The Knight Of The Rose (46 page)

have you done to her?” he growled, bounding toward me.

The tense energy tore a way from the space between us as Mike pushed David aside. My

outstretched hand gr ipped tighter to my David, but my fingers slipped, and he backed away, one

painful step at a time.

“Ara? What happened?” Mike asked, tucking my abandoned reach into my lap.

“No—” I pushed up from Mike’ s embrace and searched the room for David; he hesitated by

the door, holding it ajar as his gaze quickly averted once it met mine.

“I know this will be hard for you, Ara.
Believe me
, I will regret this decision for the rest of

eternity,” his silky voice quivered. “But I cannot love you the way you ar e. I will only bring you

pain.”

“David,” I whimpered.
I’ll die without you. Can’t you feel that?

“Non, ma cherie. The sun will rise again in y our world, but for me…it never will. We were

just a dream of mine, Ara...but even dreams eventually die.”

My eyes closed as the words he spoke touched my soul and broke my heart; when I looked up

from Mike’s embrace, my David, my knight—was gone.

Death; those of us who out run it can never escape it. It held me in its clutches long enough

to steal my life, and though I breat he and talk and am capable of human emotion on the outside,

inside, I’m a cold, putrid corpse of a human being.

He left me—backed away, turned around and held his head high as he fl ed my life for

eternity. No second chance, no discussion—just gone.

My body will heal, even though my limbs tur ned to jelly while I was in the coma and the

doctors sent me home on a strict schedule of rigoro us and painful physiotherapy, they tell me I will

be okay—one day. But they’re ta lking about my ability to wal k to the bathroom by myself or

breathe properly when I sit up. None of them know what torments I suff er inside, even the

psychiatrist in Vicki can’t tell.

But despite the darkness I live in once more, and the fact that I can’t go anywhere or do

anything except my weekly visits to the hospital, the care Vi cki, in particular, has given me, has

been nothing short of saintly. There was one point there where I even willingly called her
Mum
.

“Ara?” Vicki broke my reverie, knocking on my door, even though it was open.

I looked up from pretending to read my book. “Hm?”

“Um—” She shuffled her feet. “Emily’s on the phone.”

“Vicki!” I slammed the book down beside me. “I told you. No phone cal ls. I don’t want to

talk to anyone.”

“But, Ara, honey, it’s been weeks—she just wants to see you’re all right.”

“Do I look all right? God, I can hardly even walk myself to the bathroom, I—”

“Yes, you can, you did it this morning, remember?” She grinned.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want visitors.” Especially not Emily—she was right beside

Mike when he...found me.

“Okay. I’ll uh—I’ll tell her to call back another day.” Vicki nodded and closed the door.

I stared at the empty space for a moment, my lip quivering, my arms weighted with grief. I

just can’t do it. I just can’t l et Em see me. I miss her so much, I miss school, I miss normal life, but

I’m so goddamn embarrassed and ashamed. I don’t even want to look at my own fat her, let alone

my friends.

No. I decided with a shake of my head. No, I definitely can’t see Emily. I just can’t.

“Hey, ba—” I jumped and wiped hot tears fr om my cheeks, hurriedly gr abbing my book as

Mike swung my door open. “Ara? Baby, are you crying?”

“Nope.” I shook my head and held the book to my chest as he sat beside me. “I’m good.”

“So these are tears of hilarity then?” He looked at the title of my book.

“Yup. Funny scene in the book.” I forced a smile.

Mike’s eyes narrowed, his head seeming to shake, though he held it sti ll. I knew he wasn’t

born yesterday, but I also knew that with the prudence they all exercised with me lately, he

wouldn’t push for the truth. The question was etching on his lips, though; he wanted to know why I

cried if I didn’t remember anyt hing about the attack, and a part of him, I was s ure, wondered if

David had something to do with it.

He asked me once, if there was some reason David had become s o upset when he sa w the

wound on my neck—more upset than anyone else. But it wasn’t the wound which upset David, it

was because that’s how he knew that Jason had done this—that was when he realised I couldn’t be

changed and that he’d lost me forever.

Mike knew there was more to the story, but he hadn’t pieced it together...yet.

“Ara?” Mike said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Quit fazing out.”

“Oh, sorry, Mike. What did you say?”

He sighed and looked down at my ring, then s hook his head. “Nothing—it was nothing. I

uh—” he took a breath, “—I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

“Okay, Mike.” I scratched just beside my nos e as he exited the room. Normally, I’d have

asked him to tell me what he’d just said, but I didn’t want to know.

I looked back at my book and flicked the edge of the frayed binding, trying not to let the last

few minutes I had with David play in my mind—how he told me Jason would never come back to

kill me again, that he left me alive with the promise he’d never break my heart . Why would my

heart matter to him, and why would he be at risk of breaking...

I snapped from the world of thought, removed my hand from my chest and shut my book

with a dull thump. I wish I could clear my head. I wish I could run, not run away, but just run. Feel

the fresh air and the sun on my face. But anything that was once normal no longer belonged to me.

The summer went away while I wa s asleep, and after so many blood transfusions and

months in a bed, even being on my own had beco me a luxury. I’m prett y sure they all thi nk I’m

suicidal again. And who knows, maybe I am. It’s not like any reason for living exists in my world

anymore. I’m not even sure Mike still wants to marry me. No one mentions it. No one mentions

moving back to Perth. No one mentions anything.

As another night rolled to a close, Sam sat at the base of my bed and sketched pictures in his

journal. He was good company. It was enough for him to just sit and be silent. “What do you

think?” He held up his book.

“Wow, Sam, that’s amazing.” Not just because the grey sketch of the girl looked exactly like

me, but because she was smiling—something I’d not done for weeks.

