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He remembers in painful details the first time he thought he lost her.
He remembers the dark clouds looming in the distance, past the seemingly neverending cornfields, threatening to ruin the warm midsummer day; he remembers the damp red shirt insistently sticking to his back as he ran back and forth, playing street hockey in the middle of the deserted road with his brothers and his cousins, thick drops of sweat coating the back of his neck. He remembers the strong smell of freshly cut grass coming from the other side of the road, permeating the humid western Ontario air, and the faint buzzing of the neighbor’s lawnmower, still at work. He remembers his mom calling his name from the front porch to remind him to get his hockey gear out of the entryway before dinner, or else.
He remembers the noise of his aunt’s old red car slowly rounding the corner, honking twice to get their attention. He remembers the floral dress she wore as she approached him, and the affectionate way she patted his head, messing up his dark hair, giving him a big warm smile.
You’re becoming such a handsome young man, Scotty, she had said. You’ll find a new partner in no time.
He remembers the very moment when his brain registered his aunt’s words, and how he suddenly felt aware of his own heartbeat and the way it inexplicably quickened, as he waited for her to elaborate. He remembers hearing something about ballet school, and Toronto, and Tessa being offered a spot. Again. He remembers feeling possessiveness towards something that wasn’t a thing for the very first time in his life. He members a devastating feeling of loss he couldn’t quite understand or put into words.
xx
This is how he feels right now, sitting two rows behind her on a plane to Toronto.
He's really lost her.
And now there's no more skating to bring her back to him.
xx
She has grown used to pain. She’s grown so used to it that at some point, it's become something she started relying on. She doesn’t have many clear memories of her first year skating in Ilderton or her childhood in general, but she has one that for some reason has stuck, and has been vividly etched in her mind ever since.
Drops of light red blood standing out on the white, shiny, watery ice surface and the soft, distant noise they made as they hit it, creating cloud-like shapes; the palm of her hand stinging, the feeling radiating from the small yet deep cut up to her wrist. She didn’t cry. The sight of blood had never scared her. She remembers just standing there, fascinated, and she remembers Polly Fields skating by, looking at her with a derisive expression, a mocking grin playing her pink lipgloss covered lips.
You’re the worst skater ever, she had said.
Her spiteful words had barely registered, tuned out by the light stinging pain of the cut the freshly sharpened blade of her skate had caused on her small gloveless hand.
She thinks of the physical pain she was in at 18. Relearning to walk had been easier than relearning to trust. Bright red scars on her pale shins; the burning feeling spreading from her lower legs to the rest of her body so sharply it made her dizzy. She knows she'd take that over the other kind of pain. The one that a few pills can't fix.
xx
Her eyes scan the page of a book she's been trying to finish for the past two weeks, as the plane takes off. She bites the inside of her cheeks until she can taste blood. The familiar feeling of pain makes her sigh in relief, easing the knot in her chest that she's been feeling since they've taken their very last bow. There is no fixing them; or him; or her.
Genevieve doesn't wait for Guy.
Satine dies in the end.
Sometimes that's just how life goes.