The Knight Of The Rose (22 page)

than that.”

“I—”

“David did it. Didn’t he?” Coming up out of nowhere, he spun me ar ound sharply and held

my wrist up. “Is this what love is, Ara? Is it? Because I love you more than this. I would never hurt

you like this.”

“You’re hurting me now.” I twi sted my wrist in his gri p and yanked it out thr ough his

fingers. “Just leave me alone, okay. I’ve had enough.”

“Ara?” he called.

Forget it! I’m not stopping. I don’t need to stand there and have him tell me I know nothing

about love; I’ve felt its spiny sting—I know what love is.

Mike’s worried because he thinks David hurt me. But of course he did; love is pain. I know

that for sure, because, since the day I first felt my heart beat for a man, I’ve had nothing but tears.

And maybe it was wrong of David and I to do what we did, but it felt right in the moment, so I don’t

care what Mike thinks.

“Ara. Stop.”

“I said leave me alone, Mike!”

“No,” he sai d from a few f eet away. “I’m not letting you walk off by yourself. You’re a

young girl in a bikini, for God’s sake. Anything could happen.”

“Why, because I’m wal king on such a deserted strip of sand?” I faced him and held my

hands out, gesturing at all the beach-goers.

“You don’t have to be alone to have something bad happen. You can walk off and throw

your little tantrum, but I’m going to follow you wherever you go.”

Across the carpet of sunburned backs and multi-coloured towels, the salty, pl astic smell of

sunscreen wafted between us, and even in the br ightness of the d ay, the c ompassion in h is eyes

shone out like a beacon among the darkest sea.

The last of my dummy-spit released with a huff, and I dropped my hands to my sides. Damn

him and kind eyes! All I want now is to fall back into his arms—back to where we stood before—

before I yelled at him and told him he knows nothing. “Mike, I—”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head and launched forward into a half run, then swept me into him

and folded his body around me.

The hot sun beat down, making s weat trickle down my temples, but I closed my eyes and

held my breath in the intense squeeze of his arms—a hold so tight I knew he never wanted

to let go, knew he loved me. Not like he loved the ocean or the sunset, but like the way I loved

David. True, honest and intense love.

“I’m sorry, Ara. I know you love David, and I know he loves you. I shouldn’ta said those

things. It’s just—” He brushed my hair from my face, then lifted my locket for a sec ond. “I love

you, too. I really do. I love the way your eyes turn deep blue when you ’re sad; the way you bit e

your lip when you play piano; I love your smile, and the way you view the world, Ara. I absolutely

love
everything
about you.” He paus ed and his eyes darted over my face. “I just wish you could

understand that—wish you’d forgive me for making the biggest mistake I’ll ever make—and love

me back.”

Without a word, I folded my face back against his chest; the sand, which had dried in the

heat, felt soothing against the itch along my jaw, and the sound of his heart through the thick of his

skin had an oddly comforting hum to it. I could tell from the way he took shallower breaths that he

was waiting for me to say somet hing. But I couldn’t grace him with a res ponse, because I had

nothing good to say to him.

He can never understand the love I have with David, or t he way we interacted with each

other. He thinks I’m sadistic for allowing David to hurt me, but he ’ll never know the true intensity

of the passion behind it.

Slowly, and more surely than ever before, I think I’m starting to consider going with David.

Everyone looked up as I stepped int o the auditorium and dumped my bag on t he ground by

the stage. “Hey, stranger.” Spencer waved.

“Hi, guys—” I sat beside Emily in the front row and unwound my white scarf from my neck,

then repositioned my beanie.

“Where’ve you been, girl?” Ryan landed in the next seat and gave me a skinny-armed hug.

“Just hanging out at home.” I sat back in the chair. “Good turnout for a rehearsal.”

Emily nodded and went back to her note-taking. “Most of them are just here to watch. It’d be

better if they weren’t. Too noisy.”

“Yeah.” I slid down in the seat and put my feet on the crate in front of me.

“Where’s David? Is he coming tonight?” Ryan asked.

