The Knight Of The Rose (26 page)

“But you knew this. Breaking up was never going to be easy.”

“So that’s what this is?” I asked in a quiet voice, looking down. “We’re broken up, now?”

“I wish it wasn’t so.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“It does.”

“But...maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to—” I spun around on the seat and stopped dead when I

looked at him; it ached inside to see his face after I was sure I’d never lay eyes on him again.

“What wouldn’t be so bad?”

“To…to be like you.”

He shook his head. “You can’ t be l ike me. I’ve spent so much time thinking about i t—

desperate to find some way this could work. But, Ara? There’s no saying you even carry the gene.

What if we tried and you—” he shook his head again, “—you have to take a chance at life. You have

to live it to its fullest before I could even
dream
of changing you.”

“But—”

“No.” He placed his thumb to my l ips and sh ook his head. “If you di e, Ara, without ever

knowing life, motherhood, I could not live with myself. It is better to have lived your life in

heartache, than never to have lived at all.”

“I know. I do know that. And—” I pictured my future, my children, my wrinkled skin, “—

And I want a life, but…but the heartache is worse than I thought.”

David looked at my hand, over my heart, and nodded. “I know.”

We held our gaze for a long moment, leaving our future resting on the pause of a few simple

words. After a while, I sighed, turning my face away when the words refused to come.

“He’s right for you, you know.” David broke the silence, though the tension stayed as thick as

blood.

“Who?”

“Mike.”

My quiet breath sunk.

“I want you to be with him. I want you to go back to Perth with him.”

I looked up quickly.

“I see in his thoughts, Ara. I wat ch him wit h you. He loves you—deeply.” Davi d lost his

voice on the last word, closing his eyes as he said it.

“I know, David. I know he loves me, and—I love him too.” I had to whisper, afraid my words

would wound him forever; like somehow, making my voice low might take away some of the sting.

“But I can’t go with him. I can’t. I just can’t leave you here al—”

“Ara. Be smart.” David dropped to his knees in front of me. “I can’t have you here, lingering

in a place I may one day return. That’s not living. You have to go—you have to be far away so I can

never find you. I won’t do it. I won’t return and ruin your life, and, knowing how close you are—that

I could just drive to you—would be more agony than I could bear.”

The tears in my eyes turned to thick droplets as they spilled onto my cheeks. He’s right. It

would be selfish of me to wait around here for him—to hope he might change his mind and become a

fake human. If he leaves his Set, he will have nothing, and one day, I’ll be gone anyway. At least, for

now, we suffer the absence in union—desolate union.

“I just can’t say goodbye, David.”

“This is not goodbye. Not yet. I still have a few more days.” He smil ed and sat beside me on

the piano stool. I tried to steady my pulse, push ing away the memory of the first time I saw that

dimple, how I wanted nothing in the world except him—just him. Life or death or murder meant

nothing—I just wanted him.

“I know.” I cleared my throat. “Until the last red leaf falls, right?”

“Until the last red leaf falls,” he said with a grin.

I touched my fingertips to David’s face, and he held my hand to his cheek, closing his eyes .

My heart picked up with the desire to lay against him—safe in his strong , loving arms—held tight ,

like nothing could ever bring me harm.

If only we could r un away—run from everything. Run from reality and the supernatural, r un

from fate and tragedy. But we couldn’t.

“Where will you go—what will you do when I’m gone?” I asked.

David looked down and then smi led as our eyes met. “See the pyramids.” He shrugged.

“Always wanted to fly a silver plane, too.”

I managed a soft smile.

“Don’t you ever for get, Ara, how much I love you.” He placed both ha nds on my face, then

turned my head slowly. “And you still, and always will, belong to me.”

I nodded, rolling my cheek into his thumb as he wiped a tear away. Then, he slowly lowered

his lips to mine, and like so many times before, th ey fit to perfection, like we were made for each

other—but so cruelly unsuited to ea ch other. We’d kissed for love, kissed for lust, for happiness and

thankfulness, but this was a kis s of sorrow, of loss and despair, yet so full of love—so soft and so

gentle. Like a beast handling priceless porcelain.

