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Jaidev
FLASHING BLUE LIGHTS. Too many people. An antiseptic smell. Floors too smooth. Yellow cleaning signs. Doctors and nurses shouting.
Her mother, here. Scorching eyes. “No! I don’t want you anywhere near my daughter.”
Firm hands pushing me back. A hard chair. Sympathetic eyes from a woman who doesn’t know.
My blood is boiling, ready to split my skin. Everything’s moving too fast, and I’m moving too fast. My lungs scream and burn, but I’ve got to find her, got to see. Need to tell her how sorry I am, how I didn’t mean for this to happen, how—
“Jaidev Ngo? I’m Detective Malonson. We need to ask you some questions...”
###
I TAKE A DEEP BREATH. No, that’s not happening now. That was in the past. But, of course, sitting here makes me think of it. It’s the same. My fault.
“Want another coffee?” Bastien asks. His voice makes me jump. I’d almost forgotten he was here, dressed in scruffy, oversized clothes. His hands are shaking. He’s already had three plastic-cups of the hospital’s watery coffee. His eyes are bloodshot, and there are deep bags under them. He jumps up. “Yes, coffee. We need more coffee.”
Bastien runs off to procure his current drug of choice—though I wouldn’t be surprised if he slips outside to smoke a joint on the coffee run—leaving me to sit alone outside Avril’s room. All I can think of is the flashback—and how weird it is that I’m thinking of that time, rather than when my parents were killed in a car crash. It makes me feel bad that when my mind wandered, it wasn’t to the accident that took my parents away. Because I’m sure that’s what I should be thinking about. Fixating on, perhaps, given the similarities. Thinking how unfair the universe is when a vehicle took away my mother and father and now another is trying to take Avril, too. But, instead, I’m focused on that night. When there wasn’t even a vehicle involved. The only similarity was the hospital.
Still, I suppose getting arrested makes an impression on you, makes you create connections you wouldn’t otherwise.
I stretch my feet out in front of my chair, lifting them off the ground for a few seconds, then check the time. Been here two hours. Two hours since I last saw Avril, when they wheeled her off to theatre. She was awake then, yelling at me to get on the plane instead. Huh, like I could do that.
Bastien arrived an hour later and immediately got into an argument with a nurse when she couldn’t tell him any more about her condition. He’d been warned he’d have to leave if he didn’t calm down. But he did calm down, with the help of coffee, and spent the time between taking huge gulps of the liquid speaking on his phone to Avril’s sister and mother. They’re both travelling over from Normandy now. Should be here by now, really.
My right left jiggles like it’s got a pulse of its own as I stare at the wall. The notices seem too bright, too garish, and my eyes glaze over as the memories try to grab me.
No. This is not like this. I’m not going to get taken to the station for questioning. I’m not going to get arrested. This was an accident. It really was.
Shudders overtake my body, and I cover my face with my hands, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees. I take several deep breaths that wrack through me.
She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. She’ll be fine. Internally, I repeat the mantra over and over—
“Jaidev Ngo?”
I startle at the voice and look up to see a young doctor with a moustache and a sympathetic face. I nod, and then he’s speaking. His voice is kind of scratchy, but I get the gist of what he’s saying: I can see her.
Frantic, I look around for Bastien but he’s not in sight. The doctor gestures for me to follow him, so I do, my phone clamped to my ear the whole way as I leave a voicemail for Bastien. “Avril is awake, I think. We can see her. They’re taking me to her now.”
A few moments later, the doctor pushes open the door to a private room. I see Avril instantly, in the bed, looking so fragile and small and different. Her skin’s got a yellowish tint to it and one of her legs is in plaster and elevated. There’s bruising around the right side of her face, and she’s hooked up to all sorts of machines.
The doctor is talking to me, explaining about Avril’s condition, but I can’t really take in his words. Not just because of the shock of this, but because she’s glaring at me. Proper glaring.
