The Knight Of The Rose (21 page)

“Might wanna put some clothes on, too.” He nodded to my pyjamas.

Hm, good idea.

He closed the door and I threw on my bikini, my shorts and a shirt, then slipped into my flip-

flops and met Mike at the car—dragging my feet the whole way.

As the sun peeked out from the eastern hills, I closed the car door gently in the early silence

and rested my head on the window as we pulled away from Dad’s house. Then, we grabbed an egg

muffin from Macca’s before we took to the freeway and left this sleepy little town behind for the

day.

“So, why are we going to a beach four hours away?”

“Because.” Mike shrugged, tossing his coffee cup into the br own paper bag our food came

in. “I liked the pictures.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” I said, th en reached for the dial on th e stereo. “I wanna pl ay that

one again.”

“You liked that?” Mike put his window up as he spoke, and my cheeks tingled where my

hair had been whipping my face.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s a little morbid—for my tastes, but—”

“Hey. There’s nothing morbid about Metallica.”

“There is about that one.”

“It’s one song out of how many?”

I stared up at him with a glint of sarcasm behind my grin.

“Fine. I’ll play it again. But no more knocking the music,” he warned with a joking air to his

tone. We arrived at the beach just as the Sunday sun woke the rest of the world, and managed to

find a parking spot right near the long jetty where most of the people young enough to remai n

upright on the sand hung out. Mi ke, obviously loving the new old-fashioned me, came around and

opened my door.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.” I bowed my head; Mike chuckled and walked to the boot of the

car, flipping the keys around on his index finger.

As I hopped out of the car, the summer breeze greeted me to the fine day. I crossed my arms

over my chest and smiled, pictur ing a boy and a girl standing on the s and with the sun s etting

around them, holding hands and kissing. It’s the same fantasy I’d always had about David, which

made being here, in the daylight, with another man, feel kind of strange.

“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Mike offered his hand to the view bef ore us. “Go ahead.

I’ll catch up.”

“Really? You don’t want help carrying all that?” I nodded to th e picnic basket, the blanket

and a dozen other things in Mike’s hands.

He closed the boot and shook his head. “Just go, baby.”

Without further invitation, I pulled off my sh orts and shirt, and left them on the ground

behind me for Mike to gr ab on his way down. My feet barely touched the hot grains of sand as I

flew to the ocean with my arms flailing out t o the sides. I hit the whitewash with the grace of an

elephant, and the waves enveloped my ankles, cooling the burns on th e balls of my feet. Like fizzy

sherbet mixed with cola on your tongue, the waves left a tingle on my lower leg as they receded.

I closed my eyes and dr opped my hands onto my knees, leaning closer to the water to catch

the light cool of the breeze that came directly off it.

The distant squeals and the s tatic-sound of the waves carried on t he heat of the dying

summer sun helped to warm my s houlders with the hope that some things in life were still normal.

With my eyes closed, I could almost believe I was back home in Perth. And even though I couldn’t

see the origins of the noise around me, I could
feel
the brightness of the day, which made me

wonder about David. Is he in th e daylight, or is he sitting alone in a cold, dark room, leaning over

the piano, playing a sad song? Is he drowning his sorrows in a bottle of red wine or is he celebrating

freedom with a night on the town?

My toes sank into the soft, grainy sand as the waves swam back out to sea, and I opened my

eyes to the portrait of summer.

But being summer should mean David’s bes ide me; that was the deal. But, he went and

changed the rules. He took the days, offered the nights—and now, he’s taken that from me, too.

I missed him more than anything as I stood by myself, with the loneliness of joy all around

me.

“You still look like a little girl—standing there in that rainbow bikini,” Mike noted, placing

his arm around my back as he stood beside me.

“Well, I’m not a little girl anymore, Mike.” I kept my eyes forward and pushed his hand off

my skin.

“I kno—” His words were cut s hort by the screech of a seagul l beside us. It st artled me

enough to make me clutch my locket.

