Dark Secrets (37 page)

“
I’m sure she’s
sleeping,” Vicki whispered.

“
I know. I
just…”

“
I know,” Vicki said
softly.

The footsteps faded to
the other end of the house and silence swept over the night once
more as Dad’s bedroom door closed. My real mum would’ve told him to
check on me—to open the door anyway and make sure I was all right.
She would’ve followed him in, warming the sudden unwelcome chill in
here, and she would’ve told me not to be silly. Told me to get up
off the floor and get into bed; that when I woke in the morning,
everything would seem clear again. And a part of me knew that, but
not having her here to say it made the pain, made missing her, so
much worse.

As I lifted my head
and considered climbing into bed, a low rumble rolled across the
roof, like a hundred horses running past on hard ground, the noise
electrifying the skies with silver forks. It was almost as if the
storm had lain dormant, building, waiting for my family to go to
bed. I covered my head, crying into my knees. I had nowhere to
hide—no one to cuddle up safely beside. I was too old to climb into
bed with Dad and Vicki now, and too far away from the phone on the
other side of the room, in front of my
open
window, to call
Mike.

I counted the seconds
between the thunder, sliding my hands up the wood of the door,
edging stiffly to my feet. Then, as soon as it struck and grew
silent again, I ran, wedged my fingers onto the top of the wooden
frame and slammed my window shut—drawing the curtains together
before the next strike of lightning. It hit as I turned away,
making me squeal and trip all over myself to get away from the
window; I fell into my stool, climbing onto it, and leaned my head
on my hands against the dresser.

With the curtains
closed, the darkness of my room swallowed up my
reflection—mirroring back only the outline of my head, shoulders
and, as the lightning flashed again, the image of my mother—smiling
down at the tiny baby in her arms. I lifted the photo frame from
the dresser and kissed them both, then wiped away the smudge my
lips left on the glass. This was my favourite photo. My only photo.
I so clearly remembered the day I took it; Harry, who was about two
months old, had just been bathed, and my mum—I ran my fingers over
her face—wrapped him safely in a towel. Then, when she looked down
at him again, I took the shot, capturing the exact moment she saw
her baby’s first real smile. This was how I wanted to remember
them, but at night, when I closed my eyes, it was the last seconds
I ever saw them that flashed into my dreams—making the smiles and
the sunlight fade from nearly every memory.

Resting my bare
forearms on the wood of the dresser, cold and exhausted from all
the crying, I dropped my head between my hands and let the warm,
salty tears fall over my nose and drip away. “I’m so sorry, Mum,” I
whispered to nothing. “I’m so,
so
sorry.”

My crystals lashed
against the window frame as the gloomy sky shoved its way into my
morning, blowing papers around in the remains of the tsunami that
hit my desk last night. I sat up on my elbows and looked down at
the quilt covering my still fully dressed self then over at the
shoes laid out neatly by my bedroom door, as if I was entering a
dojo.

Great
, I thought, flopping back,
pulling the blankets over my head.
So,
I’ve finally gone insane enough to put things away neatly while
sleepwalking myself into bed.

“
Ara-Rose. Time to
get up.” Vicki banged on my door, making me jump.

“
I’m up,” I called,
throwing my covers back. I wandered over and shut my window on the
stormy day, drawing the curtains across, then slumped in my desk
chair with a loud groan. All my homework was ruined—every little
bit. I tried to separate the dry pages from the wet ones, but
dropped them all with a huff of defeat. It was no use; I’d have to
start all over again.

I propped my head
against my hand, my elbow on the desk. Time had escaped me. I’d be
late for school if I didn’t get my act together, but I just didn’t
feel like being a part of the world. Everything in my life that was
once worth living for was now gone, or thousands of miles on the
other side of the world. After months of trying so hard to keep it
together, to be normal and move on, I’d finally had enough. I
couldn’t think of one good reason to get dressed.

From under my pile of
class literature, I slid out my diary and opened it. Last night’s
rain missed most of my books, thankfully, but the corner of my
diary got a bit wet—well, soggy was a better word.

It cracked as I opened
it and turned to a blank page. The fading smell of home lingered in
its binding, slowly being washed away by ageing and the sticky,
inky smell of a blue pen.

So many thoughts had
been written down in here from times when everything was okay—and
not so okay. I fanned the edges with my thumb, considering a flip
back through memory lane, but thought better. Before I knew grief,
my problems were so mediocre, so unimportant. I don’t think I could
stand to hear myself drone on about my hopeless thoughts on boys or
friends who wouldn’t talk to me after a fight. Back then, I was so
narrow-minded, so naïve and ignorant to the world. I think it’d
just make me wanna throw up—or slap myself.

I grabbed a pen from
my drawer and leaned over the diary, expelling every twisted,
deranged and ludicrous thought in my head. The one word that stood
out, though, as I read back over it, was
Dad
. Somewhere inside me, I still
wondered if David was some hired-help my dad called on to make me
okay, and now that I was okay, David had to give some lame-ass
excuse to leave. Bad thing was, I wouldn’t put it past my dad to do
that. And even if that wasn’t the case, it didn’t matter. I felt
awful last night; I had never cried so much and I never, ever
wanted to again. David had his nature-documentary timeline, and
that was fine. But I didn’t have to put up with it. If he really
had to leave in the winter, then he could go, but I wouldn’t let
him destroy my heart on the way out.

I snapped my diary
shut and stood up. I had to end it now.

With a new sense of
purpose, I jammed my iPod into the dock and blasted my Girl Power
playlist. If I was going to take a new approach to life, then I’d
need a montage—and a sexy outfit.

