Amber Frost (34 page)

“Grace, are you going to tell me what color your prom dress is or not?” Clarke demanded, the frustration and impatience clear in his voice. I gave myself a little shake, trying to clear my head. “You have bought a dress for prom, haven’t you?”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I apologized politely. Clarke gave an exasperated sigh but repeated his question about the color of my dress. I noticed Tanya and the other girls at our lunch table were smirking, whispering behind their hands and giving me dirty looks.

“My dress is dark green – almost black,” I answered, forcing myself to focus on the conversation. Clarke gave me a disgusted look, Tanya and Rebecca snickered.

“You’re going to wear a
black
dress to prom?” Clarke asked, his expression sour and disapproving.

“It’s not black, it’s dark green –
almost
black,” I corrected.

“How gothic-chique,” Cadence murmured. The other girls giggled, laughing at me.

“I don’t like you in dark colors,” Clarke announced, his voice firm. “I’m going to wear a black tux with a bright, royal blue vest; you can dress to match.”

“Black and blue, like a bruise,” I mused quietly with a small smile. No one laughed, everyone just stared at me like I was crazy. I sighed, the smile fading from my face. “I’ll find a blue dress,” I agreed, in a soft, placating tone.

“Not too dark,” Clarke reminded. I nodded my agreement and forced myself to smile sweetly at him. It didn’t feel natural, it felt all wrong.

The attention was turned off me once more and the conversation resumed at our table. The boys discussed ways to sneak alcohol into our upcoming school prom, the girls chattered excitedly about hair and makeup plans. I sat in silence; a part of the group but still separate, alone with myself. The others were used to it now. Though my silent, introspective moods were a source of annoyance for Clarke and endless amusement to the girls, at least for the most part it was accepted and I was left alone.

I couldn’t quite remember when I’d become so ‘spacey’, it was some time after Christmas, just before the start of spring perhaps – I couldn’t quite pin point the day or the moment. I only knew that I hadn’t always been this way; I vaguely remembered that things used to be clearer, my life used to make more sense. Only… I wasn’t certain how.

My silent moods and tendency to become caught up in my own thoughts had certainly started around the same time that the dreams had. Perhaps it was a direct result of that; the vivid dreams that assaulted my subconscious each night, that made me toss and turn, and left me feeling exhausted and even more tired in the morning. I could only remember parts of the vivid, exhausting dreams; they were the clearest when I first woke but the images usually faded quickly. Some of the more powerful dreams haunted me for longer though – especially the nightmares. There was one nightmare that I seemed to have almost every night. In it, I would realize that I had lost something and my mind would seem to spend all night searching desperately, endlessly for it. But I could never find what I was searching for because I didn’t know what it was. I awoke from these dreams feeling scared, frustrated and depressed, and strangely… lonely. My heart would ache as if I’d lost my best friend. It made no sense at all.

Many of my dreams were set in beautiful, surreal landscapes of pristine, white snow. I would walk through these perfect winter wonderlands amongst the sparkling snow and ice. These dreams always turned dark and stressful though; I would suddenly remember that I had lost something, that I must keep searching for it – that my soul depended on me finding… what? The sky would darken, the wind would whip, the ground beneath my feet would suddenly start cracking and splitting open as if I were falling through thin ice. And I would awake in a cold sweat, terrified and anxious, struggling so hard to remember
something
. But then the feeling would fade along with the dreams and I would soon return to my safe, predictable, everyday life only to face the tormenting dreams again the following night.

Lately the dreams seemed to be getting stronger and slightly clearer. The images and emotions of them clung to my conscious mind with more tenacity, haunting me for hours after I woke. I felt like I was starting to live on the cusp of reality, my subconscious constantly pulling my attention away from the present, dragging me deeper into my swirling, confusing thoughts. Whenever I let my mind wander for a moment I was assaulted by the strange images and disturbing sensations of my dreams. I saw images that felt familiar to me but made no sense, like detailed black and white drawings of Celtic designs, words written in a familiar yet unknown language, and at the heart of it all, a black, twisted, intricately beautiful pattern that seemed etched into my eyelids so that I now saw it every time I blinked.

The strangest dream though, the darkest and murkiest, the least clear, was the dream of
him
. I wasn’t sure who he was, I could never see his face, never even hear his voice though I knew he was there, aware of his presence like nothing else. He was the brightest light in the dark, the warmest ray of the sun. This mysterious, faceless stranger always did the same thing. He reached out towards me, begging me for something, desperate and afraid. And I comforted him, I reassured him with words I could never hear. I freely gave to him the last of my strength, for it was wrong for this man to hurt, I never wanted him to feel any pain. The only part of the dream that was ever clear, that I could ever perceive with any kind of clarity, was always the very end. I would press my amber necklace into his hand and it burned red hot between our palms. And as my hand fell weakly away, as I slipped from the dream into black unconsciousness, the last image I would see was that of his trembling, bloodstained hand, clutching my necklace as if it were his only lifeline, his only hope. His anguished cry would tear at my heart, echoing in my ears as the disturbing dream and images faded.

I blinked hard, trying to get the sudden image of a black, twisted pattern out of my thoughts, pushing the vision away. My fingers had unconsciously crept up to wrap around my necklace. It felt warm and solid beneath my touch, as if it had a life of its own. I vaguely remembered my ex-boyfriend had given it to me last Christmas. The memory was faint, insignificant as all my memories of him were. I still couldn’t remember what I’d ever seen in that boy, why I had ever decided to abandon my popular friends and defy my mother’s wishes by dating a nobody like him. It had taken significant effort on my part to repair the damage my brief rebellious stint had taken on my life. I was lucky my mother and Clarke had both been surprisingly forgiving. They had both just been pleased and relieved that I was finally back to normal. Or at least, that I was mostly back to normal. No one knew quite what to think of my withdrawn, distant behavior, my new tendency to daydream and become completely absorbed in my silent thoughts. I didn’t know quite what to think of it either.

