Chapter 48
Maxime
Three pairs of socks, three fresh shirts, two ties. Lost in thought, I place the clothing in the traveling suitcase lying on the bedroom floor.
My gaze flicks to the radio alarm clock on the nightstand.
3:35 p.m. Most likely, Aurora is waiting for me just a couple of hundred yards away at this moment.
What could she want to discuss with me? Is there anything left unsaid?
In less than four hours, I need to be at the train station. I'd have enough time to find out if she's really in the park before I head to London.
No. That doesn't make sense.
Straining, I push myself up from the crouching position to head into the bathroom. From there, I need the toothbrush, the shower gel, and the comb, but I don't get that far.
My own reflection forces me to pause. "What are you doing?" asks the exhausted-looking guy in front of me.
I lean on the edge of the sink. "The right thing."
He shakes his head. "Don't you get it?"
An exasperated sigh escapes my mouth. "No, you don't get it." I want to look away, but something compels me to look myself in the face.
My short-cropped hair is neatly styled, wrinkles stretch across my forehead, dark circles shimmer under my eyes, and my lips are pale.
I no longer look like myself.
"You are no longer you," claims my reflection, as if it had read my thoughts, and deep inside, I know that's true.
When did this happen?
Two days ago, when Aurora's card was in the mailbox? A week and a half ago, when I saw her again? Or years ago when she preferred to steal our future instead of trusting me?
"But now, I can become myself again. It's over," I sternly stare back at myself.
This time, he doesn't know how to respond. Silently, he gazes back while my own words echo within me.
It's over.
How many times have I whispered this sentence to myself? When I turned my back on the Académie de Nouvelle Danse. Every time I hear Joshua Friedberg's music and dance the mambo with Aurora in my mind. Every time I open my eyes in the morning and see the empty side of the bed next to me.
Not a single woman has been in my bed in the past years. I tried, God knows I forced myself, but I couldn't do it.
The haggard face in the mirror softens now. "How is this going to continue?" it asks me urgently.
"I will forget her." Now that I have all the answers, I can do that. Maybe it will take longer than I thought, but it will happen.
My reflection tilts its head to the side. "And what if you don't?"
That's unthinkable.
"Do you want to spend the rest of your life like this?" He looks at me seriously. "Alone. Unhappy. Without love in your heart and with a fake smile on your lips."
"Shut up!" I interrupt him and raise my hands in defense. "My life is great." Yes, it is. Because what has always been most important to me, I have. "I didn't have to go back to Seine-Saint-Denis, and that's what really counts."
The other Maxime snorts. "Do you even remember why that was so important to you?"
Dammit, of course I do.
"You wanted your children to have a better life someday," my reflection says, as if it knows no boundaries. Then it grins maliciously. "Which children were those again?"
I glower at him and threaten him with a raised fist. If he doesn't stop right away, I'll smash him. "Shut up!"
"With whom do you want to have them? With one of the countless women you've been with in the past years?" He spits out the words full of sarcasm. "Or with the one you will always love but never forgive?"
What's the point of this? He knows very well that neither one is possible. "Dammit, that's not what this is about!" Whether Aurora and I can have children together is not important. I don't care if we're two, three, or ten. First and foremost, it's about Aurora. And it always has been.
With pity in his eyes, he looks at me. "You will never love anyone else like her."
No. That's not true.
Only that one unanswered question has held me back from entering a new relationship all these years. I have it now. I can fall in love again. Certainly.
"If you choose against Aurora today, you will regret it for the rest of your life," the worn-out guy in the mirror warns me. "Go to her and find out what she wants to tell you. It won't leave you in peace anyway."
"I have a job to do," I counter. "This is the most important deal of the year. If I don't go to London to seal it, my boss will kick me out on the spot."
"Well, please, you have more than enough time until departure." He shrugs.
Yeah, right. It's that simple. "Leave me alone."
For a moment, the corners of his mouth lift. "That's not going to happen."
I close my eyes and breathe out heavily. "Of course not."
He is me.
I am me.
And no matter what happens, I will forever remain myself. I can't run away from myself, just as I can't run away from my problems.
"Give her a chance," a voice whispers, and I can't tell if it actually exists or if it's just in my thoughts. "Give yourself a chance."
In torment, I tear myself away from my own reflection. But instead of heading to the suitcase in the bedroom, I walk to the living room and open the dresser drawer. In a trance, I push aside the box with cables and the folder with my personal documents. I sweep the stack of utility bills to the floor.
As the paper sails through the air with a loud rustle, what I was searching for comes into my field of vision.
At the back, in the far corner of the cabinet, where hardly a beam of light breaks through the darkness, the golden fittings of the box glow as if they were a treasure.
I pull it out, sit in a cross-legged position, and place the box in front of me on the floor.
One by one, I open the drawers, stare into their cold emptiness, and close them again.
It's too late ! my reason screams, and this here is the proof.
Give her a chance ! my heart shouts.
Then suddenly, both fall silent. And all at once, it's so quiet that I can only hear the urgent ticking of my wristwatch.