I sang along, making a
huge mess as I pulled nearly everything out of the neat little
crevices in my wardrobe, then tossed my jeans, red tank top, and
the only heeled shoes I owned into the bathroom. Then, in true
montage style, shut the bathroom door and emerged again as the new,
sexy, I-don’t-take-no-crap me—complete with red
lip-gloss.

I stopped by my
dresser to dash on some mascara, and the soulless face of my past
stared back at me. “Don’t pout,” I said to her. “We’re breaking up
with him, and that’s that!”

The front door
slammed a little as I stepped out onto the porch, and, okay,
so
that
didn’t
feel so good, but the new me wanted it to. And she walked fiercely
toward the roadside, her head down, eyes away from what she knew
was waiting there. Then, as the montage music ended with an abrupt
and sudden silence inside my head, I looked up at him, and my
resolve wavered; he sat on a tree stump, his head in his hands, bag
on the ground by his feet, forcing an ache in my heart.

But the new me in the
heeled shoes stood taller, gave a not-so-gentle reminder of why we
were doing this, and screamed,
No more
David Knight
.

He stood up as I
crossed the street, his eyes practically bulging from his head.
“Ara? My God, you look amazing.”

I shrugged away from
his touch, nearly falling backward as the heels of my pretty black
shoes, so out of place on the thick turf, sunk into the
ground.

“
Ara?” His eyes narrowed, studying my face. “Don’t. I know
what you’re going to say.
Please
don’t.”

“
I’m sorry, David,
it’s better this way.” The words felt like shards of glass in my
throat. “Look, yesterday was great and all, but we both know where
this is going. I don’t see the point in dragging it
out.”

“
Dragging it out?” His shoulders came forward with his words.
“We love each other, Ara—spending our last few months together is
not, by
any
means, dragging things out.”

“
It
is to me.
You’re
the one leaving—you don’t have to care, you don’t have to
suffer like I do.”

“
Is that what you
think?” He stepped into me; I stepped back, raising my hands. “Ara,
you know nothing about what I will suffer for leaving
you.”

“
You’re right. I
don’t. Because you never tell me anything.”

“
I
can’t
tell you. Don’t you understand that?”

“
Why should I? Why
can’t you just be honest with me?”

“
You don’t want to
know—you told me you don’t want to hear about my dark
world!”

I shuffled my feet,
folding then unfolding my arms. “Maybe I’m ready now.”

He didn’t expect that.
He doubled back a little, rubbing his head. “There are so many
things, Ara. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“
How ‘bout the reason
you’re leaving.”

“
I—” The words hung
just on the exit of his lips; I tensed. “I…I can’t.”

“
Then you can forget
me staying friends with you.” I turned away.

“
I’m afraid of what
you’ll think of me,” he said, and I stopped walking. “I’m afraid,
because I know how sweet you are, how, despite what you think about
yourself, how kind and loving and warm you are.”

“
So, you think I
can’t handle the truth?”

He smiled softly.
“I
know
you
can’t.”

I looked away,
breathing out.

“
Look, we have a few
months left. I just want you like this—my sweet, beautiful girl who
loves me; who looks at me like I’m good. I couldn’t bear it if you
hated me, Ara. I can’t bear this—” he motioned to the distance
between us. “Please don’t break up with me.”

“
I have to,
David.”

“
No, you
don’t.”

“
I’ll fall more in love with you.” I forced back tears. “If I
keep doing this, it’ll only make me break down when you’re gone—and
I won’t get back up this time. I’ve got
nothing
left in
me.”

“
Oh, Ara. Please
don’t say things like that.” I heard it in his voice, the way my
words crushed him. “All I ever wanted was for you to be okay
again.”

“
Yeah, well—” I
looked right into him, making sure my words hit the deepest part of
his heart. “Now you’re the one breaking me.”

He folded over,
propping his hands to his knees.

“
Bye, David,” I
turned away. “And please don’t talk to me if we pass each other in
the hall.”

“
Do you really mean
that, Ara?” His voice travelled across the distance effortlessly,
carrying the entire weight of his confusion.

God
no
.

“
Ara?”

My feet froze, no
longer driven by the anger, and as I spun around to meet his
emerald green gaze, my resolve slipped completely. “I don’t want to
hurt you, David. I’m just trying to move on.”

“
But, you should fight! If you really love me, you should
fight for us—to be together until the end—until they
drag
me
away.”

“
Maybe I’m tired of
fighting.” I looked down. “Maybe I just need to trust that the
people I love will be with me. Forever.”

“
Ara. Please, look at
me?” he asked smoothly, his voice dropping on the end.

“
No.” I shook my
lowered head.

“
Ara, you have to
trust me; you have to believe that I will only ever do what’s best
for you. Me leaving, keeping you free from my world, it’s what’s
best. You can’t see that now, but if you were to know the truth,
you’d see it then.”

I bit my teeth
together in my mouth.

“
Please just give me
you—just give me this girl I love, just for a few more months. I’m
begging you.”

“
I’m just not strong
enough to keep loving you, knowing I have to let you go. I’m
sorry.”

“
So? What? You have
the strength to walk away, but not to stay and fight?” His hands
went back into his pockets.

“
Would it do any
good? To fight? And for what? For a guy who loves me enough to
leave me for my own good?”

“
You have no idea how
right you are.” He looked down, shaking his head.

I stood for a long
time, watching him watching me. “Why is this so hard for you? You
and my dad planned this—you never really felt any of—”

“
What are you talking
about?”