“God, I’m not used t hat sound anymore,” I said. It was so cr ass and abrasive, yet, I used to

wake to it every morning. “Don’t you dare,” I warned Mike, who went to kick the noisy bird.

“I never actually hit them, Ara. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Doesn’t matter, what if you did? By accident?”

“Then I would apologise…profusely.” He bowed his head. “But you know what I wouldn’t

apologise for?” The corners of his eyes creased as he smiled and leaned slowly closer, then, the

world came out fr om under me; I flew through the air, landing on my back—in the water—with

Mike’s hand catching the base of my neck before my head went under. His burst of laughter became

a gurgled sound while a wave splashed over my face, saturating my hair and leaving the strong burn

of salt down my throat.

“You asshole!” I coughed, sitting up as he jumped back. “I’m so gonna get you.”

“You have to catch me first.” He started running. I hesitated, only for a moment; we bot h

knew I’d never catch him, but it was damn-well worth a try.

Each time I was within reach, he darted out of the way—like we were both sout h poles on a

magnet, but at last, I managed to grasp the rim of his shi rt; I closed my fingers around it, wearing a

victory grin for only the breath of time it to took him to roll out from under t he shirt, leaving me—

and the shirt—face down in the sand, and totally not amused.

He was laughing, but I just felt defeated.

I pushed up and hugged my knees, letting my head fall against my forearms.

Now, thanks to Mike, I was no longer just wet, but salty and covered in sand, too. I felt like

a crumbed steak. Well, it’s time this steak got a little revenge!

I couldn’t see Mike, but felt his presence somewhere close by, so I watched the lines of sand

trail away under my toes as the waves lapped up under my feet, and secretly planned my attack.

“Ar, you okay? Did I hurt you?” Mike asked, leaning over me.

Wrong move. He didn’t see it coming; I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed the

entire force of my s houlder into his chest, rolling his head under my arm as I flipped him into the

water. His weight came as a shock. I didn’t remember him being that heavy.

He laid on his back wit h his hands clasped over his stomach—looking a l ittle stunned.

“Well—” he said through breaths as the waves covered his face, then receded, “—you surprised me

with that. Girl one. Guy nothing.”

Yeah, right. You let me flip you, and we both know it.
“Well, you taught me the move—you

should be weary of your students, oh-wise-master, they usually supersede you.”

He rolled onto his stomach and smiled at me with the magic of the ocean light ing him in a

way I’d never really noticed before. He seemed more alive, more spirited, sort of…free. He belongs

here, on the beach, with the sand and the blue skies.

“What you thinking?” He j umped up, rubbing the salt and sand out of his hair as he landed

beside me.

“I was just remembering home.” I

shrugged. “Thinking how easy all t

his is. Like,

sometimes, when I’m with you—I forget they’re gone.” I wrapped my arms around my legs and

linked my fingers together. “The sunlight, the beach, all of this stayed with you when I left, and now

you’re here...it’s like you’ve brought it all back with you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I shrugged again. “I don’t wanna lose that when you go.”

He gave a gentle smile and let his elbows hang loosely over his knees. “You know it doesn’t

have to be that way—”

“Mike?” I dragged out each vowel.

“I’m sorry.”

I turned my head away fr om his dissolving smile and studied the choppy waves in front of

us. The salt in the ocean was s o strong I could almos t taste it as I breathed, as if the air were made

of sand, brushing the back of my tongue as I sw allowed. Even though the beach wasn’t nearly as

pretty as the one back home, it was good to feel the crisp water and the weight of my body sink into

the sand again.

But the heat reminded me of the truth, because, while the sun may have bur ned into the side

of my face like a hot iron, the breeze was icy and strong—not humid and wet, like home. I ran some

of the cool ocean water over my cheek, and the heat dissipated with a soft tingle.

“This looks better,” Mike said.

My heart jumped and I spun my face away when a cold, wet touch invaded my space.

