suddenly burned into a flaming heat within me.
With a tight fist, I rubbed the left side of my chest and winced against the brightness of the
morning.
Is it possible that Mike managed to crawl his way a little bit deeper into my heart while I was
sleeping, or that my brain has finally comprehended the fact that David’s gone—that even tomorrow,
when I look f or him on the stage where he shoul d be performing our duet, I won’ t see him? Do I
finally get the message?
Clutching my locket, I backed away from the window and turned to face my dresser mirror.
I think I finally do get it.
I sat down on the stool and slowly swiped my hair from my face; the girl in the mirror did the
same.
“He is gone, isn’t he?” she said. Well, I think she did, anyway.
“Yes.” And I knew he wouldn’t re turn for anything. Not for the concert, not for al l the tears
in the world, not if Skittles got stuck in the tree, and not even if I threw myself from the window and
splattered all over the ground.
David Knight is gone—for good.
So, then, why don’ t I feel anything? I should be crying or kicking t hings. The admission of
fact should change something in me. Anything. But it hasn’t.
The girl in the mirror looked out at me; her pale-blue eyes reflected the hazy lines of a yellow
sun. When she smiled, I looked away. That reflection told a different story to the reality of the world
behind me. My room was light and airy, with th e softness of a morning decided on summer all
around, while her world—the world beyond the glass—was a dar k forest, backdrop to t he face of a
lonely girl, trapped, staring out from beyond her prison of secrets. Love was the key—my starry
night, my David—but he left.
I remembered back to t he day I first thought of him as the ni ght, and how, in that same
thought, I smiled for Mike, because he was always my blue sky; my happiness.
I looked back at the mirror. The contours of the girl’s face became shadowed as the sun rose
around her and the light touched the darkest shadows of her illusory cage. The iron bars behind her
were really white tree-trunks, and the leaves became visible as green star-shaped foliage for the first
time. Blue sky. The night was gone, now, there would always be the blue sky.
But is it enough?
I looked away from her again, seeing her hopeful smile dissolve before I turned my head.
My stomach grumbled; the ogre’s attempt to steal the attention. I clutched my hands to my
belly. I need to think. I can’t go down there and have breakfast with Mike. I might tell him I love
him and then regr et it when I come back to my room, cl ose my door and feel the emptiness of
missing David again.
“Run,” the girl in the mirror said.
“Run?” I looked back at her.
She smiled and nodded. “Run.”
A sneaky tempo guided my steps as I passed the dining area where Vicki and Mike sat
laughing and drinking coffee. Then, without first eating, ran out the front door.
My shoes tapped the pavement soft ly at f irst, but as I reached the end of the drive, they
picked up. I zipped my sweater up around my neck—trapping my lock et inside. It wasn’t cold, but
for some reason I felt exposed and naked. Like I was being watched or followed. I think a part of me
knew that if Mike caught a glimpse of me running from the house without him, he’d come after me.
And I really didn’t want that. I really needed to be by myself for a while.
There was a pa rt of me that kept trying to believe that the reason David hadn’t come was
because he’d been held up at work or hadn’t realised how much time had passed since we last spoke.
But the part of me that knew David, also knew he wasn’t that absent-minded.
No. He’s not here because he has no intention of coming back. I wonder if he fell out of love
with me when he realised how deep my connection with Mike went. If he was lingering around the
day Mike confessed his love, then he would’ ve heard an awful lot of thoughts a girl wouldn’t want
her boyfriend to hear about another man.
I wonder if he really did have to go to New York for two weeks, or if he just told me that so
he could quietly sneak around and intrude on my thoughts.
I smiled as I jogged past a couple in matching tracksuits. But the smile wasn’t for them, even
intention. I should’ve realised the whole New York thing was a complete lie . I mean, it was pretty
convenient how he came up with it right after he found out how I felt about Mike.
Great. I stopped running. I’m such an idiot.
Feeling unbelievably weak and tir ed, I bee-lined for a park-bench and graced the seat with
my bottom. The leafy shade of the tree f elt nice, protective, almost. I looked around the park at the
children playing in the distance—the mums and dads pushing their kids on the swings, and even t he
big sisters running to their little brother’s aide when they fell over or got sand in their mouth. It made
me miss Harry—miss being a big sister.
Flopping back with my chin tilted to the cool breeze, I let my troubles consume me; including
the fact that the only moisture left in me was the salty, sticky mask of sweat the wind was drying off
my brow.
I still loved the way a breeze felt on my face; it took a month for my wounds to heal enough
that I’d let Dad take me in public—on a plane, over to his home.
My days were spent in a motel, in the dark—a way from civilisation. I never even l et Mike
see me. Dad tried to let him i n once, but I screamed and freaked out like I was going to tear myself
apart. I couldn’t let him see me like t hat. I felt so ashamed—felt like a monster, and worse—looked
like one.
By the time Dad brought me here, there were only a few yellowing bruises left, and I could
bear the wind on my face—never to take it for granted again.
It brushed my hair over my cheek in a tickly touch, like a thousand butterflies dancing on my
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