Sleeping Awake (19 page)

“It hurts,” she whimpered.

Gently, I stroked her hair.
“Je sais, Cienna.”

Cienna shivered and began to
cry again. I did the only thing that I knew would calm her down. I sat beside
her, wrapped my arms around her, and began to sing.

“
Fais
dodo, Cienna ma p'tit sœur. Fais dodo t'auras du lolo. Maman est en haut, qui
fait du gâteau.
Papa est en bas, qui fait du nougat.
Fais
dodo, Cienna ma p'tit sœur. Fais dodo t'auras du lolo...
”

With each line, Cienna’s breathing
became lighter until finally, the hiccups faded.

“
Go
to sleep, Cienna, my little sister. Go to sleep, you will have your milk. Maman
is upstairs making cakes. Daddy is downstairs making chocolate. Go to sleep,
Cienna my little sister. Go to sleep, you will have your milk...”

Maman used to sing that to us
whenever we were upset. The original line,
“Fais dodo, Pierrot mon p’tit
frère”
was cleverly changed to accommodate whichever of us happened to be
in need of an emotional check.

“All better,
mon p’tit
Pierrot
?” I smiled.

“No,” Cienna replied, sitting
up. “Why is Camelea able to just let go and forgive Philippe. Didn’t she get
hurt by him or was I just hurt the worst?”

“Maman was hurt the worst,
Cienna,” I replied.

“Right,” Cienna agreed. “But
if the two of them can get over their hurt, why can’t I? Why can’t I let go?”

I took her hands and squeezed
them. “You’ll let go when you’re ready.”

**~*~*~**~*~*~**

It seemed that since Philippe
was back in our lives, we were to behave as if we did in France. His staff was
French, and since they spoke no English, we only spoke French. Breakfast
consisted of Cienna’s preferred baguettes and jam or Nutella with coffee, never
tea. Lunch included dessert, and dinner was a five-course affair that lasted
for almost two hours.

I made the mistake of asking
for tea on my first morning, much to the consternation of Amélie, the maid.
She’d been pouring Cienna coffee, but she stopped, eyebrows knitted and eyes
widened.
“Tea?”
she began shaking her head, a small frown on her face.
“There is no tea in this house.”

She’d cast me furtive glances
ever since. One would think that we’d been living during the time of the
Hundred Years’ War.

I didn’t mind the French way
of life; in fact, I sometimes preferred it to the American life that I had
become accustomed to. I cared that we were doing these things with Philippe,
and so did Cienna.

       I
didn’t think that he quite got that neither Cienna nor I appreciated his
existence, and each time that we met for dinner, he tried harder and harder get
in our good graces. Whereas I had decided to give him short, civil responses to
his questions and otherwise avoid him at all costs, Cienna seemed duty-bound to
spew her content.

       As
Amélie brought out the dessert, Camelea and Philippe walked down memory lane
together as they remembered the first time he tried to teach her to make a
soufflé, which was what we were eating.

Cienna pushed away her dish
and sighed.

       “Is
something the matter, Cienna?” Philippe asked looking away from Camelea.

       Camelea
looked positively murderous. Cienna had interrupted her enthralling tale of the
improper way that she had cracked the eggs, which had resulted in shells being
in the mixture.

       “I’m
not really a fan of soufflé,” Cienna lied. Soufflés were on the list of her
favourite desserts; however, I knew that she was refusing to enjoy it because
of Camelea and Philippe.

       “But
you loved the soufflés that I made when you were younger,” Philippe said. He
looked crestfallen.

       “Really?”
Cienna yawned. “I have all but forgotten my life before I came to America. I must
have gotten that trait from you.”

       I
coughed slightly and grabbed my napkin, trying my best to conceal my laugh.

       Camelea
scowled. “Never mind her, Papa. She still loves soufflés. In fact, she is the
only one of us who can make them properly. She’s just being unnecessarily
difficult.”

Philippe looked like a wounded
dog.

“Cienna,” Philippe said. “I
really think that you should eat the soufflé. Madame Laurent will be hurt if
you send it back.”

“The same way that we were
hurt when you left us?” Cienna asked, taking up her spoon. “Or did the plight
of your wife and three children not bother your conscience?”

