7. The Cross

That night was the first time I dreamt of my mother. It became a series of reoccurring dreams. It wasn't as scary as it was chilling. It hurt me more than anything I had ever remembered. It was almost as if my brain was trying to bring up memories that would kill me. My whole subconscious was against me. That didn't even make any sense. Why would I want to hurt myself? Destroy what was left of my fragile mind. I fell asleep shaking.

My mother opens the door, her face registers nothing. I miss her. I miss her so much. I need her to remember. Why can't she remember? I'm her daughter.

"Can I help you?" she asks kindly.

"Why don't you remember me?" The anger in my voice surprises me.

"Excuse me?"

"Why don't you remember me?" I repeat. "Why don't you remember me? Why don't you remember me? Why don't you remember me? Why don't you remember me? Why don't you remember me?" I know I sound like a mad woman, but I can't stop. "Why don't you remember me? Why don't you remember me? Why don't you remember me? WHY DON'T YOU REMEMBER ME?"

I was shaking when I woke; my whole body shuddering. I pulled the covers around me tighter, trying to stop the trembling, the way my body moved involuntary. My eyes were stinging and my lungs burning – as they usually did whenever I thought about my family or Mix.

It was still dark outside so I checked my clock. 3 a.m. But I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to close my eyes again and see the blank look on my mother's face. I just couldn't. I guess I'd been teaching myself to slowly block out all thoughts of my family. To keep them distant, but not gone.

I got out of bed, throwing on a dressing gown and some socks to keep my footsteps quiet. I walked to the only place in the house that I didn't feel trapped. The ballroom. But as I got closer I began to hear noise. The noise became music, and then it became a piano melody. I walked to one of the side doors a peeked through the crack. Light filtered through, but it was dim. I saw River's form, sitting straight backed at the piano, his finger's moving across the keys so elegantly it was as if they were being blown by wind.

The melody was deep and soulful and haunting. I leant my back against the door and slid down till I was sitting, thighs against my chest, head resting on my knees. I closed my eyes and just listened. I let myself get lost. At times the song would feel so mournful, it made me shudder. I felt as if I was listening to a story. One of loss and misery. One of someone trapped and regretful. For so long I just listened to River play. I didn't get bored. I only felt tired and somber. It calmed me, and finally, when I was able to tear myself away from the music, I stood, ready to go back to sleep.

It was only as the music stopped, I woke up. I suddenly felt alert and aware. The door opened behind me and I spun quickly. River was standing at the door, one hand still on the doorknob, as if he were leaving it open for an invisible guest.

"What are you doing here, Giselle?" he asked. His chest was bare, white veins all the more obvious, and he only wore some loose shorts, as if the cold didn't bother him at all.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Are you sick?"

"No. I just had a dream."

"A nightmare?"

"I guess you could say that."

"I could brew you something. A tea. It will help you sleep."

"No. Thank you. You could do with some though."

"No. I don't sleep much. I prefer to compose when it is dark."

A silence followed. "I'll go back to sleep. Sorry."

"I can escort you?" His sudden kindness scared me.

"No. Thank you. I can walk by myself." I began to turn away.

Then, "You are wearing the necklace. Do you like it?" I looked at River over my shoulder, touching the pendant.

"It's pretty. Unique. Thank you."

I had meant to take it off, but when I saw myself in the mirror, I just didn't want to. It was too pretty. So much nicer than anything I'd ever owned. And I wanted something pretty in my life.

River nodded, not saying anything more. I left, walking a little too fast.

The days passed in a ritual for me. I did many things for River. Messenger work, delivery work, cleaning, cooking, shopping, listening to him talk or giving him advice. But one thing remained constant. Dinner. Every night I would sit with River and eat dinner. We never had much to talk about so he would usually tell me about his day or what he had read or some new and interesting thing he had learnt. Then I would tell him what I did. We never laughed or joked or smiled. Sarcasm had become a thing of the past. So had many of my usual emotions. I was blank. Cold. Empty.

My life no longer passed by in any sort of order, like it does for most people. School, friends, family etc. When you live your life normally every moment is important. Now, my life only happened in snippets. One pretty, blissful moment in a million. A beautiful flower in the garden that made me smile. A sunset that made me cry. A scene in a book that made me blissfully happy.

