The Knight Of The Rose (17 page)

each other, watching movies, and the little pupil-sized scar on the bridge of his nose that he got when

I threw a rock at him for being a jerk one day. I felt at home in the comfortable silence—the kind we

were used to. “What is it, Mike ?” I asked when he t ook a long br eath and suddenly rolled onto his

back.

“I’m just tired. Long trip, you know.”

“Yeah,
that
I know.” Wit h a sigh, I looked at the clouds through the top of the window.

Mostly, I coul d only see the eaves of th e roof jutting out above the glas s, but beyond that, t he

summer sky went on forever.

As the shadows and the yellow glow of the sun moved across the floor and to the wall, I lost

myself in the peace around us —watching Mike’s chest rise and fall with his quiet breath, and the

vein on his neck pulse lightly with his heartbeat. It’d be nice to hear his hear tbeat—to place my ear

against his chest and rest my head there for a while. But I can’t bring myself to touch him that way

ever again. Mike’s made it way too clear how he feels. I won’t make the mistake of mis reading any

interactions between us ever again.

I stared out the window again, leaving Mike, with his eyes closed, to his own private dreams.

Already, from where I laid, I could see the yellow foliage falling to the ground below, leaving a bare,

lifeless and empty body in its wake ; abandoned and alone. I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t slow it

down. One day, merely two weeks from now, I will lose them both; Mike and David, forever.

But then, Mike still hasn’t confessed hi s undying love for me. Maybe that means I ’m

supposed to...

“What you thinkin’ ‘bout?” Mike’s voice startled me.

“Oh, hi, I thought you were asleep.” I tried to smile—it was a pathetic effort.

“
Clearly
.” He sat up and shuffled to the edge of the bed. “What was on your mind?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I stated quickly.

Mike sighed and dragged me, by the hand, to sit beside him. As the weight of his heavy arm

fell around my shoulder , I r olled my head and nestled my brow und er his jaw. Th e deep, almost

candy-musk scent of his cologne made a flash of his bedroom, back home, pop into my mind. “You

smell good,” I noted.

“It’s the cologne you bought me for my birthday.”

“Really?” I sat up and looked at him, incredulity littering my grin. “I thought you said it smelt

like an unopened coffin.”

“Hm. I did say that, didn’t I?” his gaze became thoughtful.

“Yes. Among other things.” I looked down at my hands.

“I was a bit of a dick, wasn’t I?”

I shrugged. “You were only young.”

“I was your age.”

“Then I reserve the right to be an annoying cow, since you were.” I grinned, then,
It
growled.

“Ha!” Mike poked my belly; “The ogre! I see some things haven’t changed at all.”

“Nothing’s changed, Mike—not really.” Oh, God. Why did I jus t say that? I’m beginning to

think unintentionally-leading comments are my sp ecialty. Internally, I slapped myself on the head

with a novelty-sized baseball bat.

Mike stopped for a second, half-way betwee n getting up and s itting back down, then shook

his head and pulled me off the bed; “Come on, let’s just feed the beast.”

“Okay. Then, later, I’ll take you across to the school so you can meet my friends.” I bounced

on my toes a little at the word
friends
.

“Friends, hey?”

“Yup. I’ve made this whole new life for myself, Mike. I’m like, totally normal, now.”

“You’ll never be normal, Ara. You’ve always been—special.” That comment should’ve been

followed with the usual head-tilt-eye-wink-combo, but instead, his gaze delved into mine. Golden

brown eyes, like maple syrup, creasing in the corners a little with his smile.

“I hope you don’t mean that in a derogatory sense,” I said.

He rolled his eyes, groaning. “Come on, I need food—it’s past lunch time already.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” I ran down the stairs ahead of him. And ever ything was just

the same as before—before all the tragedy and the awkward I-don’t-love-you-the-way-you-love-me

stuff. I threw pieces of fruit at Mike while he prepared food, and we talked about old times, movies,

music—home, and it was easy—for a moment.