 “Cienna, that’s a bit
uncalled for,” Philippe said. His shaking fingers clutched his spoon.

“Whatever.
You
are the
definition of uncalled for.” Cienna retorted. She looked rather pensive as she
carefully licked the chocolate from her spoon. “And you didn’t even get your
stupid son, so
what
was the point?”

“Cienna!” Camelea barked. She
looked like a rabid dog. Her teeth were snarled, and there was the tiniest bit
of saliva threatening to spill over the corner of her mouth. She glanced at
Philippe, while chewing madly on her lips, and then back at me.

“Oh shut up, Saint
Camelea.”  Cienna snapped. “Just because you got your perfect little
family reunion doesn’t mean that I am obligated to make this a Disney movie for
you. There will be no singing and running around holding hands through poppy
fields, Camelea. You’re no better than a cheap whore!”

“That is enough!” Philippe’s
hand slammed down onto the table and his wine glass fell backwards and into his
lap.

Cienna smiled. “Good for you!”

Philippe jumped up and Saint
Camelea rushed to his side.

“No,” he said to her.

Camelea’s face twisted into
the most ghastly sight and her mouth hung. I couldn’t tell if she was
speechless, pained or turned retarded from the shock of it all.

Philippe turned towards Cienna
and I with his own version of a death glare on his face. “Now listen here. I
understand that I hurt you, and believe me, I will regret what I did to you
until my dying day, but this has got to stop. You need to show some respect for
me…”

“Respect for you?” Cienna
jumped to her feet and stormed over to Philippe. “Respect is given to those who
earn it.”

“Cienna,” I said. It was the
first word that I had said all evening.

The two of them made a comical
sight as Cienna, with her tiny frame, turned her face upwards to glare at
Philippe, who’s chest she could barely reached. He stared down at her breathing
heavily.

She ignored me. “If you wanted
my respect, you shouldn’t have waited until my dying mother rang you to find
your balls and get on a damn plane!”

Philippe stepped backwards,
clearly defeated. Had I been a different person, I’d have ran to his side and
cradled him in my arms. He looked so pathetic as his features whitened and his
hands shook. However, he’d hurt me as much as he’d hurt Cienna, and I wasn’t
quite ready to forgive and forget.

Cienna gave him a once over
before spinning on her heel and storming out of the room. Slowly, I put my
napkin on the table and rose to follow her. I caught up with Cienna as she
marched into her bedroom. As I closed the door behind us, she let out a howl of
pain and fell to the floor.

*~*

Philippe was gone the next
morning. Camelea did not come down to breakfast, no doubt praying at the
makeshift shrine to the Virgin that she had created in her room that I had
spotted while walking past her door. I knew better than to try and talk to her.
Cienna went off somewhere with Andreas as soon as Amélie cleared the last
plate. I called Nicolaas.

There was the customary first
kiss when we saw each other, then his phone rang and it was one of his friends
telling him to meet them at a nearby diner. As we walked, he held my hand. A
surge of energy jolted my system as we touched. My heart started racing.

There were six of us. The
booth was cramped. Our bodies couldn’t help but be pressed against each
other’s. It felt as if we were moulded into each other. I drank my iced tea in
one gulp, but I was still hot. The fact that Nicolaas’s hand was playing with
mine under the table didn’t help matters either, especially when someone told a
joke and the force of his abrupt laughter made his hand pull on my skirt
slightly.

Having his fingertips on that
particular area of my skin was riveting. A hot, white heat seared through my
body, and I felt a familiar tingle just below my bikini line. Nicolaas didn’t
notice anything as he laughed with his friends. When he wrapped his arms around
me and his kiss, which was meant for my cheek, grazed my lips, my eyes instinctively
shut. I felt an ache for his hands to return to where they once were and move
further up my legs to touch somewhere else, somewhere that would have given me
infinite pleasure. I squirmed as I imagined the wonders that having his hand
against my most sensitive parts would bring. I had to lie and blame the heat
when he asked me what was wrong.

Everything after was a blur.
Laughing. Talking. Orders made. Bills paid for. Holding hands and leaning
against his shoulder as we left the restaurant. Back to the car. Driving home.
Up to my room.