He rested the book in his lap and kept his eyes on it. “Ara?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Do you remember much—about the attack?” He pretended to re-trace t he lines on his

picture. “Does it keep you up at night?”

He meant well—but he shouldn’t have asked that. “Yes. It does,” I whispered. “But I try not

to think of it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Me too.” I covered my head with my blankets.

No one told Sam the finer details of the attack, but gossip has a way of spr eading, and when

Sam came home the other day in tears for what people were saying, Mum and Dad were forced to

tell him the truth.

I closed my eyes and remembered the whispered conversation I overhead between Sam and

Mike earlier today, when Sam told how he got i n a fight, standing up for me when a boy remarked

that I’d brought the attack on myself—that I
enjoyed
it. The boy had told Sam that Dad lied, that my

attacker really did...violate me. Sam punched him.

No one knew what really happened; I’d take th e truth to my grave—however far away that

may be. And I didn’t plan to stay in the US either. My story made the news and all the major

papers; there was no escaping th e stares. Conclusi ons based on odd facts are the wo rst kinds of

infectious humiliation. I’d already planned to jump on a plane and go back home as soon as I was

well—whether that was as Mike’s fiancé or not, I didn’t care. I just needed to get away from here—

away from it all.

David once said that it was ki nder for a vampire to kill a human than to leave them alive—

suffering in agony until they fi nally pass. He was ri ght. Death w ould have been kinder. Perhaps

that’s why Jason left me alive—so I’d walk the Earth for the rest of my days, not only ashamed and

broken, suffering the consequences of his cruelty in every nightmare, but also that I’d suffer it

alone—without David. Jason must have known David would leave me; I’m not worthy of his love if

I’m not changeable.

But I still, and always will, love
him
.

A wild winter gale rattled my windowpane, and the darkness of the ni ght touched every

corner of my room. I couldn’t remember Sam leaving, and though I heard Dad and Vicki go to bed,

I couldn’t remember if they came in to say goodnight—like they always did.

The music vibrating through my earphones helped to filter out some of the clatter from the

wind, but I should’ve been more careful about the playlist I chose. Tonigh t, in the darkness , the

song evoked a powerful memory of David.

Providence; David’s dedication to me.

I made myself small against the wall and hugged my pill ow to my chest. I miss him more

than I ca n verbalise—more than the soul is c apable of coping with. I can’t seem to find any

resolution, and I can’t st op myself from grieving for him. The worst part is, I really thought my

death would reunite us—t hat the prospect of me no longer existing w ould make me, somehow,

more important to him than his Set and his rules.

Guess I was wrong. Assumptions. Again.

The skin along my cheeks hurt from the constant wiping of tears, but as the cold turned them

icy against my lips, I forced myself to wipe them away. Then, as I sniffled, a memory of David’s

scent replayed in the dar kness. The sweet, orange -chocolate stirred a quiet suf fering from deep

inside my soul, making me lose the fight to subdue my sobs. I could hardly breathe, hardly stop my

shoulders ferociously shaking as I bawled, muffling my cries against my hands.

“You’re not really here, are you?”

The memory of him stood in front of me, his liquid-green eyes intense with sorrow, as if our

separation hurt him just as much as me. “If I were, my love, I shouldn’t be.”

Then, as swiftly as the apparition appeared be fore me, he was gone again. With my mouth

slightly open, the tone of his smooth voice ringing in my ears as if he’d really spoken, I remained

breathless, watching the breeze blow in through my window. A second passed, and my heart began

to beat again.

I can’t take it anymore. I sw itched off my iPod and ditche d it across the room. Tomorrow

I’m going to erase every song I ever placed on that stupid thing for David. I have to get all memory

of him out of my life.

I kicked off my covers and th rew them, and my pillows, on top of the iPod—hiding it away

so I wouldn’t have t o think about it—then rolled over and shivered in the nakedness of my bed,

wishing I’d at least kept my blanket . But regret only lasted another few so bs as the exhaus tion of

healing swept me under the grasp of sleep, like dust under a rug.

Morning has a funny way of turning up when it’s not wanted. The unr uly wind from last

night receded with the moon, a nd the s un cast a scarlet ri bbon across the horizo n. Through the

reflection of my antique mirror on the other side of my room, I watched a murder of crows flock in

the open sky.

It was early, but there was still so much be auty in the morning, despite the world’s

ignorance to its existence. I snuggled up, tucking the blanket my dad or Mike must have put back on

me last night under my chin. I wanted desperately to leap out of bed and grab my iP od so I could

listen to David’s song again—but I couldn’t. If I tried to be independent, I’d quickly be reminded of

how frail and how human I am, and every time I breathed or fell or felt pain, I was reminded again

that I could never be with David, because I could never be like David.

He should have loved me anyway—isn’t that what real love is? He expected me to gi ve up

everything to love him, but it was never intended to work in reverse. I had to accept him as a killer,

but he could never accept me for my weakness—being human.

Feeling the familiar urge to cry, I tucked my hand under my pillow and buried my face, but

held my breath when I felt something cold and stringy.

Curious, I sat up and drew my hand from under my pillow, dragging the stringy thing with

it. And as my hand folded out, the morning li ght caught the silver against my palm; I burst int o

tears, covering my qui et gasp while unwelcome tears blinded me from the b eauty of the delicate

heart. My locket!

He left this—he must have been here. David was here, and I didn’t even know it.

Why would he do thi s to me? Wh y would he leave thi s? I gave it back to hi m so I could

move on—forget? Does he want me to be in pain forever, to never forget him?

I sobered myself with a shaky gulp of air and wiped my cheeks with my sleeve. Of course he

does. That’s
exactly
what he wants.

Forever. I promised him my forever, and he promised me eternity—but I have to move on.

He made me move on, but he will never let me go. He will taunt me with his memory so that