The Knight Of The Rose (18 page)

sensation came back into my limbs. “Why didn’t you tell me before I left Perth, then?”

“I tried. You wouldn’t see me though, remember?”

“Then why not on the phone—after I left?”

“Why? So you could f eel worse, or so I could f eel worse? I c ouldn’t come to you, Ar a. It’s

been killing me, I—” he dropped his head into his palm and closed his eyes, “—I can’t sleep

anymore. I play it over in my mind all the time—the things we should’ve done that night. I should’ve

known your heart better. I should’ve known you were more mature than I gave you credit for.” He

clutched the base of my jaw in his hand. “I just didn’t want
you
to have regrets in the morning. I

knew I wouldn’t.”

I wanted to look away from his penetrating stare, the way his eyes seemed to read mine. But

he held my chin and forced me to keep looking at him.

“I’d been watching you for months—” he cont inued, “just waiting f or you to real ise how I

felt about you, and then, that night, you took me by surprise. I didn’t know how to tell you what I

really felt, and I was so af raid if I did, and you were just confused because you’d been drinking, that

it’d ruin our friendship forever. It was just one stupid misunderstanding, and I lost you—for good.”

The tears falling down my face and trickling over my neck felt heavy around the silver locket

David gave me. And the most hideous truth about all of this was…I put them there.

This is all my doing—everything; Mum, Harry, Mike, David—all ruined, because of me.

Why? Why did I have to be so stupid?

Poor David; I lied to him about how I felt for Mike, then he f ound out in the most horrible

way—by over-hearing a conversation, and now, all hope for David is gone. Mike loves me. I was

wrong about that as well.

Mike smoothed my tear-soaked hair from my temples and along my chin. “Ara, I don’t know

why you’re so upset, baby. It’s not the end of the world.”

“But it is!” I pushed his arms off me and jumped to my feet. “It is for me. You don’t get it .

You don’t know what this means.”

“I do, baby. I get it. Your mum and Harry died becau—”

“No! It’s not that. You’re not even close. God, you don’t know anything about my life,

Mike.”

“Ara—” He grabbed my hand.

“No! Just leave me alone. This is all your fault!” I tore away from him; he tried to hold on, so

I pulled harder, running for the safety and concealment of my room.

I saw him stand as I fled the kitchen, but he stayed where I left him.

The weakness in my mind forced itself outside my head and tr avelled down my legs as I

stumbled up the stairs. I just had to make it to my room before I fell.

Unable to see, I burst through my door, half folded over, and slammed it shut with my foot

before I collapsed into a pair of strong, cool arms. “My love. It’s okay. Just calm down.”

“He loves me, David. What do I do now? He loves me—” I murmured into his chest.

“It’s okay,” his voice was liquid with worry. “Everything will be okay.”

I shook my head, sniffling. “Fate. Fate de-ci-ded.”

“What are you talking about, Ara?”

I tried to speak, but even my thoughts wouldn’t form the truth for him to see—the truth that I

let my future fall in the hands of chance, and now I had my answer.

Now, I knew what I had to do.

He looked at me for a long mo ment, obviously trying to find a thought amo ng the mess of

confusion in my mind. Wit hout conclusion, he shook his h ead and folded me ba ck into him. “Just

cry, sweet girl—for as long as the tears will fall.” He kissed the crown of my head, then lif ted me in

his arms and carried me to the bed. “I’ll be here. I’ll hold you until you fall asleep.”

I settled against his chest, and even though he had no heartbeat to show his emotions, I could

feel the pain my every thought inflicted on him, feel his body stiffen every time I saw Mike’s face in

my mind—feel the thorn through his soul with every beat of my heart that wasn’t for him.

But he stayed with me, loved me a while longer as my heart tore itself apart and shattered in

two; one piece for David, and one for Mike—who really owned that part of me all along.

As the sky turned dark, in his arms I drifted into a deep, exhausted sl eep. A restless dream

played like a black and white re-run; a wedding; David by an alter at the end of a dim-lit and

infinitely long aisle. The satin train of my fitted dress trailed out behind me, and the toes of sparkling

ruby slippers showed with each slow step.

