Paper Dolls (3 page)

“What are you looking at?” I lifted my face to the heavens. The sky was a perfect Queensland summer dark blue, a few scattered clouds ambling their way across.

“You have to come here.”

I waded towards him and stopped a metre away. My eyes found his torso, golden and firm and perfect, rising up out of the water like a golden island.

“Closer.”

I moved half a metre away from him. If I lifted my arm I could touch him.

But it was he who touched me first. His right hand wrapped around my arm and tugged me to his side; where he was touching me felt like it was on fire. “Get on your back, like me.”

I did as he asked. I almost sank from disappointment when he took his hand from me and lifted it up to the sky to point again.

“That cloud. What do you see?”

“What?”

“In that cloud, what do you see?”

I frowned. “A cloud.”

He laughed. “Come on, angel. You can do better than that.”

I sighed quietly and stared at the cloud that he was pointing at. It was misshapen and fluffy and I didn’t see a damn thing in it other than a cloud. But I know Clay wouldn’t let up if I didn’t say
something.
“A rabbit.”

I felt his eyes on me, then he hummed as he studied the cloud. “A rabbit. Yeah, I can see that. There’s his ears and his teeth and his tail.”

I frowned. I didn’t see a rabbit. Trust Clay to see things in the clouds that I couldn’t. I started to drift away from him across the water. I was going to let us drift apart but I felt his hand finding mine just under the surface of the water. His fingers pushed their way through my fingers and he tugged me so that I floated right up against him, his thick corded arm pressing right up along mine. I was too surprised to protest.

It felt so good, just floating there with Clay, staring up to the sky and watching the cluster of condensed air that people called clouds, even though a voice inside of me warned me not to let him get too close. It was a habit now, I guessed, after three long years of being alone, moving every few months, of searching for a sister who didn’t want to be found.

“What about that one?” He pointed to another, this time with his left hand, his right hand firmly curled into mine.

“A…baby rabbit?”

“There are more than rabbits in the clouds.”

I sighed. “That’s why you’re the artist and I’m just a checkout chick.”

“Don’t say that. What you do and who you are are two different things. Anyone who judges who you are by what you do is short-sighted.”

“Some of us weren’t destined for big things. It is in the stars,” I said. “The stars above us, govern our conditions.”

“Perhaps…but men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Aria, is not in our stars, but in ourselves…”

I lashed out and righted myself, blinking rapidly as I heard a memory of Salem’s voice, speaking those exact words to me, her young voice reverberating and quivering with emotion.

“What’s wrong?” Clay righted himself too, but he did it smoothly, barely making a splash, while the ripples were still widening from my clumsy efforts.

“You just quoted Shakespeare.”

“So did you.
King Lear
.”

“And you quoted
Julius Caesar
.”

He grinned. “You know Shakespeare?”

“
Know
Shakespeare.” Salem and I used to read out his plays. We could assign each other roles and recite our lines in fake British accents, and run and jump around the garden play-fighting with sticks as our swords. I sighed dramatically. “I don’t just know Shakespeare, he and I have a relationship.”

“Well, this is awkward. Because
I
have a relationship with the old Bard.”

“No.”

“Yes. And I’m a year older than you so my relationship has been going on longer. Mine trumps yours.”

“Length of time does not equal a depth of connection. My connection with Shakespeare is deeper. I
love
Shakespeare. Mine trumps yours.”

“You might think you love Shakespeare but you couldn’t possibly love Shakespeare more than me.”

“I bet I do.”

“I bet you don’t.” His eyes twinkled. “Let’s play a game.”

The very thing I lost which forced me on this…confusing and utterly unadvisable date in the first place. “Gee, I didn’t see that coming.”

“I’ll have to work on being more surprising, then. So are you in? Or are you chicken.”

“I’m not chicken.”

“So you’re in.”

“I haven’t heard this game yet.”

“We’ll do Shakespeare quotes. Whoever guesses wrong first, loses, and the other wins.”

“Wins what?”

“Same as always.”

A request from the other. I shuffled, nervous as hell. “What will you pick if you win?”

“Ladies choose their prize first.”

“Fine. If I win, you get to be my chauffeur. Drive me wherever I want.”

“You already have a car.”

“I have a tin box with an engine of a lawn mower held together with rust. When I win−”

“
If
you win.”

“Fine. If I win you’ll be my driver.”

“For a week.”

“For a month.”

“Fine.” A smile began to crawl across his face. “
When
I win you owe me…our first kiss.”

“A kiss?”

“So it’s settled.” He grinned as if he already won. “I’ll be kind. I’ll even let you go first.”

“I…” I had to swallow to unstick my throat. He wanted a kiss? “I didn’t agree to the game yet.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?”

“I won’t lose this game.” I found a section of the lake where I could actually feel the bottom and raised myself up as tall as I could. “I’m not going to lose.” My chin was only barely out of the water, but I felt more stable.

“Put your money where your mouth is.”

“I’ll start.” I just knew this was a bad idea. What did they say? Pride comes before the fall… “
Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.
”

He gave me a look. “Really? Aren’t you even going to make this hard for me?”

“You haven’t even answered yet.”

“
Macbeth
.” He smirked at me, knowing that he got it right.

I shrugged, pretending like I didn’t care, while inside my heart began thudding just a little faster. Maybe he did know what he was doing?

“My turn,” he said, his voice resounding with gravity. “
Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love.
”

My skin prickled as he spoke, each word of his spoken with passion. “The answer is
Hamlet
. You’re good. But you’re not as good as me.”

“You haven’t won.”

“Yet.
Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.
”

“
Measure for Measure.
”

I sank slightly back in the water. “You’re good,” I conceded.

He grinned. “I know.”

I swallowed. “It’s your turn.”

