. You decide who you want to see and when."

That's so incredibly sweet of him that tears immediately begin to well up in my eyes. I turn around, bury my face in his chest, and let my emotions flow freely.

He does nothing but hold me tight.

"It's my fault," I eventually utter with a choked voice. Saying it out loud makes it real. It hurts, but I have to endure it.

"No. You mustn't think that way, Aurora." He starts gently rocking me back and forth. "You did nothing wrong."

Oh yes, I did. We both know that. Why can't he just admit it?

Instead of asking him that question, I nod silently against his chest. I don't have the strength to contradict him.

He pulls me slightly away from him and uses his index finger to lift my chin. "I love you," he says.

Why?

How can he love me when I've destroyed everything we ever dreamed of?

I bite my tongue to drown out the pain that spreads throughout me. "And I love you."

Suddenly, his face lights up as if the sun has risen within him. And once again, my guilt devours me. He does everything for me, and for two days, I've been wallowing in my pain without giving anything back to him.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking firmly into his eyes.

He takes my face in his hands. "There's nothing you need to apologize for." His gaze is so intense that, for a moment, I even believe he truly means it even though it seems impossible.

I open my mouth to disagree with him, but then I close it again without saying anything.

Pull yourself together, Aurora. Haven't you already done enough to him?

"How will things go from now on?" Even though I don't say it out loud, he probably knows what I'm referring to. Two days ago, we lost two dreams at once. Irreversibly. "The academy..."

His eyes ask me if that even matters anymore.

I shrug because I don't know myself. Dancing seems to be the last straw we can cling to right now.

"Come." He leads me to the kitchen, where we both sit at the dining table. The bowl with my favorite sweets and the bouquet are new, the delicate fragrance of which reaches my nose.

Maxime leans toward me and takes my hands. "I didn't expect you to ask so soon."

Resolutely, I nod. "Life must go on."

An incredibly relieved smile crosses his face. "I was sure the day would come when my little fighter would emerge again."

Yes, that's who I am. A fighter. Not a failure, desperately trying not to drown in guilt.

"I talked to Madame Durand," he continues.

"What did she say?"

"We can stay." His hands tighten around mine.

Can that be true? I don't want to distrust him, but it's hard to believe. The boss made the conditions clear. Maxime will keep his job only if we reach the finals of the French Championship.

And we certainly haven't done that.

I can tell he has so much more to tell me, but he doesn't.

"What did you promise her in return?" She wouldn't have agreed if she didn't expect something.

He smiles at me. "Only that we'll dance again as soon as you're ready." His thumb trails over the back of my hand. "You want that too, don't you?" he asks cautiously.

Of course, I do!

"I didn't know if... well, because of your dream and all..." His movements become agitated. He tries several times to say something, but it seems to be a struggle for him. "If you don't want to, then..."

Quickly, I shake my head. "No, that's great," I say even though I'm not entirely sure what I want right now. But at least one thing is clear: it's the only way. We have to dance. "The training will surely do me good."

For a moment, he closes his eyes and exhales, as if the air has been building up in his lungs over the past few minutes. "But we'll start only when you're fully recovered."

I stand from my chair and lean over the table toward him. Our lips gently touch. "Promise," I murmur, and even though I can't feel or see it, I want to believe in one thing. Since dancing and living seem unattainable right now, we can at least achieve something else: dancing and hoping.