But even with the warmth in my soul, weight less from his touch, the small silver locket

around my neck fel t heavy under the pain of i mminent separation. It had felt that way for so long

now, but only in his ar ms, with his lips once agai n belonging to mine, I could finally see that it

always would—and I wasn’t sure I could bear it.

I yanked the chain loose and held it out to David as I pulled away from the kiss. “I’m sorry. I

just can’t do this.”

“Ara?” David’s voice overflowed with confusion as he held the locket in his open palm.

“It’s too painful for me. I can’t keep this as a memory of you. I need to forget. I need to try to

move on, and every time I do,
this
is a constant reminder that you’re no longer a part of my life.” My

voice broke—
shattered
as I delivered the words I knew were tearing out his heart.

His rounded eyes burned thr ough me, deep into my soul; he wanted me to feel what he f elt

right then, but I already knew. I could feel it myself—in my bones, breaking my resolve.

I looked away. It hurt too much to see that on his face—the mirrored grief that was in mine,

that was radiating fr om my soul, just as it was from his. It w ould only destroy me over and over

again. The locket sat in David’s outstretched palm, shimmering like moonlight on sand in the soft ,

dull light of our eternal darkness.

Placing my thumb against the heart, I closed his finger-tips around it and held my grip there

for a second, then kissed his hand. “This is not goodbye, remember?” I reminded him—studying his

liquid green eyes.

“Not yet, anyway.” He nodded solemnly as he placed my heart into his pocket, and then, li ke

so many times before, without a word, without a smile, the darkness was the on ly thing I saw in his

place.

Dad forced me back to school again, but I di dn’t want to come. I don’t really fit in here

anymore.

With my back against the wall outside Mr. Benson’s class, I hugged my books—the books

David usually carried—and watched everyone pass. They di dn’t talk to me. They hardl y even

gawked at me anymore, and the horrid yellow linoleum just seemed to be a part of the scenery,

ironically, like me—didn’t mean it fit, though.

“Hey, did you hear?” Emily came bounding over.

“Depends. What was I supposed to hear?”

“The benefit? We raised enough to cover Nathan’s funeral.” Emily’s cheeks lifted with her

grin. “And due to an anonymous donation, Mrs. Rossi won’t have to pay the hospital bill either.”

“Wow, that’s really great.” We moved out of the way when Mr. B walked past us to get into

class. “So, who’s the donor?”

Emily glared at me wi th a raised brow. “Ara, the point of being
anonymous
is that no one

knows who you are.”

“Oh, right.” I closed my eyes for a second. “Sorry. I’m just—I’m not really with it today.”

“Are you ever?” she asked; I shrugged. “So, what happened to you anyway, aft er the show?

You just disappeared.” She fluttered her hands as if throwing a handful of butterflies into the air.

“I uh, well.”
I actually don’t know—I blanked out.

“Is it Mike? ‘Cause you guys seem pretty friendly.” She paused for a moment. “Is Mi ke

taking you to the ball? Since David had to go New Hampshire?”

New Hampshire, huh. “I haven’t asked him? But, I guess he will. It’s been really busy around

my place lately.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. We haven’t even gone shopping for my dress yet.”

“Oh, my God. Emily. I’m so sorry. I totally forgot.”

“I don’t blame you, not with a hunk l ike that hanging around.” S he elbowed me s oftly,

hugging her books into her chest.

“Can I make it up to you?” I asked.

“Yeah, okay.” She lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “Hey, why don’t we go tonight? Maybe

have some dinner out?”

I grinned. “You know—” a chance to live a norm al life for a while, free from the confines of

life or love decisions, “—that may be just what I need. What time?”

“Six fine with you?”

“Sounds—great.” Really great, actually.