“What accessories are
you
going to wear to prom?” Tanya asked, sneering at me as she spoke. I was proud of myself for paying enough attention that she didn’t have to repeat her question. I only paused for a moment before answering, just long enough to give my head a quick shake, trying to clear it of the unwanted images.

“I’ll wear the earrings Clarke bought me for our three month anniversary,” I answered automatically, assuming a false smile as I spoke. “They’re beautiful – diamonds and emeralds in white gold.” I tried to sound boastful, a forced note of pride in my voice that I knew was expected. At the same time though, I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with me? Why didn’t I care about the expensive gifts Clarke bought me? Why did I have to try so hard to be happy with my wonderful, handsome, popular boyfriend? Why did it always feel like something was missing? Like something in my perfect life was horribly and terribly wrong? My focus began drifted inwards again.

“You won’t wear that necklace then?” I vaguely heard Rebecca taunt. “The one Sebastian gave you?”

“Seamus didn’t give it to me, he gave it back to me,” I answered distractedly. It took me a moment to hear what I’d just said. I frowned in confusion as the words that had automatically sprung to my lips reached my ears. It took me another minute to realize that the table had gone silent, the others all staring at me with strange expressions on their faces.

“Shay-mus?” Tanya echoed, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “What
are
you talking about Grace?” The girls all snickered, the boys still stared. Clarke looked embarrassed and irritated.

“Nothing,” I quickly answered. “Sorry, I misheard…”

“She’s so weird,” I heard Cadence whisper – even she had turned against me now. I saw the others give small nods of agreement; they probably hadn’t expected me to notice or to hear. I was surprised that I had.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I announced, quickly standing up. I suddenly wanted to be as far away from my friends as possible. The urge to escape was strong, a sudden tugging on my soul, an irresistible desire to be outside, to be somewhere else.

“There’s still ten minutes left for lunch, relax babe,” Clarke instructed, firmly pulling me back down to sit on the bench beside him. His handsome brow was creased into a disapproving frown, his irritation clear in his voice. I started to meekly obey but then something within me flared, a spark of confidence, a sudden flicker of hope.

“I need to go to the art room,” I blurted as I stood up again. The lie came quickly and easily to my lips but my words rang with sincerity and conviction. I was surprised and caught off guard by the sudden clarity to my thoughts. The foggy haze through which I normally struggled had momentarily evaporated. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before, why the answer hadn’t been obvious when it had been right in front of my face for the past few months.

“Why? I thought you took Art last semester,” Clarke asked suspiciously. The others were listening in, Tanya’s eyes bright and eager as she probably anticipated an argument.

“I did,” I agreed. “It turns out I was missing a project though and I need to complete it or it’ll affect my GPA. I wouldn’t want the University of British Columbia to retract their offer,” I pointed out. I didn’t even feel guilty for lying, the words sprang to my lips without hesitation. This had gone on long enough – something was wrong, I was certain of it, and I suddenly realized that there was only one person who could give me the answers I needed, who would help me ask the questions I sought.

“They’ve already accepted us both, they can’t retract their offers,” Clarke argued. I smiled as if in agreement and lightly kissed his cheek as I rose. With my sudden sense of purpose and clarity, everything seemingly fell into place. I felt a hint of my old self returning, a self I’d nearly forgotten. My thoughts were clearer than they’d been in months, my words confident as I spoke.

“Nonetheless, I’d like to graduate from Craigflower without a single blemish on my academic record. And since we only have a few weeks left, I better get moving,” I said with a smile. Clarke smiled back, choosing to encourage my more normal behavior and everyday concerns. I knew he liked it when I talked about next year too – he had been so pleased when I’d decided to go to the same university as him, even though my high grades gave me the choice to go nearly anywhere. He was still trying to convince me not to live on the UBC campus though and to move in with him into the apartment his parents had bought for him in Vancouver. Of course I kept refusing; I wanted to make him happy but that was one step I would definitely not be taking until after we were married.

“I’ll see you later. Bye guys.” I casually waved to the girls as if I didn’t realize how they despised me, and smiled flirtatiously to the boys as if I cared what they thought.

I walked out the dining hall and headed across campus to the Art building with purpose in every step that I took. I avoided the more direct route through the main building and its connecting hallway; I felt the need to take my time, struggling to focus my thoughts and clear my head with the fresh air. Though there were few people out on the campus grounds, I still felt the unnerving sensation of being watched as I walked towards the Art building. I tried to shake off the eerie feeling of eyes on my back, focusing instead on how bright and warm the sun felt, and how the sky today was so clear and blue, and the grass and grounds were such a lush, vibrant green. Winter was a distant, hazy memory and spring had flown by in a shapeless blur but summer was here and bright and beautiful. I would not let another season slip by without my notice, I thought determinedly as I marched towards the Art building, a lighter skip to my step.

I felt a strange sense of comfort and relief as I entered the building. I hadn’t been in the Art room since before Winter Break but for some reason, it felt like I was coming home. This place was familiar and comforting to me. I felt drawn to it, pulled by a mysterious and powerful presence. I knew with sudden inexplicable certainty that there were answers here. I knew that there was a clue, a hint to what I was searching for and it waited within these walls.

The bell hadn’t rung yet so it was no surprise to find the main art studio empty, not even the art teachers present. The sound of my soft footsteps echoing in the silence was peaceful, like walking into a chapel. I moved automatically towards the large windows at the end of the room that looked out over the courtyard. I could remember staring out them, daydreaming as I watched the clouds float by and the sun move across the sky. It felt good to remember something so clearly; it seemed another sign that I was on the right path.