by A. M. Hudson
Though the storm and the squeaking of branches, moved by things unseen, should’ve made me feel very small in a place so big and uninhabited, it didn’t, because the feeling, like coming home, hugged my shoulders a little—making the cold less bitter, the dark a little lighter, and the vision of my best friends fornicating, a little fuzzier. The leaves under my feet were crunchy, stripped of moisture from the summer heat, but seeped into the ground of mud that bedded them, making my steps cushioned. Everything was so much slipperier with the heavy rain—not helpful in the dark—and I tensed a little, unable to see my own hands in front of me, walking completely blind, just waiting for that little cluster of rocks David always steered me around. My toes found it instead. I managed to stumble forward, keeping my balance just long enough to drive my heel down on a slippery patch of leaves and end up sidelong on the ground, my ear breaking my fall; my lips opening to allow a cough of air past my clinking teeth.
Ouch.
I felt like a total idiot, which only made the self-pity, the humiliation and stupidity of not noticing my two best friends falling for each other spread over me like water on rocks. I closed my eyes around the vision of them in bed, the pain of my fall making the images more vivid; their naked bodies, the warm yellow glow of light, the murmured giggles and moans of pleasure I probably never actually heard. I was sure I heard them laughing at me, too, but I doubt they did.
And the truth is, I pushed Mike away, so I have no real right to be mad—or to want him back.
I sat up and tucked my arms in to my body.
I’ve no right to want him back, but I still do—maybe even more than I did before. Almost defensively, like I could scratch Emily’s eyes out.
But at the same time, she’s so right for him. She’s the chocolate to his orange. One sweet, the other good for you, but mix them together and you get the scent of dreams.
But just because it works, doesn’t mean it’s right.
I stood and winced at the squelchy feel of mud down the back of my jeans, then started walking again, not really sure if I was even headed to the lake. For all I knew I could be headed off a steep drop or into the deeper depths of the forest. David’s words, the day he told me about the signs bordering this land, how they warned foxes not to stray, that those foxes would be killed if they did, echoed in my thoughts. It only occurred to me right then that he wasn’t talking about foxes.
But cringe as I may have once, I just didn’t care.
I dare him to come. I dare him to kill me. I’d happily die right now just to see him again.
Overhead, the cold wind had ceased, leaving behind a dense, murky cool, the kind you might feel on one of those tours inside a cave—just at the entrance—where you can still feel the warm grasp of the sun outside, but know that deeper, if you take just a few more steps, you’ll be enveloped in its darkness. The dead calm, the eye of the storm, made my steps seem awfully loud, and the brisk, short breaths I took, tired from walking longer than I remembered this trail being, sounded a little like panic.
By the time I reached the tree line by the lake, the rain began to pour into the open space again. My feet stopped dead with a skid in the mud, and my heart jumped in my chest when I saw the rock where we used to sit. It was like I could see him there, just a silhouette of perfectly formed muscles and soft brown hair under the moonlight. I closed my eyes, savouring the image, and when I looked back up, the silhouette evaporated. But all around me, sitting on the cusp of the clay-scented pines, was the sweetly familiar scent of orange and chocolate. Like an Easter morning hug from someone you love.
I closed my eyes again and drew in the last of the fading memory; his perfect green eyes, the milky-smooth skin of his lips and the way he smiled when he read something on my mind that he had no right to know. All those little memories were fading now, like they’d never been real in the first place; just another fantasy I dreamed up while lying alone in my bed at night—trying not to cry.
I miss him—miss his smile, miss everything about him.
I wanted to believe, just for a little longer, that he was still here. I wandered over to the rock and fell into imaginary arms against it, tucking my knees up to my chest while ignoring the mud seeping through the denim cushion. I tilted my head back on the rock, my eyes closed, chin raised to the heavens; “Let me believe it, for just a little longer.” I just needed to feel him. I’d have given anything. Anything to have him here again—even let him read all my inappropriate thoughts, just to lay eyes on him for one second.
Icy fingers of rain trickled over my face and down the collar of my shirt, but the chill could not penetrate the aurora of numbness, though it made my arms shake and my skin so tight with bumps that the hairs on my legs were hurting.
In the silence, for the first time, I allowed myself to realise what I’d done—what I’d done to my life, my friends, my family. I should have told Mike so long ago that I only loved David; I should never have said I’d marry him. I should never have left the locket with the rose—should never have said goodbye.
I just keep failing. Over and over again, making the wrong choices.
Or maybe they were the right choices, and no matter what I do or choose, I’m not capable of being happy. Maybe If I’d chosen David I’d still feel this way.
I gave my head a little crack on the rock as if maybe it would knock some sense into me. It didn’t. It only hurt. No matter what I try to do to make things better, to make sense of things, all I do is cause hurt. Perhaps they’d all be better off without me. I looked at the lake, at the rushing swirls of the rising water, fighting against the storm to stay calm. Perhaps they’d all be better off if I just launched myself into the lake—let the wintry cool of the water overtake me and set me free from all this. I could eternally rest in the place I know David will return one day.
