Chapter 7

I slept restlessly again. Except this time, my dream wasn't a narrative. I was still in someone else's body for lack of better words, but this time I saw flashing images that came and went before I had the chance to think about them. A tall woman with dark, curly hair. Almost black. Screaming. Shouting. Doors Slamming. Playing the piano. That song sounds familiar.

A street in Paris again. Crowds. Whispering. A tall building at the end of a long road. Heads carved on the façade that I don't get a second chance to look at. High, double doors creaking open. Stone floors and candle lit walls. A grand staircase. A stage. A painted ceiling with an ornate chandelier as its centrepiece. Water dripping. Darkness. A lake. Candles.

I felt my heart nearly beat out of my chest as I woke in a sweat. I fumbled to get my body untangled from the sheets and reached under my pillow for my phone. With trembling fingers, I dialled the only number that came to my mind.

"Hello?" A groggy Raoul answered. "Christine, are you all right? It's two in the morning."

"Err, I know. Sorry."

"What are you doing up?" He asked slowly, trying to adjust to the fact that his newly ex-wife was calling him at such an odd hour.

"I'm fine I suppose, but I just had this dream, and I couldn't think of anyone else to call. I don't know if I would call it a dream though. I only saw snippets of things. And places and sounds," I rambled, but caught myself. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "La douleur est faiblesse laissant du corps."

"Excuse me?" Raoul asked tiredly.

"What?"

"Did you just speak French?"

I actually had to think about it for a minute. "Yes, yes I suppose I did."

"So you are a wine connoisseur and you speak French now?"

"No. I mean, yes. I… I don't know." I stumbled for words. Think think think. "I heard it on the television today- "

"It's fine Christine. You don't have to explain," he said quietly.

"It means 'Pain is weakness leaving the body.'" I don't know what came over me to tell him. If anything, it will make him think I am more of a lunatic.

"Right. Thanks then." He paused a moment and I could tell he was trying to figure out what he wanted to say so he could put it in delicate terms. "You're absolutely sure you're okay, Christine?"

"I'm perfect, Raoul. Just perfect."

"Umm, all right then," he said, completely unconvinced. "I'm going back to sleep. Good night Christine."

"Night," I said quietly, before dissolving into tears.

His palms began to sweat as he held the phone up to his ear. Why are you doing this? She most likely hates you for how you handled things. But he had to know.

"Hello," a somewhat irritated voice answered.

"Sophia, hi. It's Erik." Dammit, since when do females make you nervous?

There was silence on the other end before Sophia responded. "What is it you want, Erik? I'm a little busy at the moment," she said sharply.

Milk it. He cleared his throat and continued."I wanted to apologise for the way I ended things between us. I acted harsh and cold-hearted, and it isn't what you deserved."

"And that's all you called for? Is to apologise?" She said with a hint of distrust.

"I actually had a question for you."

"Okay…" she said slowly.

"Is there any possible way you could tell me who received my blood?"

Erik heard a soft giggle on the other end of the phone. "No, silly. That's the whole point of donating. It's supposed to be anonymous."

He was getting frustrated, and quickly. "But surely there is someone who knows! It has to be on hospital records somewhere."

"Of course there are. Everything has to be documented-it's the law. But- "

"Yes, there's always a 'but'," Erik grumbled.

"It isn't possible for you to find out who was on the receiving end of your donation. That sort of documentation would be illegal to release. And besides, it's not as if the recipient actually received your blood. The components-red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets-were all separated."

"Yes, yes, I know all of that already!"

"Then why do you want to know so badly?"

"Because is it so wrong of me to want to know who I helped? And if I did help someone at all, I'd want to know how they are. Never mind, it doesn't matter. I just sound like a rambling fool."

"It's okay, I already think you're insane," Sophia said, smiling into the phone. A low chuckle escaped his lips. "Now go on, what else were you going to say?"

"I've never told this to anyone yet, so please bear with me," he began slowly. "I feel… different ever since I donated. And at first, I acted somewhat arrogant, as if the recipient should be indebted to me, but that's passed. I feel like I've given something special away."

