The Knight Of The Rose (24 page)

skin, and in the simplicity of the sunny day, surr ounded by trees and grass, I could almost imagine I

had no problems. Even the song of the birds seemed to have a tune to it, al most like I was in some

twisted version of a Disney film. I half expected the woodland animals to gather at my feet as I broke

into song.

For the first time in weeks, I lowered my head and took a good look at my f ingers. These are

my mum’s hands, but they’re bony and look weak now. Heartache has taken the spirit from them,

and though I want nothing more than to find the nearest piano and expel the song I’ve had stuck in

my head all morning, I wonder if I can truly play—for the feel of it—from the heart, anymore.

I slumped back on t he bench again. I don’t even know what’ s in my heart now. I used to be

sure it was Mike, then it knew nothing but David.

Now they seem to share a little piece each.

When my stomach gr owled again, I checked the watch Sam gave me for my fi fteenth

birthday—the sport watch he told me was to help time my runs so I’d realise I wasn’t as fas t as I

thought—and smiled, unabl e to see the time throug h a sudden rush of tears. He’s a good lit tle

brother. As much as I hate him sometimes, he’s my brother. And in my heart, I’ve never really let

myself believe that. But I am still a big sister, and though no one will ever replace Harry, I know that

if anything ever happened to Sam, he’d be just as irreplaceable.

And that’s the thing about love, really, isn’t it?

That there is no replacing the ones we love.

I’ll never replace David—not even with Mike.

Suddenly, the rise of emotion I should’ve had this morning wh en I finally admitt ed David

wasn’t coming back presented itself—screaming out from my heart in the form of a song.

A vibrant, tingling sensation warmed my fingertips; like static electricity before it charges out

on something metal.

I jumped up, ignoring the dizziness and narrowed vision of low blood-pressure, and ran for

the school.

I need to play.

The dark room echoed as the door closed behind me and the shadows swallowed me whole.

No one looked up, no one turned their heads, because the only t hing that greeted me was the pit ch

black. Everyone was at lunch, the auditorium set for the concert tomorrow night.

I kicked the door ajar a little with my foot, placed the door-stop in the crack and wrapped my

arms around me as I headed down the aisle, walking the path of the thin blue line of light fr om

outside. The warmth of the day remai ned with the light, and the emptiness and almost underground

cool of the auditorium made me shiver as I reached the stage.

I looked back for a moment, seeing only a fai nt outline of the seats along the isle, and the

base of the stag e, then felt my way up the stairs, keeping my hands out in front of me in case I

tripped.

“Ara?”

I stopped walking, convinced I’d heard a whisper under the creak of the wood floor. “H-

hello?” I waited; nothing. No one whispered back.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” My voice stayed low, almost as if I didn’t
want
an answer.

In the middle of the stage, feeling exposed and open to all whose eyes might be on me, I

looked to the curtains. The shadows carried an eerie chill, like a person may be lingering within—

waiting for me—while the strong feel of being watched crawled over my skin, tightening my pores.

I shouldn’t be in here. I should be at lunch, should be attending sc hool today like everyone

else. I hesitated a moment longer.

If I get caught in here, I’ll be in trouble.

Like a beacon of salvati on, the piano greeted me with all its glory, si tting majestically in the

middle of the stage. Di sregarding my thoughts, I took a seat and l ooked down at my hands on the

keys. Here, in front of the piano, I felt narrowed in, like I was inside some magical, invisible orb, and

no one could see me. For one moment I just needed to sit, just to exist in the space where music was

the centre of my world; where the only thing that mattered was the notes, the keys and me.

My heart was tr ying to make sense of things —of the last night I saw Davi d; when I fell

asleep in his ar ms and dreamed of my wedding an d the red rose. He b lames me f or having that

dream, even though I had no contro l over it. And I guess, in a way, that’s the problem; what we

dream
does
have meaning. What we think, feel, desire. It matters. And it hurts.

But life taught me t hat trying to find the reas ons behind what hurts is as futile as screaming

out to the heavens “Why, God, why”

No one will ever answer, because there is no answer. We’re all alone here, in this world. No

one is watching from above, no angel s are standing by to answer our prayers. We are the authors of

our own lives, and what we suffer is to our own error.

But it’s human nature, I guess, to keep searching for a way to make everything okay—to say

“Yeah, there was a point to all this, and my life isn’t just some big joke of the gods.”

For me, though, right now—that’s how it feels.

David said, since I won’t become immortal, that he wants me t o fall in love with someone

else, yet he contradicts that by being hurt when I do.

My heart was Mike’s before I came here—before it all happened, and now, after he threw it

away—he wants it back, and…I want to give it t o him. I’m not sure if I can go an eternity never

having loved Mike.

Sometimes I wish I’d never met David at all, then I wouldn’t know what it’s like to have my

heart squeezed between two iron compressors.

My thoughts came back to t he auditorium while I took a deep br eath. Though I sat

motionless, aside from my hands scal ing across the keys, the room seemed to be spinning slowly

around me. I wasn’t sure if I was dizzy or just lost in some ultra-realism with slow-motion camera

panning.

I played the scales slowly back and forth a few times—listening to the notes carefully, seeing

my future in the physical form of their tones; Mike, our children—their little round faces smiling out

at me from the space between thought and reality, and our lives, long and happy as we grow old and

grey. He would love me, and I would love him just as much.

But I still just don’t know if it’s enough.

As confusion and heartbreak consumed my emotions and took cont rol of my movements, I

played harder, slamming the notes. All of the anguish, the loss—I want it to go away, I want David

to stay, to marry me, to have babies with me and grow old together.

The notes became slow and high once again. It’ll never happen. I have a choice to make. To

choose life or eternal love—if David will still even have me.