That was how my life was defined now. It was depressing and I never liked to dwell on it. Dwelling wasn't healthy. My mind became so messed up. I forced myself to think about many things at once, but I would never think about one thing for long. It was sort of like channel surfing. Flicking through many thoughts at the same time, but only skimming over one for an instant. I trained myself that way. Don't think about something for too long and you don't get hurt. Most of the time it worked. Other times my mind drifted too far to pull it back. But most of the time I kept my head full of pathetic useless thoughts. Away from any memories. I liked it that way. Like I said, dwelling isn't healthy.

I began to realise, I was facing the same fate as my name implied. Of the ballerina Giselle. Not the loving of someone who was already committed, but the fact that I would have gone mad and died before the first act of my life was over. If not physically dead, then certainly mentally. I was a real life Giselle. Hopelessly lost, yet still clinging to any piece of the old life she remembered. Even if she knew it wouldn't last. Even if she knew it would only hurt more later.

It was one day I was in the corridor, which led to the ballroom, that I noticed something. The paintings River had done, the ones that looked as if they'd been painted through water, with the maids. They were looking at something. Some thing from my window. Something I needed to see. I looked at the other paintings that had the same water quality, and saw many landscapes. It didn't help.

I went back to my room, having memorised the position the maids were standing in. I shut the door behind me and walked to the window. I carefully took small steps, till I was in the same position I knew all the maids had been when their portrait had been painted. I had never done that before, for fear of becoming them. But I knew I already was. I was a ghost. I searched the new landscape I could see from my new perspective, and gasped. As usual, I could see the garden and land the house was situated on, surrounded by the stonewall that enclosed it. Around it were some sporadic clusters of trees and housing developments. In the far distance were the remnants of a sprawling forest that had no doubt been destroyed by the increase of human population.

But what stood out above the trees and houses, calling out like a beacon, was a cross. A large stone cross that was sitting above a church, many miles away. Something that would stand the test of time. Something that all the maids would see. A tradition. An unspoken tradition. I had never been religious, but the moment I saw that cross, my heart swelled. This moment, I had shared with so many other maids. I could feel them with me. In the room. They were the ghosts that Giselle, the ballerina, had joined. They were the ghosts she had stopped from killing her love. They were her soul mates, her friends. They were all that she had left in life. I was a ghost. The ghost of Giselle. A fate that would last eternity.

There was one dream – nightmare – that was the most horrifying and evoked more dread, fear and panic than I thought I could feel. My mind had finally filled in all those blanks I had forced myself not to think about. That evil possibility. River.

My eyes open slowly to the dim light. I see the blue marble around me and feel the warm blankets and relax. I am in my room now. I am safe now. There is a click at the door and I turn my head. River. His white skin is luminous in the dark room, veins snaking up his arms and neck. The callused, ridged flesh takes my breath away. His pasty chest is bare; he is only wearing loose shorts, shorts I saw Kiel wear. My muscles clench as he moves towards my bed. I begin to sit up, but River puts a hand on my chest and says,

"Don't move, my dear Giselle." His bright blue eyes shine like planets in the darkness. River leans over me and places a soft kiss on my forehead with his deathly lips. I shudder under his touch but River doesn't notice. He then slips under the covers of my bed and moves close to me.

I shrink away from him, unsure of what he is doing. He makes it very clear when he rolls over me, kissing my neck and whispering in my ear. I try to open my mouth to scream but it is covered by River's, his tongue swallowing up any protests. I struggle against his heavy body, trying to wriggle out from underneath him. River only pins my arms down by my side and pushes his hips on to mine with too much force. I try to scream or yell out. I try to fight back, but River is relentless. His mouth only more urgent every time I try to shout.

I try again and again to kick and hit River, but the force of his body on mine is too strong, his muscular arms restraining me. His grip on me hurts, fingers digging into me, giving me bruises. My eyes are swimming with tears, only the sound of my choked sobs and River's ragged breaths reach my ears. I become desperate, thrashing like a fish trying to escape a net. River lets me finish my little rant before pushing me down again.

I am tired. So tired of fighting him. I give on last attempt to get River off me. I hear a deep throaty growl from River's throat and immediately I am frozen in fear. As soon as I stop moving River relaxes, although he is still clutching me tightly. As River's fingers run over my body, loud sobs ripple through me. I close my eyes and try not to think of the monster that is on top of me. I am so tired. River's hands disappear from my skin, and I think it was over. I think he will get up and leave the room. Leave my dream. He doesn't. He is only just beginning.