The light was blinding when I
turned it on; maybe that’s why I stumbled and leaned against Nicolaas. His hand
cupped my lower back; I felt like I was being shocked again.

The kiss was soft at first. I
pulled him in, determined to express my urgency. I was left breathless when we
finally pulled apart. Somehow, we made it over to the bed. I loved the feel of
his body pressed against mine. I struggled to not cry out when his hand finally
caressed where I’d be yearning for it to touch all afternoon.

For a long while afterwards, I
couldn’t speak.

*~*

The next day was no better. I
didn’t believe in Him, but I found myself chanting words that had been drilled
into my head at our Catholic lycée in France.

“Deliver us, Lord, from every
evil, and grant us peace in our day. In Your mercy keep us free from sin and
protect us from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our
Savior, Jesus Christ.”

As we were lectured about
living in the world, but not being of world, I wanted Nicolaas’s kisses all
over my body. I ached for his touch as I received Communion.

"This is the Lamb of God
who takes away the sin of the world. Happy are those who are called to His
supper."

I shivered as the priest made
the sign of the Cross before me. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t be one
with God. I was imagining what it would be like to be one with Nicolaas.

“Lord, I am not worthy to
receive You, but only say the word, and I shall be healed.”

I sat in the pew and instead
of listening, I remembered. I sighed as I felt his touch and heard his moans. I
blushed as I remembered my incoherent mumblings. Eyes rolling, toes curling,
head spinning, stars. I felt myself responding, had to go to the bathroom
before we left church, immediately washed my underwear when I got home, and
failed miserably when I tried to get him off my mind.

Forgive me Father, for I have
sinned.

*~*

Nicolaas came over the next
morning. Being near him and not touching him had become out of the question.
He’d been in my room for all of one minute before I pounced. Feverish kisses.
Arms wrapped tightly around each other’s necks. Flying without leaving the
ground. Nicolaas really was the sweetest sin. Giving in was the only natural
solution.

I loved the way that a simple
thing such as him running his fingers up and down my arms caused me to shiver.
I let him do with me as he pleased and then it was my turn to explore. I took
my time learning what he liked and didn’t like. Before it had been mechanical,
a need to reach my pinnacle. Now… Now it was different. Now I wanted to feel
what he felt and to bind myself to him in every way possible. My reward was watching
him
shiver and get burned to the touch because of
me
. It was
empowering. I didn’t stop until he was slapping me away. I sealed it with a
kiss before falling onto my pillows with a sigh of satisfaction.

“You’re my drug…” I turned on
my side and smiled at Nicolaas. “You are my drug, and you need to make sure
that I never lose my supply.”

“And what will you do if you
lose your supply?” He ran his fingers along my arms.

I purred. “Mmmmmm.”

He chuckled. The other half of
my bed became lighter as he got up. I closed my eyes and relished in the
memories of times spent together. I couldn’t imagine being happier than I was.

Something cold fell into the
crevice between my breasts. I jumped.

“What was that?” I asked.

He laughed. “You tell me.”

I looked around for the
source. At first I couldn’t find anything in the tangled mess of my sheets. Out
of the corner of my eye, something caught the light and my attention. A gold
necklace. I pulled it out from where it laid hidden; there was a heart-shaped
pendant attached.

“What is this?” I dangled the
necklace before Nicolaas.

“That…” Nicolaas reached
across me and took the necklace from me.

I remained still as he sat
behind me and placed it around my neck.

“
This…
” He fingered the
pendant.

My eyes automatically closed
as his fingers made contact with my skin.

“…This is my heart…” He kissed
the side of my neck. “…And now you have it.”

My eyes opened, and my
breathing stopped. “What?”

He turned me towards him and
pulled me closer. The playful expression was gone from his face. “I’ve fallen
in love with you.”

“Is this a joke?” I eyed the
pendant and then Nicolaas.

“I love you,” he said simply.

I froze. My skin became a
swamp of sweat as the mad pounding of my heart oozed through the surface of my
skin and deafened me. Nicolaas’ mouth opened and closed, but I did not hear
what he had said. My eyes snapped towards him as he shook me. The ringing
gained decibels. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I slammed my hands over my
ears.

“You have to go!” I yelled over
the noise.