Between the Lives

chapter SEVEN


Wellesley, Saturday



Reflexes took over before I could stop myself.

I knew what – who – it was suffocating me. I’d been waiting for the Shift and trying to prepare myself, but the second I slipped back into my other self, back into my green dress, back into the basement and Dex’s arms, his warm face and wet lips slap up against mine, I snapped.

Sometimes our own strength can be a real surprise. Mine sure-as-shit surprised Dex when – somewhere around what must’ve been second seven or eight of his kiss – I launched him clear across the pitch-black basement. He fell into something that tumbled with him to the ground, making a loud clanking sound.

Too preoccupied with trying to breathe and hold off another bout of nausea, I barely even heard his response. Something about ‘what’ and ‘hell’.

I felt the same way.

He clattered about getting to his feet. I opened my mouth to start a long-winded apology, hoping I wouldn’t throw up on him in the process, when the door flew open at the top of the stairs.

‘Whoever is down there, get up here. Now!’

It was Lucas. Come to the rescue a little late.

‘Luc, it’s me,’ I said, bracing myself with my hands on my knees.

His tone changed from heated to hesitant. ‘You okay? Who’s down there with you?’

Oh, fab. Inquisition.

I swallowed, still trying to pull myself together and stop the shakes. It didn’t help that the effects of the alcohol in my system had hit me like a freight train. The light from the stairwell gave a dim glow to the room. Dex was moving towards me, hands out cautiously.

‘It’s just me and Dex,’ I called back. ‘Luc, can you hold the door? We’ll be up in a minute.’

He grunted in reply.

Dex stopped in front of me as I grappled for words. I had no idea how I was going to fix this. ‘I’m so sorry, Dex. I … I just … You caught me by surprise. I think I’ve had more to drink than I –’

‘Sabine,’ he said carefully, hands still out like he was approaching a wild animal. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, I’m so sorry …’

I was mid-headshake when he cut me off again. ‘Sabine, you’re bleeding.’

My whole body froze.

It hadn’t worked.

My mind flew into overdrive. What was I going to say? How was I going to explain this? Oh, shit – my hair!

‘I … I can explain –’

‘Here.’ He passed me a scrunched-up cocktail napkin from his pocket. ‘You must’ve snagged it.’

Stunned, I looked to where he was gesturing with the napkin.

The scratch on my right arm. The scratch!

I grabbed at my left shoulder frantically, patting it down, followed by my ribs. And then I went to town with the crazies and yanked up my dress to look at my thigh.

Nothing.

I ran my hands through my hair. Long. Normal.

‘Ah, Sabine? You okay?’

‘Oh, yeah. I, um, I bumped into a few things when I came down here. I was just checking I didn’t have any other scratches. You know, I, er … didn’t want to damage the dress.’

Dex nodded as if this sounded reasonable enough.

‘Sabine! Are you coming up?’ Lucas called out.

We started walking up the stairs. Dex was rubbing his elbow.

‘I’m really sorry, Dex.’

‘Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can think of a way you can make it up to me,’ he said slyly.

I looked at him and smiled. It seemed to satisfy him and I was glad – I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

Lucas eyed me disapprovingly as I passed by. ‘I suggest staying out of the basement in future if you can manage it. It’s never easy to throw off a basement-girl reputation – even for you, Sabine,’ he said quietly.

In the kitchen Dex insisted on fussing over me, honourably tossing topless girl her blouse and telling her and the guys to get lost while he cleaned my arm.

‘It’s just a scratch,’ I said, uncomfortable with the attention.

‘So you keep saying,’ he said. I stared at him blankly. I hadn’t realised I’d said anything since leaving the basement.

I needed to regroup. This was my party and if I didn’t get it together it would be a disaster. And in this life I simply couldn’t afford the social downfall. Not after all the work I’d done to secure my reputation.

‘Dex, I’m …’ I started, straining for something to reassure him after my antics downstairs. ‘I … I’ve made some plans for graduation night.’

Dex kept working on my arm, but his eyes came up to meet mine. ‘Plans?’

‘Yeah, you know … you and me plans.’

His eyes widened. ‘Oh! I see. Plans.’

I nodded, blushing.

The corners of his mouth went up. ‘Plans sound good.’ He went back to his doctoring, putting a plaster on my arm. ‘You should probably get a tetanus check. You don’t know what you might have cut yourself on down there.’