I look up at River, pleading for him to stop. My breathing is uneven, coming out in heaves with tears and shudders.

River doesn't even see me. His eyes ware alive with adrenalin and his face looks determined.

I try to scream out in fear, but River's mouth comes down on mine, stopping me from crying out from the torture. I only retract any part of me that is still human and try to ignore everything. I cry and cry, sobs breaking out of my chest in waves, making me shake and convulse.

Finally, River moves away from me. He seems irritated I'm still crying. I can do nothing but curl up into a ball, trying to stop the tears, forget the pain and quiver with fear.

"Good girl, my dear Giselle," River chides. He touches my shoulder and I jump away from him, still not turning to face him. I hear River sigh behind me. The bed sways as he gets up. "You will learn," River says. "You will learn to enjoy it." Never. I shudder thinking about it. Never.

I woke up trying to get air into my lungs, taking huge gasping breaths, my vision swimming in front of me. My throat ached from shouting in my sleep and my jaw hurt from clenching and unclenching it throughout the night. The thought of River touching me scared me enough, but the thought that I might enjoy it scared me even more. Never. Never.

"Giselle?" I heard River's voice question as I walked past the library one day.

"Yes?" I asked, peeking my head in the door. He had his nose buried in a book and ushered me forward with one hand. I walked slowly, hoping to irritate him. As usual, he was as patient as ever.

"I need you to buy a book for me," he said, still not looking at me.

"You don't have enough?" I asked innocently. River lifted his head, watching my face, not sure if I was joking or not.

"I have heard a lot about one book and was wondering if you had heard of it?"

"Yeah?"

"It is called Harry Potter. Apparently it is about some sort of boy wizard–" I cut him off with my laughter.

"Everyone in the world knows who Harry Potter is. He's probably the most famous fictional character in history."

"Oh," River looked puzzled. "Have you read it?"

"Yes. Seen the movies too," I told him.

"Is it good?"

"It depends. Are you into the whole my-parents-are-dead-I-am-a-wizard-at-some-crazy-school-with-an-evil-overlord-trying-to-kill-me genre?" Again River studied my face again, unsure if I was making fun of him or not.

"In any case, I wish for you to get me the series," he said, pushing his face back into the book in his hands. It was only now that I realised what he was reading. It was dog-eared and faded, spine falling apart, pages falling out. There was nothing on the dark cover except two words in the centre. But then, this book didn't need anything else.

"I can get you a new copy of that too," I offered. River looked up, his brow creasing.

"They still sell these?" he asked. I laughed again.

"Of course. Every book store in the world sells that."

"Really?"

"The Bible is the most printed book worldwide," I told him.

"But why? Isn't it just another book? How did it last so long?"

"People worship that book."

"Worship?"

"Yes, the God that is mentioned is worshiped. People follow the Bible. It is sort of like a code of living."

"A rule book," River said as if something was dawning upon him.

"Um… more like a guide book. Not everyone believes it. And those who do don't necessarily follow it word for word."

"I see." River nodded. "But is it real?"

"No one can really be sure, but a lot of people believe it to be, yes." I felt a need to argue what humans believed. I had always been opened minded about religion – my mother was a firm believer – but somehow… after what had happened to me. It got harder and harder to believe. Logic and doubt overshadowed the belief. It almost made me angry. God wasn't here to help me or save me. I was stuck in this hellhole with a monster my whole life with no one to save me. What sort of God would let that happen? Maybe I was being selfish… yet, if this was happening, and not just to me, there was something wrong with the world. What sort of God would make anyone go through this? "Christianity is only one religion. There are many around the world. Then there are others who don't believe at all."

"But some people believe that these stories happened? Heaven and Hell? God and Satan? Angels and Demons?"

"Yes, to some it makes sense."

"That everything is balanced? Explained by believing in God? Always a right and wrong? No in between?"

"Yes."

"I see," River nodded. "The human mind is very complex."

"Well, when I go to the book store I'll get a new copy. In fact, I think I could probably get you a study copy."

"Study copy?"

"Yeah, it's just copy with notes and explanations and stuff."

"Yes," River nodded again. "I would like that very much."

"Sure," I shrugged. It wasn't gratitude, but it was as close as you got with River. I turned and began to make my way towards the door.

"Just one more thing," River called. I turned. "What do you believe?"