In my hands, I gripped the white bouquet with the single red rose in the centre; its crimson

petals and my ruby slippers the only colour in the dream.

Then, after an eternity counting my steps, I finally reached David’s side, but he was different;

taller and more solid. I smiled as he took my hand, but though I knew who he was, I couldn’ t see his

face; it stayed shadowed by the darkness of the dream.

A bell tolled in the distance, and my lips touched those of the man I was destined to spend the

rest of my life with.

As I held the bouquet out from my body, the red rose fell from the centre, hitting the floor as

my lips pulled away from t he warmth of the kiss, and I smiled up at my husband, then whi spered,
I

will love you for the rest of my life, Mike.

Outside my mind, David’s cool touch suddenly broke away before I slipped back into the

depth of my dream, seeing only a blue sky, my arms soaring out beside me, and feeling the cool

breeze as I let myself fall backward from the highest peak of the bell tower—free, blindly peaceful—

eternally falling toward the darkness of mortality.

“David.” My whispered cry turned to an echo as the ground rose up under me.

Gasping, I jolted from my dream, covered in tears and sweat.

David
?

I looked behind me, under me, beside me—he was gone.

No. Oh, God, he saw it—the whole thing. I covered my mouth with both hands and clos ed

my eyes tight as I remembered the dream. “What have I done?”

The clock in the hall ticked loudly, each second timing the beat of my heart and bringing the

rise of realisation a little closer to the surface; Fate decided.

Mortality.

Death.

Life.

Mike.

But that doesn’t mean I agree.

Exhaustion made me flop back down on my pillow, and as my hand fell besi de my face,

something cool and smooth touched my fingertips. A rose?

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Mike leaned against the doorframe with a tray in his hands.

Sound suddenly came rushing back to my ears as my heart jumped to a start. “Morning? How

long was I out for?”

“All night.” He shrugged and walked into my room. “You cried for a l ong time at first, then

you went quiet. I came to check on you, but you were asleep.” He set the tray down on the bed

beside my legs, bringing the smell of toast in behind him. “Still your favourite flower?” He nodded

toward the rose.

“
You
left this?” I picked it up, being careful of the thorns on the stem.

“Who else?”

“Well, thank you.” I sniffed the sweet, soft scent of the rose, fadi ng as the autumn destroyed

everything that was once beautiful in the summer. “You have no idea what this means to me.” It was

so appropriate I couldn’t help but smile; a white rose from a completely white bouquet.

“Are you okay?” Mike sat beside me, moving the tray onto my lap.

“Not really. I just can’t bel ieve it, Mike. All this time, I thought I was wrong. I thought I

misread everything between us.” I put the rose down. “I need to know—is this how you really feel,

or is it guilt?”

Mike grinned and looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Will it matter? You love

David
. I heard you talking in your sleep.”

“Really?” Oh, the humiliation. Is there no privacy in this world?

“Okay. I’m just gonna throw it out there and you can do with it what you want.” He turned

his body to face me, then took both of my hands. “I am in love with you, Ara-Rose. You were never

wrong about that. You never misread anything, okay? I love you.” He squeezed my hands on each of

his end words. “I’m a complete moron, and I’m eternally sorry for that. But I loved you before your

mum died, so I’m pretty damn sure it’s not guilt, baby.”

“I...I can’t respond yet, Mike. I need to think.”

“I know.” He nodded. “So, for now, I’ve arranged with your dad for you to have a few days

off school—give you some time to clear your head.” He winked at me and smiled, but it faded

quickly, leaving the serious Mike behind again. “Your dad loves you, you

know. He was worri ed

about you last night. I told him everything.”

“You what!” I jolt ed forward, nearly sending the breakfast tray flyi ng. “Mike, how could

you?”

“Ara.” He pulled my hand away from my mouth. “I know you didn’t want him to know what

happened the night your mum died, but he’s your dad and he loves you—no matter what,”

I shook my head. “Not now he knows she died because of me, I—”

“Ara. Don’t say that.” Mike, with eyes of worry, pulled me in for a short hug and squeezed

me. “
I’m
the loser that turned you down.
I’m
the one to blame. Not you.”