“Whoa. Ara. I’m not going to hurt you.” Mike leaned around and looked at me.

“I’m sorry.” I frowned, touching my jaw on the side where his f ingers had been. “You just

startled me.”

“You still defensive about those scars?”

I lifted one shoulder and dropped it again.

“You know, you shouldn’t be.”

“They’re hideous.” I looked away—fighting back tears.

“Hideous?” Mike’s voice trai led up. “Ar a, you can barely see them. The onl y reason I

noticed them is because the sun was reflecting off the water beads on your skin. It looked pretty.

Like little diamonds. I just wanted to touch them.”

And I just want to run away. In my mind, the scars had faded to an almost invisible memory.

When I looked in the mirror, I ne ver even noticed them anymore; tiny little dots covering one side

of my face and neck, silvery and very indistinct. But Mike noticing them made me feel uncovered

and monstrous—like they were all over me.

“Ara. I’m serious. They’re barely visible. Really.” He shuffled closer and turned my face to

him. “You’re still just the same beautiful girl you’ve always been.”

That’s where he’s wrong. I’m not the s ame. Nothing about me is the same. Not on the

outside and not from the inside.

“Ara?” Mike called as I stood and walked down the beach, dusting sand off my butt.

A little gi rl sitting by the wate r’s edge, digging a hole, smile d at me as I passed. She

reminded me of myself—a long time ago—and just as ignorant. When I was her age, there was no

way I could’ve known what was coming for me

—no way I could have imagined. I t made me

jealous to watch her play, to see the other kids around her laughing, playing freely; they get to go

home, do their homework, eat dinner and go to bed, a nd never have to fear anything unimaginably

real.

“Ara.” Mike’s hand clasped my arm; I stopped walking with a jolt. “Don’t walk away from

me like that. Talk to me.”

“About what, Mike?” The venom in my tone made the little girl look up from her bucket and

spade. Mike, standing right in front of me, dripping with water, looked for his words on the sand,

then looked back up at me with a sort of distance resounding from thought in his eyes.

My cheeks burned like a bright light had been shone down on my wounds—the same one a

dentist lights his canvas of pearly-whites with.

After the accident, Mike never saw the horrific wounds on my ch eek. Even at the funeral,

much of the wound was still covered in gauze, so , standing in front of hi m, letting him study my

scars, felt humiliating—like I was the patient and him the doctor—examining me. I turned my face

away.

“Don’t do that, Ara? Don’t you see? No one can notice them.” His caramel eyes rounded as

he turned my face back to his. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d never tried to touch you. Please—” I pulled

away from him, “—please believe me. They’re not bad at all. You’ve healed really well.”

Liar.

“Look, I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but all I see is perfect whit e

skin on the face of the prettiest girl in the world.”

I touched my scars with my fingertips.

“Ara.” He gently grabbed my wrist and pushed my hand down from my face. “I promise. On

my own future grave, I swear you are perfect.”

“Really?” I whimpered in a breaking voice, keeping my eyes on my toes.

“Yes.” Mike’s shoulders droppe d enough for me to see t hrough my peripheral. Then, even

with the warm sun, the salty air, and all the families around us, I felt the rise of pain I’d held in—the

pain I never got to s hare with Mike—bubbling up in my chest, then my throat, like an aching

blockage of air.

I needed him to hold me; I needed him to make everything okay.

My lashes burned on the edges as hot tears f illed my eyes and the beach disappeared into a

shadow-rimmed image.

“Ara, baby—” Mike’s concerne d gaze wrapped my f ace and he extended his hand as the

shaking in my legs spread to my chest, forcing sobs to turn into audi ble, shrieking gasps. Then, he

caught me in his arms, holding me against the r ough sand on his chest. “I t’s okay. It’s okay. I’m

here now.” While I let the pain fa ll out in itchy tears against my salty skin, Mike’s gent le touch

made everything hurt a little less. “Oh baby, what has life done to you? I hate to see you so broken.”