Since Mike confess ed his love, I haven’t been able to think. Every time I turn around, at

dinner, when I do the dishes or while we sit on the couch, watching movies, Mike’s watching me

with pleading eyes. He wants me to give him an answer, but I don’t have one to give—not really.

David probably doesn’t even want an answer anymore. And I don’t expect to see him at the

Masquerade on Sunday. I should hope he’s happy somewhere, that he’s moved on—but it hurts when

I try. I closed my eyes tight and let my heart die a little more, as it had been, slowly and surely,

every day since my first kiss.

David, if you’re out there, somewhere, please know how much I miss you. Please know how

sorry I
—

“Ara! Where have you been?” Mike’s angry voice broke through my thoughts.

The room fell silent instantly as I pulled my hands from the keys and placed them in my lap,

lowering my head. Mike’s silhouette broke the line of soft blue light, and as he headed down the long

The Knight of the Rose

Page 9 of 15

isle toward me, he became a part of the dense black.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through this morning?” The stage thudded under

his feet. “I was about to call the police.”

“Police? I was at school—”

“Don’t give me that rubbish. I knew you didn’t attend school today becaus e your dad has

been out there searching for you since we realised you weren’t in roll call!”

There was nothing for me to say. I guess I kind of knew he’d be worried. “Well.” I shrugged.

“Guess you found me, so—”

“No. I didn’t. Your dad did. And he was so mad he couldn’t even come in here to talk to you,

Ara. He called
me
.” Mike pointed to his chest. “How could you just run off like that? Not tell anyone

where you were going. You couldn’t have left a note or something? Jesus, gi rl.” He sat beside me,

shaking his head.

“I don’t need
your
permission to go for a run.”

“
That’s
what you were doing?”

“Yes. Is that okay with you?”

“Ara, stop being a child. You kn ow damn well you should’ve to ld someone where you were.

Don’t try to make me out to be the bad guy. I’ve been driving all over town looking for you. We had

no idea what time you left or ho w long you’d been gone.” He looked at his watch. “It’s two-thirty,

for God’s sake, girl.”

I looked down at my lap and twisted my si

lver locket delicately in my fi ngertips. “Stop

yelling at me.”

“No. I’m mad. I was so worried about you I nearly shook Emily when I asked her if she’d

seen you.”

“What! You talked to my fr iends?” I smacked the stool with my hands. “Mike, how could

you—now you’ve gone and made a huge drama out of thi—”

“No. Ara.
You
made the drama. You took off without leaving a note to say you hadn’t gone to

school. You’ve been gone all freakin day!”

“Yeah, well, no one asked you to come looking f or me.” I folded my arms. “I’m fine. I just

lost track of time.”

“Well, that may be the case, but you’ve caused a lot of worry. People care about you, Ara—”

He reached for me; I jerked away. “
I
care about you.”

“
You
? You don’t care about
me
. You just feel sorry for me—you just feel responsible for me,

like you always have—”

“Ara? Don’t say things like that.”

“
I
didn’t say it!” I shot up off the stool and fled to the heavy curtains near the wall. “You

did!”

“What? When?” He sat taller. “Ara, I would never say something like tha—”

“You did. The day I a rrived here, when my dad made me speak to you on the phone. You

said you were t ired of being responsible for me, that I had to grow up, and if I wasn’t such a baby

then none of this would’ve happened!”

Mike stood up, reaching for me. “Ara, that wa s not what I said and you know i t. You’re

adding words to what I—”

“Am I? Or is that what you
wanted
to say? I s that what you re ally meant, only you didn’t

have the guts to say it,” I yelled across the stage, feeling rather well -placed for such a theatrical

display of emotion.

“My exact words to you that day, and my
exact
meaning were,
I feel responsible for what

happened to your mum and Harry.
And you said it was your fault, that if you hadn’t run away it

wouldn’t’ve happened. That’s when I said that running away was a childish thing to do. And that was

all I said, Ara. The fact is, I was responsible for you. I let you down. I did not say you caused this. I

never said, felt or meant that. You know that.”

“No. I don’t. I know the way you looked at me . I know the way you looked away when you

first saw me after the accident, and how disgusted you were in me that night for
daring
to feel what I

file://C:\eBooks\the knight of the rose\tmp_10fb7585fb340176147f7cd7cde60c05_vy... 27/05/2012

felt for you—”

“That’s what you think?” He briskly stepped forward and gr abbed my arms. “That I was

disgusted. In you? Ara, I was disgusted in myself for—”

“For telling me how you truly felt?” I shrugged out of his hands. “You shouldn’t be. Because

that should be allowed. If you don’t love someone you have a right to tell them.”

“But I do love you. You know that.” He swooped into me again.

“Don’t touch me!” I ducked out from under his arms and ran to the edge of the stage. “I don’t

want you to touch me.”

“Ara. Please—”

I took a glance over m y shoulder to se e his bulky silhouette in the middle of the stage,

reaching out to me, then jumped off the edge, bent my knees as I landed on the ground, and walked

away with my arms folded.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home.”

At a run, Mike’s footfalls fell down on the hol low-sounding floor, then stopped as a soft tap

of shoes on carpet came up behind me. “Baby, talk to me. Please don’t be like this. I just want you to

be happy.”

“Happy!” I spun around. “If you wanted me to be happy, then you’d ne ver have told me you

love me, Mike. Now I’m just confused and empty.”

Mike doubled back, dropping his hand to his si de as the b lade of my words hit his heart.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

“What would you know? You d on’t know anything about me, Mike. Maybe you used to—in

fact, no—scratch that. If you did, you’d never have rejected me like that.”

“Ara, I didn’t r eject you. I just asked you to wait a second whi le I processed what was