Emily looked up fr om her book; I s hrugged, reaching for my locket. “I don’t think so.” He

should—but he won’t.

“Oh, I thought he said he’d make it for dress rehearsals.” Ryan looked a little confused.

“He did—” I tipped the crate with my foot, tryi ng to look di sinterested, “—but I guess the

plan changed,” or the heart.

“Where’s your new pal...Mike?” Ryan asked.

“Uh, he’s taking my brother to a movie tonight.”

“Sweet.” Ryan nodded. “Well, I’ll fill in on guitar for David, if you like?”

“Yeah.” I sighed. “Let’s just get this over with, then.”

Emily frowned as I stomped up the stairs to the stage—probably at my lack of enthus iasm.

It’s just...this concert is as much a part of David as everyone else, and he
should
be here to practice,

especially since he and Nathan were close.

“Hey, where’d this come from?” I je rked my thumb to the black baby grand piano at the

centre of the stage.

“Oh, it’s on loan from Musicology,” Emily called out, keeping her eyes on her notes.

“What’s Musicology?” I sat down on the stool.

“It’s a music store,” Ryan informed, walking past me to grab his guitar.

“Oh, cool. It feels nice,” I noted, resting my fingers to the keys.

“Wait ‘til you hear her.” Ryan sat on a s tool near Alana, w ho was flipping the pages of her

notes on the music stand. “We’re calling her Betty.”

“Who?” I said.

“The piano,” Alana said.

“Oh.” I looked at the piano. “Why Betty?”

“The song…” Alana said, rolling her eyes in Ryan’s direction. “Black Betty.”

“Oh.” I looked down at my fingers as they positioned themselves on the home-plates. “Okay,

we’ll start with Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

Ryan nodded and flipped the page s in a black folder, then repos itioned his capo on the neck

of the guitar. “Hip, bubbly, Ucayali style or…”

“Longing misery,” I said.

Ryan nodded. “Nice. Let’s do it.”

They played, all of them, including the version of me who takes over when the real me can no

longer bear to feel. In these moments, sometimes I feel like I’m watching from outside myself, and

sometimes I live inside my own mind where I can recreate my world of misery to the image of

dreams. If I could just imagine David sitt ing where Ryan is, looking over and smiling at me, I might

be able to muster a smile.

But he’s not there, and wishing won’t change it. It would be a waste of time.

It just feels so strange to be back here without him; like I’ve come to a party that was thrown

for him, and forgotten to invite him. It’s just...empty. I’m still moving and talking, and for the most

part, no one would know what I’m feeling inside. But I don’t know how much longer I can stand

this. I’ve always been good at pl aying the role of normal. God knows, I’ve had enough

practice. I’m just not sure if I’ll ever truly be happy again.

Ryan, when I looked across at him, half expecting to see David, smiled with a nod of

approval. I smiled back because, in truth, our song did sound amazing. The three instr

uments

harmonised so well with each othe r, even though my fingers were a lit tle stiff and the flow of

emotion through them was rigid, if not absent.

When I opened my mouth to sing the words, my voice cracked and we all burst out laughing.

All the sea-salt I swallowed the other day made my throat dry and hoar se; I sounded like a broken

gramophone.

But I was glad we went to the beach, and desp ite our argument, the r est of that day went

really well; just two old friends hanging out, eating salty fish and chips as t he sun went down, and

talking about nothing.

While my mind wandered into the other days we’d spent together, the performance moved to

the next song on our list; an instrumental piece from one of Nathan’s favourite gangster movies.

“Ryan?” I stopped playing for a second.

“Yeah?” He looked over the music stand, and Alana lowered her violin.

“On that last bar, can you give me a B flat, instead?”

“Uh—yeah okay,” he said slowly and frowned, but did it anyway, and t hen his face lit up

when I came in with the piano.

“Okay. Cool, so, just remember; B flat on th e second verse, okay?” I said and flexed my

fingers. That’s enough for toni ght. It’s getting late and Mike will probably be home by now. “I’m

gonna call it quits, guys. I need to get home.”

“That sounded amazing, Ara.” Emily stood beside the piano; her reflection appeared upside-

down on the glossy top.