Mike, with the sleeves of his dark-bl ue shirt rolled up, stood chopping onions and cor iander

at the bench, looking so tal l and so gr own up that I tried not to look at him—t ried not to feel…

anything.

But the strange sensation in my body, fl ooding me with pul sing hot blood ever y time he

smiled, made me long to be in his arms.

Then, that confusing pendulum of indecision kept changing things. I’d go back to square one

and think, No, Ara, what are you saying—you don’t want him to love you, be cause that means fate

has decided you should let David wander the earth, miserable, for eternity.

I felt kind of like Sherl ock Holmes, examining clues, and could even see myself pacing

around in my own head; I love David, but I love Mike, too.

I love David more, but Mike is good for me.

But, Mike doesn’t love me.

I guess, when I think logically, I wish he did—in a way. If I have to be without David, I can’t

think of anyone in the world I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, than Mike.

See? Woven tangle of what-the-hell. Erk! I dropped my head to my hand. Why did I get out

of bed this year?

When the plates no longer contained food and the last of the enthusiastic catch-up wore down

to more planned questions, Mike shook his head and smiled; “Know what I found the other day?”

“What?”

“Remember that picture we took at the golf course?”

“The day you tried to teach me how to play?” I started laughing, already replaying the tragic

ending to that day in my mind—tragic for the window of a golf cart, that is.

“Yeah.” Mike laughed. “You we re so much smaller then, and you still had that gap.” He

pointed to his front teeth.

I ran my tongue over my gums. “I thought you said you didn’t look at any pictures of me over

the last few months.”

Mike looked down at his hands, smiling under reddening cheeks. “Well, maybe a few.”

I shook my head. “Then how did you forget what I looked like?”

“I guess I didn’t, really. You’ve just...You know, you’ve grown up so much while we were

apart.” I smiled. “Of course I have. Did you think I’d stay a little girl forever?” Although, he has no

idea how close I am to
that
fate.

“I just never expected time wou ld change you so much while I wasn’t around to see it .

You’re,” he considered carefully, “well, you’re a woman now.”

“A woman? Mike, I’m seventeen. No older than when I left.” I laughed.

He shook his head. “I t’s not your age, it’s something…else. You’ve been through a lot. It’s

bound to leave its mark.”

“You mean scar.”

He reached across the t able for my hand; I reluct antly placed it in his. “I’m here now, baby

girl. I didn’t know how much I was missing you until I saw you. Now it feels almost like my heart

might tear out if I have to leave you again.”

“I’m sure you’ll change your mind after two weeks with me—then you can go back and get

on with your life,” I said, then laughed in an attempt to bring nonchalance back into the room—since

it suddenly got very intense.

He nodded. “I’m beginning to rethink that.”

“What?” My heart stopped with an almost audible thud. “Why would you say that?”

“I miss you, Ara—you belong in my life, you al

ways have. I…look…I have to tell you

something.” His shoulders lifted a little. “Please don’t get mad, okay?”

“Okay?” My limbs tightened in panicked anticipation.

He looked down at our hands for a second, then back at me with those caramel eyes, warmed

with a smile hidden under the corners, but infused with anxiety. “T he truth is—I came here to say

goodbye, Ara. One final go odbye before I let you go for good. You seemed to be getting on with

your life, but, now I’m here, I can’t do it.” He shrugged and one corner of his lip turned up. “So, I’m

going with plan B.”

“What’s plan B? Hire a time-machine for the week and change the past?”

“Not quite.” I could tell he wanted to roll his eyes at my lame joke, but he only toyed with my

fingers nervously. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…I...I love you, Ar. I want you to come home

with me.”

“That’s not funny, Mike.”

“Good, because I’m not joking.”

A deadening sense of shock and heartbreak melted through me, starting in my hear t and

pulsing through my tor so until finally, i t filled my head. The r oom swirled as his words hung l ow

around my ears, repeating themselves under the echoes of things he said when he rejected me—when

he told me what I was doing that night wasn’t right.