We parted ways and I suffered the trials of obligation for the next seven hours i n silence. It

was during this silent wandering I had a revelation; school is so boring. I’m not coming tomorrow,

and probably not for the rest of this week actually. I want as much time with Mike as I can get before

he boards that plane next Monday, and if I decide not go with him, disappears from my life forever.

It seems to be the way with people I love; I get to hold them, love them only long enough to

realise I can’t live without them, and then they’re gone. A blink of an eye.

There’s no goi ng back to the simplicity, the un complicated rose-coloured glasses of love.

Love is not enough anymore, and if love were trul y blind, then I’d surely be running away with

David. I’d forget about life’s desires and follow my heart.

But the heart must not be allowed to rule the mind. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

But I’m starting to wonder which one is which.

Mike sprawled out across my bed and sorted through the playlists on my iPod while I fussed

about in my wardrobe, choos ing a dress to wear out. “So, what’s this shopping trip for again?” he

called.

“Um. Emily needs a dress f or the ball . I was su pposed to go wit h her last week, but…” I

shrugged to myself.

“Ball?” The words came fr om directly behind me; I spun arou nd and smacked into the broad

chest of my pervert friend.

“Mike?” I covered my bra with my hands. “Get out of here!”

“Relax, kid, I’ve seen it all before.”

How can I relax? The man who just confessed his love for me is standing in my wardrobe,

while I’m practically naked. “No.” I shoved him. “Get out. You can talk to me when I’m decent.”

“You look pretty decent, now.” His smug grin and raised brow made me smile, but common

sense took over and I shoved him again.

“Out. Now!”

“Okay, okay.” He rai sed his hands, laughing at me as he backed ou t and stood by the door.

“So, are you going to the ball?”

“Well, I—” I looked at the dr ess, hanging in all its glory on the hook beside me, with t he

shimmering blue fabric catching the light.

“Was David supposed to take you?” Mike asked from right behind me again.

“Hey. I said out!”

“Just answer me and I’ll go.”

“Don’t give me that cheeky grin, Michael Christopher White. I said out. Now, out!”

He grabbed the finger I pointed into his face. “Make me.”

“I shouldn’t have to. You should give a girl some respect.”

“I do respect you.” He pulled me into him and placed his arms around my bare waist. “I’m

also just very attracted to you. So—” his warm, soft lips pressed to my forehead, “—can
I
escort you

to the ball—since the flesh eater isn’t here?”

Flesh eater? Oh, right, Mike’s referring to the bruises on my neck. “Don’t talk about him like

that, Mike,” I scolded. “Besides, I thought you hated getting all dressed up?”

“Who me?” He grinned, his eyes flashing with mischief. “Ara. It would be a great privilege to

dress like a penguin and dance with the most beautiful girl in the room. Besides, we both know I look

hot in a suit.”

“You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Only with good reason.” Mike clasped his hands together tightly behind me. I wanted to tell

him to get out, but I also wanted him to stay. I just wanted it to feel right. But it wasn’t right. Not yet.

“So, what’d ya say—will you let this lowly Aussie hunk escort his princess to the ball?”

“No, but I’ll let my best friend do it.”

“Great. It’s settled then. I’ll go get a suit tomorrow.”

Mike cradled my face against him a nd rested his head on mine, continuing his wel comed

intrusion. Strangely though, i t felt like I was betraying David—this close to the ni ght, when it

should’ve been time for him to come through my window.

Only, I knew that when I got home from shopping with Emily, I’d be alone. In fact, I ’d be

alone every night.

David told me it wasn’t goodbye—not yet, but Sunday night passed in the same way it had

since he left me. I could feel it in the air, the sun, the glow of the stars. David was gone again, and I

wouldn’t let myself lay awake waiting for him anymore. I still never locked my window, though.

“Um, Mike,” I said into his warm, firm chest—my lips practically eating his shirt with each

word. “Kinda need to breathe.”

“Oh, sorry.” He let me loose. “I always forget how fragile you are.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, now, out. I need to get dressed.”

“Ara?” Vicki called. “Emily’s here.”