“Thanks. Looks l ike I sti ll have enough soul left in me to pl ay music.” I smiled, trying to

sound light.

“You miss David?” She hugged her clipboard to her chest.

“More than you know.” Because he’s never coming back. I hurt him, and I made hi m leave,

forever.

“He’ll be back.” She shrugged, then smiled and walked off to bark orders at the next act.

It really is such a shame David never fell for Emily. She would’ve been a perfect match for

him; she isn’t complicated and moody, like I am, and she would’ve given him eternity.

She wandered over to Spencer and fell into his chest; he kissed her on the tip of the nose,

dropping his hand to her lower back, just under the waistband of her jeans.

A jaded smile grasped my lips whil e I watched them—so in love, like normal teenagers; so

innocent and so easy. They’ll never know the complexi ties of my life, and they could never even

imagine them.

Somehow, that made me angry, or maybe it wa s jealous. Or maybe it just made me feel

more—alone.

“It’s not all bad.” Ryan sat beside me on the piano stool.

“What’s not?” I switched on my happy face.

“He’ll be back.” He elbowed me softly. “David? I know you were missing him just now.

There’s no way he’s leaving a gir l like you behind, Ara. So just, you know—c hin up, and it’ll work

out. He’ll be back before you know it.”

“Thanks Ryan.” I smiled. “Thanks for cheering me up.”

Only, it didn’t cheer me up. Not much.

Ryan’s kindness and the fact that he cared enough to notice I was down made me feel a little

better, but he was wrong—about David.

David’s long gone. None of us will ever see him again.

I scribbled on a piece of paper and rested it in the lip of my windowsill, then closed the

window and headed for the door. I couldn’t leave my room for the evening without making

sure David knew my priorities, should he see fit to come back; one tap on Mike’s window, and I’d

magically materialise in my room.

“So, how was rehearsal?” Mike closed the DVD drive and grabbed the remote as I closed his

bedroom door.

“Crowded,”
but lonely.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you play.”

I bounced onto his bed and propped my back up against his pillows. “I wish
you
were doing a

duet with me.”

“Well, maybe we’ll have to sneak over to the school during lunch and use the piano one day.”

His face lit with a cheeky grin as he slumped down next to me—right on top of the popcorn bowl.

“Ah, crap!” We both cursed as popcorn scattered all over his sheets like pebbles on tiles.

“Here, I’ll get that.” Mike knelt by the bed, took the bowl from me and start ed scraping the

salty snack off the edge with his broad, square palms.

He’s always had such big hands. So strong and protective. I never realised it until now, but

they’ve always been a representation of safety—of security, to me. Like somehow, if he was holding

me and the world was burning around me, I wouldn’t be afraid.

“Something wrong, kid?” He looked up.

Forgetting his question, I grabbed his hand and turned it over, placing my pal m against his.

My hands were thinner, more petite than his, and the top of my oval-shaped nail fell just in line with

the first fold of his fingertips.

He laced them through mine, then flipped my hand over and traced circles over my knuckles,

seeming distant and almost sad.

“Are you okay, Mike?”

After a sigh, he shuffled up and sat with his back against the pillows. “You have her hands,

you know? Your mother’s.”

I smiled and fell into his chest. “I know.” I do have her hands, and her hair, and her heart-

shaped face. But I go t my dad ’s eyes. Harry had her eyes. Harry had her smil e—my smile. But

they’re gone. The only thing left from that life now is Mike—and I’m so glad I at least have him.

It makes me wonder—about his hands, how they make me feel so safe when I’m in them, and

his eyes, how I love the way they cr inkle on the edges when he smiles, and the dimple in his cheek

when he grins, how it makes my heart warm—if I lo ved Mike, if I went with him to Perth and loved

him for the rest of my life, woul d we be happy, get married and ha ve little dark-haired babies with

caramel-coloured eyes and strong hands?

I like the idea of being with him; I like the idea of always feeling like I do now. Loved.

Mike looked down at me, watchi ng my eyes expectantly, like he was waiting for me to say