“Ara, say something. Please. I’m dying here.” Mike squeezed my hand; I stole it back and

glared at him, not bot hering to fight back the hot tears brimming my lashes. “Ar—” He reached out

for me again. “Baby, you okay?”

“This is wrong, Mike!” I jerked up out of my chair. “You’re lying. You just feel guilty

because my mum died—you don’t want me.” I leaned forward as I spoke. “Remember? You told me

you don’t love me. You—”

“I was a damn fool .” He stood up and grabbed my arms gently. “I di dn’t mean it like that . I

didn’t mean a
bloody
word of
any
of it.” He closed his eyes tightly and angled his face to the ground.

“I can’t take back what happened, but I—”

“Please stop.” My head shook almost uncontrollably. Why is he doing thi s? What did I do to

make him think he has to lie to me? “Mike? You were right when you said that just because we work

well, doesn’t mean it’s how thi ngs are meant to be. We’re friends. It was
me
that got confused. I

shouldn’ta made you feel you had to make a choice—I shouldn’ta put you in that position.”

“I never got to tal k to you about it , Ara,” he spoke louder. “You never let me fini sh and

then—” he ran a brisk hand through his hair as he stood back from me, “—then everything happened

so quick. You were in hospital. I only saw you at the funeral and—” He stopped and rubbed his face.

This is horrible. Why would he do this to me?

Hiccupping sobs shook my chest; Mike sighed and pulled me onto his lap as he sat back

down. “Shh, baby, it’s okay,” he said, stroking my hair.

No—it’s not. Nothing is—and it’s never going to be okay again.

My heart burned inside as I sobbed out my confusion loudly. I don’t know what to say or

what to think. If he’s lying, then why can I feel it—the love? Why does he hold me like David

does—so strong, so warm and loving?

God, no. It can’t be love. It’s just manifested grief and guilt making him
think
he wants me.

Yet, it feels so right—and so unbelievably wrong. I fall so easily into step with Mike, like

we’ve never been apart.

But what he’s doing to me right now will only hurt more, later, when he realises he had it all

wrong—and leaves me.

“Ara, you have to understand—”

“No.” I wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand. “Just stop.”

“Ara?” Mike started again.

No! I shook my head, breathing in short, quick gasps. The breakdown that had been looming

all this time flitted to the surface. I held my hands over my ears, shaking my head.

“Will you just listen?” he said.

“No—please, Mike, please don’t do this—” I can’t hear thi s—I can’t let him make this

mistake.

“Amara, calm down,” he said softly and pulled my hands away from my ears. “Ple ase

listen—you never—that ni ght—you never let me ex plain it to you. We were trying to make the

transition from childhood f riends to something so much mo re—something I was afrai d
you
weren’t

ready for. God, Ara.” His ar ms tightened around my body, consuming my shape and almost

completely covering me in a snug cloud of safety. “I have
never
been able to forgive myself for that

night.”

“Forgive
yourself
? Mike! It was me—”

He pressed his thumb over my li p to shush me. “No, it was
my
fault. I wanted you. I wanted

you so
damn
bad, but you didn’t understand that. I couldn’t do those things with you while you were

drunk. It would’ve been irresponsible of me.” With his fingertip under my chin, he rolled my face

upward to look into my eyes . “I wanted you to love me, but not like that—not intoxicated, not when

we hadn’t talked about it. When I told you no, you got so upset, I just didn’t know what to do—I said

all the wrong things. I let the ball drop, and you were gone.
I
broke this. I lost you because of my

own stupid fears.”

My eyes burned with hot tears until I could no longer see. How can he do this to me, now?

After everything we’ve been through?

And how can I love the fact that his arms ar e wrapped so tightly ar ound me, and how can I

never want him to let go?

I love David!

But I love Mike, too—and I love him too much—it’s all just too much.

“Why now?” It came out as a whisper—perhaps less. “Why not then?”

“I chased after you, Ara. I tried to follow you, but you were gone—like lightning. I searched

the streets for an hour. I called your house—no one answered. Then—”

We both knew the ending to that story.

He wiped the tears from my face and kissed my brow. I could feel my hands shaking again as