And I know he’d find my body. But would he tell Mike, would he give them closure so they’d know what had happened to me? Or would he keep it a secret so no one would investigate this lake?
I wonder how long they’d miss me—how long they’d search for me.
I sighed, knowing deep inside that it wouldn’t be long. Not now. Not now that Mike has Emily. He’d be able to move on sooner than he would before. At least I know he’d be okay. Everyone would now. I’d stayed alive long enough to see them all move on—to see them all realise they could cope without me; Dad and Vicki, they had each other, Mike and Emily would get married, have kids, and there would be no one else to care.
Everyone I loved in my life is either dead, or moved on.
“Or dying of heartache every day because they can’t be with you.”
I looked to the side, to a pair of heavy black boots sitting loosely around the cuff of jeans, shaded by a thick, heavy trench coat. A flicker of fear raced through me for a heartbeat until I looked all the way up to the side of his shoulders and jaw, lit by pale moonlight. And even through tear-soaked eyes, I knew his face. “David!” I launched to my feet, stumbling back against the rock.
“Why would you think like that, Ara?”
The gristly, solid feel of rock under my palm grounded me. I traced my finger along it to know I was awake.
“David. Are you real?”
“Ara, tell me why you would think those things.”
Before the boiling ache of desperation had the chance to inform my heart of his presence, my body flung, at full speed, into his—I wrapped myself around his neck and squeezed, letting the tears fall like an army of marching raindrops; my breath gasping as I held tightly around his neck, scrambling to wrap my legs around him. “Oh, David, David. Please be real—please really be here.”
“Ara.” He cupped his hands to my ribs and gently pushed me off him. “Ara. Stop. Don’t do this.”
Stepping back, my mouth falling loosely open, I looked up at his perfect square jaw, his smooth, flowing locks, and those intense, sharply-focused eyes. “Why won’t you hold me?”
“I can’t be here. I shouldn’t have talked to yo
u. I just—”
His words meant nothing to me. Realisation rose up from my chest and squeezed my insides like a tight, heavy burden. I stumbled back and slid down the rock until the earth caught me at the base. “How could you do that? How could you show yourself and not be willing to hold me?”
“Oh, come on, Ara. Be fair.”
“Fair?” I scoffed, my voice breaking. “Just leave, David.”
“I only wanted to stop you—from thinking those thoughts.”
“What thoughts?” As our eyes met and the fact that he’d been listening all this time became apparent, I shook my head, looking away. “It’s true, David. I am better off dead.”
“No!” He dropped to his knees and cupped my chin. “You don’t get to decide that. You still belong to me.”
“I belong to no one—especially not you. You gave me away, remember?” I bit my quivering lip.
“I’m only trying to do what’s right.” He dropped his hand.
“Well, everything you’ve done so far has been what’s right—for one of us.”
“Don’t say that. You know how I feel about you.”
“Do I?” I pushed him away with my forearm as I used the rock to help me stand, then swiftly marched over to the lip of the lake. “What’re you even doing here, David? I thought you were off somewhere with the monster.” I turned to look back at him, but there was only empty space there, making my shoulders drop. I’d imagined him. Again.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Ah! You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He smiled from beside me, keeping his eyes on the lake, his hands behind his back.
I was forced to smile too, allowing warmth into the moment for the first time.
“You have mud on your jeans, did you know?” he said in a playful tone.
“Stop it. Don’t talk to me like everything’s okay.”
David looked at my hand then and frowned. “Why don’t you wear your wedding ring?”
It started as a lump in my throat and grew into a very large, very full laugh; I folded over, shaking my head as I looked up at the moon. “Boy, you have been gone, haven’t you?”
“Ara.” He gave me the glare of a warden to a psyche patient. “I’m really confused.”
“I didn’t marry him.” I held up my hand. “I ran away—left him at the altar. Why do you think I’m not in Oz?”
David stood silent, dropping his face slowly into his hand.
“What? Do you have a problem with that?” I asked.
“I—” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’ve been so tortured, imagining you this past year—in his arms, having his baby—happy. It killed me to think you were happy—without me.” He looked at me then.
I looked away. “Don’t worry, I can empathise with that.”
The long breath he let out was loud enough to carry the gentle bass in his voice; he looked sideways at me, a smile lighting the corners of his eyes. “You were supposed to be moving on. What happened, and why can I smell Mike on you if you’re not together?”
My lip quivered. I pressed them together, but they turned down like a falling crescent moon.
“Ara? What’s wrong? What happened?”
A hundred images of golden flesh, strong hands, flowing blonde hair and Mike’s face, as I saw what I saw, flashed into my mind like photos taken in a studio. I looked up at David, wanting to tell him but so ashamed of myself for feeling the way I did, too. When our eyes met, seeing the kindness and love there that still belonged only to me, I just couldn’t control it any longer. All the hate I had for him when he left me just slipped away to understanding; he pushed me into Mike’s arms, and now, I could finally see why he was so torn that I actually went. I told Mike to move on, but that’s not what I wanted. Not really.
