Page 63 of Reverence

Helena… Helena… Not dead.

Helena was alive and so was Juliette. She was not dead. She would just never dance again. When Juliette opened her mouth to speak, it was a choked cry that came out, and then another, and then her face was wet, hot tears soaking her hospital gown and Helena’s shoulder that had somehow materialized in front of her. Everything was pain, even those very tears, but Juliette allowed them both to flow. She’d fight later. For now she let go, clutching Helena’s sweater in her swollen fingers, her nails digging into skin underneath.

The third time, Juliette simply opened her eyes. The winter light, gentle and weak, filtered through semi-drawn blinds. Helena sat in the chair in the corner and Francesca paced the length of the room, her cane measuring her steps.Thump. One. Juliette inhaled the daylight and the numbness in her right leg.Thump. Two. Juliette exhaled at the sight of a wheelchair by the door.

Well…

“How are you feeling, Juliette?”

“Like I fell off the Eiffel Tower.” Was this hoarse mess her voice? The thought crossed her mind and evaporated into the void of the soft shadows and softer lights of the sparsely furnished room.

“Oh, her so-called wit is back. I thought maybe the fall would knock that out of you. Seems not even three surgeries could fix it though, amor.” The false note was back in Francesca’s tone, as if she could not quite pull off the teasing.

“Three? Pfft, you had more on that ankle of yours, Cesca.”

Helena stood up and brought her cool hand to Juliette’s forehead.

“The surgeries will resume once your fever goes down. You’ve gotten yourself a case of hospital bed pneumonia, dear.”

Juliette gaped. “How many days have I been here, exactly? Pneumonia seems like something I’d need time to develop.”

The exchanging of looks was back. Juliette gritted her teeth. Finally, Francesca spoke up.

“It’s the end of the third week, Jett. We had some trouble getting you to wake up after the third operation, and then the fever set in. You’ve been out the past four days.”

Juliette reached for humor again, the numbness and the tingling scent of disinfectant making her nauseous. “I hope I’m setting some records or something, otherwise this has all been for nothing.”

“What has this been for, dear?”

Well, Juliette knew she’d have to answer questions, but Helena latching on to her inadvertently double-edged phrasing so soon wasn’t her plan.

“How about you give her some space to at least sit up, Helena? The rest can wait.” Francesca’s cane thumped furiously, as always attuned to its mistress.

“We have been keeping the ‘rest’ you are talking about, Cesca, at bay for three weeks. This ‘rest’ will not wait forever. And I don’t think it will wait for her to sit up, either. So, Jett?—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Helena. Do you ever just stop? So she’s outside, so she will stay there for as long as we say so, and if you ask me, she can stay there for eternity. What the fuck was she even doing on stage? Why was Jett running from her?”

Katarina!

The sensation of her vision darkening returned, and Juliette shook her head, making herself dizzier in the process.

“She can’t come in, Helena. Katarina can’t come here.”

Helena took her hand, rubbing soothing circles on her forearm.

“She’s not coming in, dear. She didn’t try. Breathe. You can’t have coughing fits again. The last one knocked you out, Jett. Please, breathe.”

Juliette took a carefully deep breath, then another and another, feeling the fluttering of her own pulse under Helena’s fingertips.

“I don’t want to see her, okay?”

Francesca crossed her arms over her chest. “You won’t. That’s the last thing you should worry about, amor.”

In the ensuing silence, Juliette listened to her own breathing and tried to process what she had heard.

Katarina was outside. Katarina had been outside. Katarina had not tried to come in.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then to another ten. The bitter taste of the impending panic attack slowly receded.

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