“What are you doing here?” She frowns. Her voice is an octave higher than usual. “Jaidev, you’ve missed the plane! That brilliant opportunity, and you’ve just thrown it away!”
“Avril... You got hit by a car.” I stare at her.
Her hair’s not in its usual, perfect style. Of course it’s not. I feel silly for even noticing it and thinking about it. It’s swept back in a loose ponytail now. There’s still some dried blood across her hairline. I try not to focus on that.
“Oh, and the world stops, does it?” She tuts and actually waggles her finger at me.
“I couldn’t just go.”
“Why not? That is an amazing opportunity, and it would’ve elevated my school too. God, Jaidev, when will you ever realize that it’s not all about you?”
The doctor laughs and says he’ll leave us to it. And of course, Avril’s still droning on and on. Unbelievable.
I take a seat next to her bed. “What kind of son would have just got on a plane when their mother had been hit by a car?”
“A sensible one who knew it was nothing.”
“Nothing?” I stare at her.
“Like one car is going to send me to the grave.” She snorts then winces, most likely realizing what she’s said. “See, Bastien knows I’m fine,” she says quickly. “He’s not worrying, not here, missing out on his career. No, he’s taking every opportunity to develop it, just as you should be.”
I wonder what career she thinks he’s developing. “Avril. Please, I—"
“Where’s my phone?” she demands. “We can book another flight. I can phone Madame Cachelle and explain about this. I’ll have to really reassure her that you are serious about this, that you’ve not changed your mind about joining a company again. Goodness, Jaidev! Why do you always have to be so difficult?”
She moves to sit up more, but she flinches. Pain flashes across her face, and then everything changes with her. It’s like she just...deflates. All the tension and strength in her body drops away. She stares at her plastered leg, and it’s like she’s seeing the cast for the first time. I see the way her eyes widen, see the panic making itself home in them.
“I’m...” Her voice wobbles as she looks at me. “I'm not going to dance again, am I?”
I can’t answer that, and she knows it, I can tell. Her bottom lip wobbles, and I reach for her hand, give her as reassuring a squeeze as possible. Ballet is everything to Avril. Everyone knows that. She’s not just an amazing teacher and the head ballet mistress at her school; she was one of France’s best ballerinas, having been a principal dancer at two different companies. And she still dances now—Avril’s one of the most hands-on teachers at the school, demonstrating full choreographies and dancing in the Paris Ballet School’s productions.
Or, rather, she was.
“No, no, no,” she mutters, but her voice gets smaller with each word. Smaller and smaller, until it’s gone. “I have to dance,” she whispers. Her eyes are earnest and watery. “You know what I mean. You feel it. That dread when we can’t dance. And I... My leg...” She dissolves into tears.
She’s right. I do feel that dread. Because as much as I don’t want to dance again because of what happened, part of me also feels like I’ll be losing myself if I don’t. Like I won’t be able to breathe. Even when Bastien came up with our plan, I was still practicing various formations and moves in hidden seconds in my room. It made me feel alive, and I couldn’t just stop. Because it was me being true to myself. It’s what I need to do. Frustratingly, it’s part of who I am.
But I look at Avril, so fragile, so broken in her hospital bed, and I can see it in her eyes: the finality of what’s happened. Oh, God. To have it all taken away like this...
But at least she’s done it, a voice whispers. Because what if you never truly follow your heart now and then your chance is taken away? Accidents happen all the time.
Regrets.
I hate regrets. And life can be short, I know that. Chances can be taken away, demolished, in the blink of an eye.
“Avril.” I clear my throat. “If you really want me to dance at Roseheart, I will.”
I expect her to immediately say yes. To return to her strict self. To jump at the chance of getting me to do what she wants—what I really want. And maybe it won’t be so bad, because it would be a fresh start of sorts. A new location. A new school. A new partner who doesn’t know anything about me. But Avril just nods, looking up at me with tears in her eyes.
“Do it,” she whispers. “Do it for me.”