"Blood is precious Erik. Donors are needed all the time."

"No, look, you don't understand. It's like there's someone walking the streets with something inside them that came from me, and now I'm missing part of me."

"Your body replaces the blood within twenty-four hours," she said simply.

"Damn it all! Stop thinking like a doctor for once!" Erik yelled into the phone. He rubbed the sweat off his brow and took a deep breath. "I know I sound insane right now, but I feel like I've given a piece of myself away. And now someone feels complete because of it and I'm missing something…. And I only want to know who that someone is."

"I could send someone to fetch the blood back for you," she laughed at her own joke.

"Remind me to never have an in-depth psychological conversation with you again," he said seriously.

Her laughter died down. "I'm sorry Erik, but that's the first time I've heard someone blame a blood donation for how they were feeling." There was a silence before she spoke up again. "I should be going. I'm being paged."

"Right, as should I." As he went to hang up, he heard her speak into the phone again.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"It was… nice talking to you again." And she hung up, leaving Erik even more confused.

I walked into the noisy gym and followed the smell of chlorine until I found the pool. I had told Jammes over the phone a few days ago that I would meet her and Meg at the pool for one of Emma's swim lessons. Though I was starting to regret it. I had only just started leaving the house during the day and constantly ran into people that I knew, but hadn't seen since before the accident. I suppose I was hoping that staying at Dad's house was magically going to heal me, but I'd been proved wrong there. I had to go through all of the emotions over and over again, which was making me mentally and physically exhausted.

I found my way to the bleachers overlooking the pool and saw Meg and Jammes waving at me. They said their usual greetings and patted me on the back as I sat down between them. I immediately noticed seven month-old Noah fast asleep in his stroller and quickly looked away.

I turned to Meg and asked, "How's the production coming?"

"Tiring," she sighed dramatically. "We do the same dances twenty-some odd times a day. I've been dancing eighteen years, and it's still the same thing day after day. Warm up, practice, rehearse." I envy her.

"So have you changed a light bulb yet?" Jammes asked with a smirk.

"You know, I don't think that joke has ever been funny. At least I don't have to change and wipe shitty asses all day."

"I am a mother. I am doing my responsibilities of raising them to succeed and live and function as proper human beings for when I am no longer there to support them."

"As you mash their peas and carrots," Meg said quietly.

"Excuse my, but my point is merely that the one word 'mother' implies a cornucopia, if you will, of different responsibilities and duties. And if I were doing what I do at the Opera House, I could choreograph an entire ballet!"

"I'm just saying I like to wipe my own bum." They both let out a long breath and sat up as a long line of children emerged from the changing rooms, complete with life jackets with the instructor, a male in his late twenties, early thirties, leading them into the pool.

"All right everyone. We're going to begin with backstrokes today. Line up alongside the wall of the pool, and when I blow my whistle, group one is going to back stroke to the other side of the pool. Does everyone remember their group number?" Jammes and Meg laughed as some of the children raised their hands and said "no."

"So Christine, how has everything been the past few weeks? Did your hangover cure up nicely?"

"Jammes, you know I wasn't drunk."

"Again, I'm trying to live vicariously through you. Humor me here."

"Oh shut up about that bloody bar," Meg said moodily. "She didn't come here to bullshit about that when it happened two weeks ago."

"You're just in a huff because you didn't get off with anyone." This is how the two of them are all the time; it's how they've always bonded, which would seem the opposite to anyone else.

"Actually, there is something I need to tell you guys about." Whether they send me to the nutter house afterward is another matter entirely.

Jammes took my hand and smiled. "That's what we're here for, love." It took me a minute to grasp the fact that her attitude and demeanor can change in the blink of an eye.

"I keep having these strange dreams. But that's the thing. They're just pieces of dreams. I've been in someone else's body each time. I'm pretty sure it's a man. I couldn't tell at first because I was in a child's body, but it's like I'm living his entire life. I was in his childhood house. There was always a tall, dark-haired, angry woman. Then the location changed to somewhere in the Middle East. Iran, Iraq, or someplace like that. The only recurring thing from those dreams was this older Middle Eastern guy. It was as if he was a friend or something, I'm not sure. Now it's changed again, and I'm in Paris.