“Emily and Mike? Really?”
I sniffed. “Mm-hm.”
“Oh, Ara.” He appeared in front of me then, cupping one hand in the nape of my neck, barely able to mask the smile on his face as seriousness. “I have never been so happy to hear that you’ve been miserable.”
I looked at his eyes again and smiled. “That’s not very nice, you know.”
He smiled simply. “You know what I mean.”
“Sadly, I do.”
His fingers inched further into my hair, tangling a little. “I thought I left you happy. I—I thought you could just happily move on.”
“Then you don’t know me very well.”
He laughed. “Do you know what a relief it is to me that you can’t move on?”
I did, because I’d feel just as relived if he couldn’t move on.
“Do you really think I could?”
I was confused for a second until I realised he must’ve read my thought. “Yes.”
His jaw stiffened, as did his fingers, becoming almost restricting, like he wanted to pull me close, but wouldn’t. “I regretted leaving you the second I closed that door in the hospital. All I wanted was to take it back. All I wanted was to find a way for us to be together. I never stopped searching, Ara. When I found a way—and I won’t tell you what that is—I went back for you.” He looked deep into my eyes. “Do you now that? I went back for you. But you were happy. You stood there, looking like an angel in that dress, and you said goodbye to me.”
“No.” I shook my head, pushing his hand off my face. “No, David. I wasn’t happy. You were in my thoughts all day. It took everything in me to say goodbye to you. If I’d known you wanted me still—that there was still hope, I would’ve ditched the damn bouquet and come with you.”
“Then why did you say…?” His lips sat parted as confusion sunk the muscles in his cheeks.
“Because I thought I had to move on—I was trying to be strong. You should have known.”
“I—” I could actually see the same shock I felt when I found out about Lilithians flood through him as he realised he could have had me all this time. “I was just so broken, Ara. When you left the locket by the rose, I—” He stopped talking and pressed a fist to his lips.
“How could you ever think I wanted to move on?” I tugged his hand away from his mouth—a little too roughly.
“I thought you hated me. I left you. I walked away when you needed me more than you ever have before. I failed you, Ara.” He took both my hands. “I failed you and I didn’t know how to make that better.”
“And you thought one mistake would make me hate you enough to want to forget you?”
“Yes.”
“Would it work that way in reverse?”
He smiled. “No.”
Breathing in, I shook my head. “Why are you here, David? Why are you even talking to me?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to—until I heard what you were thinking.” He took my fingertips. “Would you rather I didn’t talk to you?”
“Yes—if you’re going to leave again.”
“Really?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“David. It’s too much for me. I’m dead.” I dropped his hand and gently gripped my hair at the top of my skull. “I died the day you left me. I can’t do this anymore. Either you stay—or I die.”
“Tell me you don’t mean that?” He caught my gaze, his soul reaching out from beyond his eyes, trying to comprehend what I’d said.
“I’m sorry. I do.”
“What happened to you?” His whole body screamed disappointment. “What happened to the girl who once said that your life is made up of mistakes—that they make you who you are—happy, or sad, or—”
“She’s dead, David.” My fist tightened in my hair. “She died the day your brother came and—”
“Ara, Ara?” He bundled me into his arms and held me tight. “Don’t say things like that, please—don’t say that.”
“Why? Does it hurt you to know how your own brother destroyed my life—how, when I needed you, you left me alone, and it killed me? Bit by bit, it killed me.” I pushed off from his chest, studying his face.
“I know. I know it did, and I—”
“I know you’re sorry. I know you wish it hadn’t happened—that Jason hadn’t done that, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t let it go.” I tapped my head with a sharp finger. “I can’t forget, and I don’t hate you, David. I don’t hate you but I’m so hurt. So hurt.” My voice disappeared under sadness as I pressed my palm to my chest.
His mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out.
It occurred to me then that none of this was relevant. Nothing changed. Just because he knew the pain I was in, didn’t mean he was going to stay. He couldn’t stay—I knew this much—the Set, the laws, the...punishments.
But I didn’t care. I really just didn’t care anymore.
“You’re right,” he said, toughening up. “That doesn’t change things. I can’t stay.”
“I know. But you know what hurt the most, David? Out of everything that happened?”
He looked at me cautiously, shaking his head. “Please don’t.”
I opened my mouth, determined to tell him what he didn’t want to hear. “You asked me to give up my life for you—but you won’t give up anything for me.”
He took a quick step toward me. “I won’t give them something else that I love. Something else to take from me, something else good to destroy.”
Those words resonated in my thoughts for a second. When he reached for my fingertips, I pulled away and stepped back. “So that’s it?” I said, swallowing all the useless emotions. “You’re not back, are you?”
He shook his head. “You knew that.”
“Fine.” A surge of rage moved my arms; I shoved him, with all my heart and soul driving my hands. “Just go! If you’re going to do it—do it now. Spare me one more second of seeing your face.”