I nodded just as Miriam came gliding into the kitchen.

‘Woah. You okay, Sabine?’ She paused in the doorway. Miriam doesn’t do blood.

‘I am now, thanks to Dex.’ I hopped off the counter and planted a kiss on Dex’s cheek, making a quick getaway before I had to divulge any more about the ‘plans’.

I slipped an arm through Miriam’s on my way out of the kitchen to cover my shaking hands. As we headed to the pool she proceeded to tell me in graphic, and unwanted, detail about her last thirty minutes with Brett. In my bedroom.

Some things are best left unshared.

Someone passed me a drink and despite still feeling sick and light-headed I sipped on it, claiming a layback chair at the head of the pool. The next two hours passed by in a welcome blur.

At last Lucas shut off the music.

No one seemed to mind, and I couldn’t have been happier to hear the pounding stop. Lucas launched into adult mode: patrolling, telling kids to get lost, checking that the drinkers weren’t driving. Then he simply up and left. That was Lucas.

I figured he didn’t want to stay behind and explain any of the night to Mom, who walked in about five minutes after he left, took one look at me and ordered me upstairs to bed.

I guess it was obvious I was drunk.

Her parting words informed me we’d be having a more in-depth discussion in the morning. I nodded and told her tipsily I was looking forward to the follow-up.

By some miracle, I managed to get out of my dress and into my pyjamas before I collapsed, face first, onto my bed.



When I woke up, it took no time at all for everything to come flooding back. It felt like reality reached out and walloped me across the face. Hard.

I was out of bed and in front of my mirror in an instant, staring at the same image of myself I always saw in this world – if a little puffy around the eyes. My long brown hair was stuck to one side of my face and hung down to just above my waist. I lifted my top to show a very normal bare expanse of skin over my ribs and belly, and both my legs and arms were unmarked save for the relatively small scratch I’d received in the basement.

I grabbed my watch off the nightstand. It was just after midday, which meant the laxatives had had plenty of time to work their way into my system.

I went to the bathroom. No sign of the packet-promised results. But while I was in there I did throw up. Due, I’m fairly sure, to my vodka-punch consumption over the course of the night more than anything else. I mentally chastised myself and resolved never to get drunk again.

I had no idea what to do with all this newfound information, so I opted for routine. I had a shower, changed into a cute sundress and put on my favourite red kitten heels. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so I plastered a smile on my face and went downstairs – only to endure a forty-five-minute lecture from Mom.

After the tenth time she said, ‘I just want what’s best for you,’ I zoned out, studying the walnut grain of the dining table. Her heart wasn’t in it anyway. And when she huffed and pushed a sandwich in front of me, saying, ‘You look like you’re fading away,’ I knew the lecture was over.

The smart thing would’ve been to go back to bed. I needed more sleep. I’d lost count of how many hours I’d been awake – in both lives – before finally passing out in the early hours of the morning. But with my swirling thoughts sleep wasn’t really an option. And besides, there was something even more pressing that I absolutely had to do.



‘Cut it. Not too much, and shape it around the sides, leaving the length at the back. Colour needs to be much lighter, but with tones. Make sure you keep some warmth in there. But definitely blonde.’

The stylist forced a smile, looking at me like she was having second thoughts about her career choice. I sympathised, but held my ground. I wasn’t going to let the hairdresser have free rein in this life. It was essential that my new hair be Wellesley appropriate.

While she shampooed and conditioned my hair with all-organic products, I finally let my mind slide into murky waters. The thing was, now that I was in this new situation, I couldn’t imagine a way back. Not knowing what I now knew.

All my life, there’d been no choice. I lived two lives and that was it. Never just one or the other – broken in two and all alone. But now … now there was a chance. Hope. The possibility of a normal existence.

If the physical parts of me were not connected … If what I did in one life in no way affected the other … If I could bleed in one and not the other, cut off parts of myself, dye them different colours … If I could take laxatives and get drunk and have none of those things cause any reaction in my other body, then to some degree – a very relevant degree – I was two separate bodies. And if I was two separate bodies … and one of me was to stop existing … the other should continue.

And I’d have just the one life.

But …

There was still one more test to carry out before things could go any further.