"On top of that, I don't know if you remember this Jammes, but there was that guy I told you I met at the music shop. The one that I feel like I know, but I don't? I can't stop thinking about him! Where do I know him from?" I stopped speaking for a minute, and they were both looking at me with concern.

"Oh, but that's not all. I know all about wine now. You can ask me anything about art or architecture, and I may answer you in another language. For example, I know that the Mona Lisa, that painting we all drew the moustache on in school, is really a portrait of Lisa Gherardini, wife of Francesco del Giocondo, which is why it is referred to as La Giaconda."

They tried to cover their dumbfounded looks but I wasn't fooled. "Perhaps without the stress of Raoul and the divorce and all, you've been able to set your mind to different things," Meg offered.

"Speaking of ol' Raoul, how's everything in that department? Ben said he saw him down at some bar and stopped to chat with him for a while," Jammes said, changing the subject. "I hope that doesn't upset you." Ben, Jammes' husband, and Raoul had always been good friends.

"It's fine. It isn't like I can make them stop being friends just because our marriage is over."

"He told Ben he's still a little upset because the marriage didn't work out, and you know… the, uh…"

"Baby. You can say it. It's not like I'll break into a million pieces," I unintentionally snapped, but Jammes brushed it off.

"Ben said Raoul will be going to Hong Kong next week. He's not sure how long, and he said you're selling the house."

"There's no point in keeping it. We bought it, and neither of us wants to be alone there."

"So, you're going to keep living with you're dad?"

"Yeah, until I find an apartment or something. He's good company, but I'll eventually buy a place of my own once the house is sold."

Jammes smiled. "We only want what's best for you Christine. We all want you to be happy again." She pulled me in sideways for a hug while Meg patted my head.

They didn't say anything else after that, not that I can blame them. I'm quite thankful they didn't call me a basket case out loud; I know they were thinking it. We sat contented for a while, watching all of the children get out of the pool for free time. Many, Emma among them, took to holding hands and jumping in the pool. The male instructor was standing along the edge watching for any horseplay. Emma came out of the pool and stood behind the instructor, looked at her friends who nodded their heads, and pushed him belly first into the pool.

Meg howled with laughter while Jammes looked horrified. "Shit," she said to herself. "Christine, can you please just watch Noah for a moment?" She didn't wait for an answer before running to the edge of the pool yelling, "Emma! You do not push your coach in the pool!"

I glanced over at Noah, who must have woken sometime after I got here. He immediately started whimpering and tears were forming in his blue eyes.

"Oh Lord, I hope he doesn't start screaming. Do have any idea what kind of noise that'll make in a place like this?" Meg asked, crossing her arms and looking down into the stroller.

With trembling hands I went to undo the safety straps. My forehead and hands instantly began to sweat, thus making it more difficult to undo the clasps. I could feel my heart ready to burst out of my chest. Noah then began flailing his arms and legs and his whimpers turned to loud cries. I felt the eyes of every judgemental mother who would know exactly what to do in this situation, burning into my back.

"Does he need a boob or something? Let him have yours, just make him stop crying," Meg yelled as she covered her ears with her hands as Noah's cries echoed throughout the entire room.

I finally managed to unhook the clasp on the stroller straps. Noah looked up at me with his tear-filled eyes, begging to be picked up. But I couldn't do it. I was frozen. I just can't do it. With the sounds of Noah, Jammes, the other mothers on the bleachers, and the splashing of the children in the pool, I turned and left, never looking behind me.

A/N: Ok, so I lied when I said more chapters would be out when summer started; I forgot how busy I still am. I do sincerely apologize from the bottomosity of my heart. Big thanks to Erik's Song for the endless bounds of support in everything and broadwaygirl818 for some much needed motivation and advice (oh, and PS, the singing will definitely come soon!).