"I…" The cross flashed in my mind. "I don't know. I believe that belief creates reality."

"How so?"

"Like anything. A thought. A story. It's real when someone's in it. Believes it. Doesn't matter if it's not real. To them, it is."

"How do you figure that?"

I moved slightly. River's eyes followed me. "Honesty is easy. Truth. It's easy. It's what happen. There's nothing new there. Fiction is where the genius lies."

"Every human lies."

"But how often is that lie real? How often is that lie the truth?"

"It isn't."

"Until it becomes real. Until it becomes the truth."

"But it's always a lie."

"Until it never was."

"That doesn't change anything."

"Yes, it does. It changes everything. If someone can believe something so completely, like in a God, it's reality."

"But that doesn't mean it's real. It's still a lie."

"No, it's not. Not anymore. It's people's belief that makes anything real. Without that, there's nothing."

"Even if it's a lie?"

"It's not a lie. It's real. Some times people need something to believe in. The hope that someone will save them. The hope that life isn't really as bad as it seems. That there is someone out there."

"So you think it's a lie? God?"

"Not at all. I have no idea if God is real or not and I don't feel I have any right to say that He doesn't."

"Have you ever loved anyone before?" River asked suddenly. I stiffened unconsciously. The change of pace startled me.

"Yes. Many people. I love all my family. Mix too," I told him, the pain in my heart only stabbing a little now. My lungs burnt a little, but I was able to stop myself from hyperventilating. The stinging in my eyes was still there; I ignored it. "Don't you remember love?"

"My human memories faded a long time ago."

"Right," I said, trying to make for the door again. Human memories? I recalled Enda telling me that River had been human.

"Wait," River said. "How did you know? That you loved your family."

"How do I know," I corrected. "Well… I would stay here, with you, to keep them alive. Even if it means I die without even seeing them again."

"Yes… so you would risk your life for someone you love?"

"I guess," I shrugged, not to eager to talk about this topic.

"Anything else?"

"I miss them. More than anything in the world. I accidentally ran into my mother the other day at the supermarket… and when she didn't recognise me…" I trailed off, already feeling the tears welling, the stinging in my eyes not really helping. I looked down. My lungs were burning a little more, and I had to breathe through my mouth.

"Yes?" River prompted. He was never good at reading emotions. I took a gulp, trying force my tears back.

I looked at River, staring into his bottomless blue eyes and said, "I almost died."

River looked stunned. "But that is ridiculous. You are perfectly fit and healthy. I have never neglected you," he protested.

I laughed loudly. It sounded bitter and hurt. Not what I was used to.

"Yes, I'm prefect healthy. But there's something wrong with me. You just haven't noticed."

"What is wrong?" River looked suddenly concerned.

"I don't want to live. I don't want to be here. I want to die," I told him, tears spilling over the edge of my eyes. River's face softened and he put his book down, moving closer to me. But he stopped before he touched me. He didn't know what to do. He reached out and put his fingers on my cheek. I didn't flinch away, but I did purse my lips.

"That is not strange," he said tenderly. "I have wished I were dead for most of my existence." His hand stayed on my cheek. It was rough and scratchy but not uncomfortable.

"I guess we have something in common then," I said bitterly.

"If you wished it, I could remove those memories for you. Filter out the parts with your family…"

"No!" I screeched. I didn't realise how high my voice was until River frowned in discomfort and dropped his hand. "Please, don't. I… I just need to keep that. It's what makes me… me. I don't want to lose that."

"You believe your family defines you?" River looked puzzled.

"Yes," I whispered. "The people you love define you." Then I turned and got out of there as fast as I could.

I studied the cross again. Not sure what I saw. What it meant to me. Why was it my… symbol of hope? I didn't hold much hope in God or the Bible. They had abandoned me long ago. So why was the cross what I woke up and fell asleep to?

The thought hit me like a fall. I felt winded and breathless. It wasn't a symbol of hope. It was a symbol of human life. It was a symbol that even though there was bad out there, good was there too. It showed human perseverance and faith. Something that was rare now. The cross was not hope. It was a belief. A reason. A reality. Not in the belief of God, but of humans themselves. When I looked at that cross, I didn't see God, I saw what us humans had made. A way out of this world. A reason not to fear death. There were many reasons to fear life – what I was going through was an obvious reason – but death wasn't something to fear.

Death was a release. A relief. Something I wished for more and more each day.