I composed myself quickly and called on that strength I’d once had when I thought David and

I would be together forever and everything would be okay. “No, Mike.” I gently shook my head and

closed my eyes, tr ying to believe my next words. “It was no one’s fault. It just happened and, I

guess—” I opened my eyes to Mike’s smile, “—I guess it’s natural to look for someone to blame, but

neither of us intended that to happen. We should
both
stop blaming ourselves.”

He stroked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Your dad was heartbroken when I told him you

were carrying the blame. He hadn’t even gues sed it, you know. He’s been so worried about you, and

when I told him you felt responsible for what happened to your mum, he was actually relived that

that’s
all it was. He doesn’t hate you, baby, he can’t hate you. He loves you too much. That’s why he

let you have a few days off—to be with me.”

“He likes you,” I noted begrudgingly.

“He’s an excellent judge of character.” Mike grinned; I smiled back. I couldn’t resist it. He

just had thi s way of smiling that made one feel as if they were a part of his crowd—l ike they

belonged.

“I can’t believe you told him about us. I yelled at him, you know—whe n he accused me of

loving you.”

“Is that such a bad accusation?” Mike asked, a little insulted.

“It’s not true.” I smiled.

“Ouch.” He lau ghed, then leaned over my body with his f ace right up close to mine . “So?

What do you want to do today?”

“Honestly?” I unfolded my arms. “I think I’d like to just sit around and watch movies.”

“I thought you’d say that. But, I get to hold the popcorn.”

“No way! You always do.”

“I’ll fight you for it.” He tickled my ribs.

“Stop it!” I giggled, wriggling about, trying to pull his hand away without knocking the tray.

“Make me.” He dug his fingers into my ticklish spot—right at the base of my ribs.

“Mike!” I squealed. “Stop it, or I’ll wet myself.”

“Stopping.” He raised his hands above his head and sat back.

“Ha!” I said, “—works every time.”

Vicki heaped another pile of butter-scented potatoes onto Mike’s plate. “So, what did you

kids get up to today?”

“Movies,” I said with my mouth full.

“Anything good?” Dad asked, sprinkling salt on his dinner; Vicki just sighed at him as she sat

down in the soft light of our candlelit dinner.

“Couple of oldies. Ara made me watch some blac k-and-white with a curly-haired kid in it,”

Mike said.

Dad looked at me. “What movie?”

“Oh, um, Shirley Temple,” I said.

“Ah, yes, good old Shirley.” Dad nodded and chewed his food thoughtfully.

“I used to
love
Shirley,” Vicki said dreamily. “I grew up watching those movies.”

Sam slid down in his s eat and r emarked under his breat h, “You gr ew up watching t he

invention of the light globe.”

“That’s enough, son,” Dad said sternly.

“Why the long face, Sam?” Mike asked, passing th e peas to Vicki when she motioned for

them.

“I got a B on my English paper…”

Big deal. At least you didn’t inadvertently tell your boyfriend y ou’re in love with another

man.

“What’s wrong with a B?” Mike asked.

“Dad expects a B-plus-A-minus average,” I said and smiled at Dad.

“It’s not that I expect that, Ara-Rose,” Dad said, “I just know you’re both capable of it. If you

aren’t achieving those results, it means you’re not applying yourselves.”

“But it isn’t my fault!” Sam dumped his elbow on the table and rested his brow against his

fist. “Mr Roberts hates me, he’s always in my face about stuff I—”

“Samuel. Teachers do not de grade papers based on their opinions of students,” Dad cut in.

“You need to start accept ing responsibility for yo urself.” When he glared at Sam’s elbow, Sam

quietly removed it from the table and rested it in his lap. “You got a B because you prioritised video

games over homework.”

“Video games are more value to me than English homework, Dad. How will knowing what a

verb is or deciphering Shakespeare get me a job out in the ‘real world’?”

“What do you want to do?” Mike asked, cutting off Dad’s large mouthful of Sam-serving air.

“Video game design.” When Sam said it, he lowered his face and spoke into his chest.