“
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
” He spoke his line with effort and reverence, as if he were really Romeo, his lips trembling as said the word
ne’er
. His gaze ripped through me and I felt naked, the temperature of the water seeming to drop, making me shiver, and yet at the same time, my insides began to glow like embers.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t tell me that one has you stumped.”

“No,” I growled, cursing myself for losing my brain over a silly quote. It had just seemed so real. It had seemed like he was speaking to me. “
Romeo and Juliet
.”

He smiled. “Correct.”

I was silent as I considered my next move. Finally I spoke, “
Why, this is very midsummer madness.
”

He only paused for a second before he spoke, a small smile teasing his full lips. “Most people would naturally assume that this quote comes from
Midsummer Night’s Dream
because of the reference to midsummer.”

Dammit. That was what I had been hoping. “But you think you know better?” I tried to bluff.

“But I know better.”

“You still haven’t answered.”

“This line is from
Twelfth Night
, spoken by…Olivia, actually.”

I shrugged, growing more and more uneasy at the ease at which he seemed to be recognising my quotes. He was good. He was very good.

I pushed these thoughts aside. But I was better. I knew Shakespeare’s lines like they were the very breaths of my life, the very words of my soul. “Your go.”

He spoke again, his eyes never leaving mine, “
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,

My love as deep; the more I give to thee,

The more I have, for both are infinite.
”

I swallowed as the thick, ropy knot tightened in my throat. “Stop doing that,” I said, my voice barely squeezing out.

“Doing what?”

“Choosing
those
kinds of quotes.”

“What kind of quotes?”

He was going to make me say it. “You know…the love ones.”

“I like the love ones. And as far as I’m aware there were no rules about what kinds of quotes we could or couldn’t use, were there?”

No. There weren't. But it seemed to me that I had no rules around Clay. He stripped me of all of them.

“Answer,” he said. “That is, if you know it.”

“
Romeo and Juliet
. Again,” I said, and he nodded.

It was my turn. I paused, letting my mind filter through all of Shakespeare’s plays. He wouldn’t win. I wouldn’t let him. I knew the further we went, the more he would use those love quotes to mess with my head and the more likely I’d mess up. I needed to end this. Now.

Finally, I found a quote so obscure that he couldn’t possibly get it right. I tried to hide my grin. I cleared my throat. “
Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water
.”

I watched his eyes widen, then his features hardened into a frown. I wanted to run my fingertips across his forehead to smooth out the heavy lines that I had caused.

Finally he broke eye contact with me, his eyes glancing up to the sky as if the answer was somehow written amongst the rabbits in the clouds.

I had won. He didn’t know the quote. I’d get my prize; him at my beck and call to drive me where I wanted.
It means you’ll spend more time together.
Not that he ever needed an excuse. I had won. But that would mean, he wouldn’t get his kiss. I wouldn’t get
my
first real kiss. A wave of sadness rose over me so suddenly it made my eyelashes flutter. I wanted to take back my quote, to give him something that was less obscure. But I remained silent.

His face broke out in a knowing grin, that cheeky, arrogant grin that I had come to know
very
well in these last twelve weeks since we met. I knew in an instant, he had been faking.
Gotcha
, it was written all over his face. The face I now wanted to slap.

“That line,” he began, “just happens to come from one of my favourite plays.”

“Which…which one then?” He could still get it wrong.

“
Henry VIII
.”

I sank back down into the water as if it could hide me. But there was never anywhere I could hide from those eyes, not those eyes that sought my insides out and forced me, the real me, to the surface. Me and all my fears, all my hidden worries, all the baby-skinned hopes that I hid from the world. Hid from everyone, except for him. And Salem. Salem used to know me, the real me, too.

He moved around me in the water as I remained frozen where I was, the very tips of my toes anchoring against the gritty rocks at the lakebed. I was prey, his prey. Every ripple of water that circled out from him as he moved lapped against my body, rocking against me so that it almost felt like skin slapping against skin. I stifled a shiver.

“Tell me something honestly, angel,” I heard his voice behind me. Then there was a silence. I felt his exhale of breath against my neck and realised that he had come up behind me. I caught my inhale in my lungs. “Did you feel disappointed when you thought you were going to win?”

I hated how he seemed to see right into me. I hated that I couldn’t seem to hide from him, ever. And yet, I loved it. There was something completely exhilarating in the knowledge that he saw me − the real me − and chose to inch ever closer. He liked me, in spite of me.

“It’s your go,” I said, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears. He knew what I had felt. He didn’t need me to tell him. He just wanted to torture me by letting me know that he knew.

He made no sound. No movement. It went on for so long that my neck began to prickle. Was he even still there?

I turned around. He was right there. Right there where he had always been. Waiting for me to turn to him. His brilliant eyes stood out even more under dark wet lashes, as they studied me, peeling away every single layer of me, my armour turning to lace under his gaze.

“It’s your go,” I repeated. It was the only thing that was safe to say.

“I’ll let you off this time,” he said, his voice so low I could just barely hear it over the rustle of the small creatures that tread the edge of the lake and the splashing of water by the birds that flew down to drink. “But one day, you’ll have to admit to yourself how you feel.”

No, I didn’t. I could be perfectly happy for the rest of my life behind this wall of denial. Right? “It’s your turn,” I said, my voice cloudy with bravado. “Or have you run out of quotes already?”

He smirked. “Oh little angel, I’ll have you know, I could go all day and all night long if you let me.” The look in his eye held a promise. Suddenly I wasn’t sure whether he was talking about quoting Shakespeare.

“Okay,” he spoke before I could say anything, “I have a hard one for you. A long, hard one. Are you ready for it?”

My flush deepened. We were definitely not talking about Shakespeare quotes anymore. I gathered as much bravado as I could. Two could play at this game within a game. “I can take whatever you have.”