The Knight Of The Rose

by A. M. Hudson

in. “I liked the pictures.”

  “Fair enough, I suppose,” I said, th en reached for the dial on th e stereo. “I wanna pl ay that

  one again.”

  “You liked that?” Mike put his window up as he spoke, and my cheeks tingled where my

  hair had been whipping my face.

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s a little morbid—for my tastes, but—”

  “Hey. There’s nothing morbid about Metallica.”

  “There is about that one.”

  “It’s one song out of how many?”

  I stared up at him with a glint of sarcasm behind my grin.

  “Fine. I’ll play it again. But no more knocking the music,” he warned with a joking air to his

  tone. We arrived at the beach just as the Sunday sun woke the rest of the world, and managed to

  find a parking spot right near the long jetty where most of the people young enough to remai n

  upright on the sand hung out. Mi ke, obviously loving the new old-fashioned me, came around and

  opened my door.

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.” I bowed my head; Mike chuckled and walked to the boot of the

  car, flipping the keys around on his index finger.

  As I hopped out of the car, the summer breeze greeted me to the fine day. I crossed my arms

  over my chest and smiled, pictur ing a boy and a girl standing on the s and with the sun s etting

  around them, holding hands and kissing. It’s the same fantasy I’d always had about David, which

  made being here, in the daylight, with another man, feel kind of strange.

  “Well, what’re you waiting for?” Mike offered his hand to the view bef ore us. “Go ahead.

  I’ll catch up.”

  “Really? You don’t want help carrying all that?” I nodded to th e picnic basket, the blanket

  and a dozen other things in Mike’s hands.

  He closed the boot and shook his head. “Just go, baby.”

  Without further invitation, I pulled off my sh orts and shirt, and left them on the ground

  behind me for Mike to gr ab on his way down. My feet barely touched the hot grains of sand as I

  flew to the ocean with my arms flailing out t o the sides. I hit the whitewash with the grace of an

  elephant, and the waves enveloped my ankles, cooling the burns on th e balls of my feet. Like fizzy

  sherbet mixed with cola on your tongue, the waves left a tingle on my lower leg as they receded.

  I closed my eyes and dr opped my hands onto my knees, leaning closer to the water to catch

  the light cool of the breeze that came directly off it.

  The distant squeals and the s tatic-sound of the waves carried on t he heat of the dying

  summer sun helped to warm my s houlders with the hope that some things in life were still normal.

  With my eyes closed, I could almost believe I was back home in Perth. And even though I couldn’t

  see the origins of the noise around me, I could feel the brightness of the day, which made me

  wonder about David. Is he in th e daylight, or is he sitting alone in a cold, dark room, leaning over

  the piano, playing a sad song? Is he drowning his sorrows in a bottle of red wine or is he celebrating

  freedom with a night on the town?

  My toes sank into the soft, grainy sand as the waves swam back out to sea, and I opened my

  eyes to the portrait of summer.

  But being summer should mean David’s bes ide me; that was the deal. But, he went and

  changed the rules. He took the days, offered the nights—and now, he’s taken that from me, too.

  I missed him more than anything as I stood by myself, with the loneliness of joy all around

  me.

  “You still look like a little girl—standing there in that rainbow bikini,” Mike noted, placing

  his arm around my back as he stood beside me.

  “Well, I’m not a little girl anymore, Mike.” I kept my eyes forward and pushed his hand off

  my skin.

  “I kno—” His words were cut s hort by the screech of a seagul l beside us. It st artled me

  enough to make me clutch my locket.

  “God, I’m not used t hat sound anymore,” I said. It was so cr ass and abrasive, yet, I used to

  wake to it every morning. “Don’t you dare,” I warned Mike, who went to kick the noisy bird.

  “I never actually hit them, Ara. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Doesn’t matter, what if you did? By accident?”

  “Then I would apologise…profusely.” He bowed his head. “But you know what I wouldn’t

  apologise for?” The corners of his eyes creased as he smiled and leaned slowly closer, then, the

  world came out fr om under me; I flew through the air, landing on my back—in the water—with

  Mike’s hand catching the base of my neck before my head went under. His burst of laughter became

  a gurgled sound while a wave splashed over my face, saturating my hair and leaving the strong burn

  of salt down my throat.

  “You asshole!” I coughed, sitting up as he jumped back. “I’m so gonna get you.”

  “You have to catch me first.” He started running. I hesitated, only for a moment; we bot h

  knew I’d never catch him, but it was damn-well worth a try.

  Each time I was within reach, he darted out of the way—like we were both sout h poles on a

  magnet, but at last, I managed to grasp the rim of his shi rt; I closed my fingers around it, wearing a

  victory grin for only the breath of time it to took him to roll out from under t he shirt, leaving me—

  and the shirt—face down in the sand, and totally not amused.

  He was laughing, but I just felt defeated.

  I pushed up and hugged my knees, letting my head fall against my forearms.

  Now, thanks to Mike, I was no longer just wet, but salty and covered in sand, too. I felt like

  a crumbed steak. Well, it’s time this steak got a little revenge!

  I couldn’t see Mike, but felt his presence somewhere close by, so I watched the lines of sand

  trail away under my toes as the waves lapped up under my feet, and secretly planned my attack.

  “Ar, you okay? Did I hurt you?” Mike asked, leaning over me.

  Wrong move. He didn’t see it coming; I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed the

  entire force of my s houlder into his chest, rolling his head under my arm as I flipped him into the

  water. His weight came as a shock. I didn’t remember him being that heavy.

  He laid on his back wit h his hands clasped over his stomach—looking a l ittle stunned.

  “Well—” he said through breaths as the waves covered his face, then receded, “—you surprised me

  with that. Girl one. Guy nothing.”

  Yeah, right. You let me flip you, and we both know it. “Well, you taught me the move—you

  should be weary of your students, oh-wise-master, they usually supersede you.”

  He rolled onto his stomach and smiled at me with the magic of the ocean light ing him in a

  way I’d never really noticed before. He seemed more alive, more spirited, sort of…free. He belongs

  here, on the beach, with the sand and the blue skies.

  “What you thinking?” He j umped up, rubbing the salt and sand out of his hair as he landed

  beside me.

  “I was just remembering home.” I

  shrugged. “Thinking how easy all t

  his is. Like,

  sometimes, when I’m with you—I forget they’re gone.” I wrapped my arms around my legs and

  linked my fingers together. “The sunlight, the beach, all of this stayed with you when I left, and now

  you’re here...it’s like you’ve brought it all back with you.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad t
hing.”

  I shrugged again. “I don’t wanna lose that when you go.”

  He gave a gentle smile and let his elbows hang loosely over his knees. “You know it doesn’t

  have to be that way—”

  “Mike?” I dragged out each vowel.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I turned my head away fr om his dissolving smile and studied the choppy waves in front of

  us. The salt in the ocean was s o strong I could almos t taste it as I breathed, as if the air were made

  of sand, brushing the back of my tongue as I sw allowed. Even though the beach wasn’t nearly as

  pretty as the one back home, it was good to feel the crisp water and the weight of my body sink into

  the sand again.

  But the heat reminded me of the truth, because, while the sun may have bur ned into the side

  of my face like a hot iron, the breeze was icy and strong—not humid and wet, like home. I ran some

  of the cool ocean water over my cheek, and the heat dissipated with a soft tingle.

  “This looks better,” Mike said.

  My heart jumped and I spun my face away when a cold, wet touch invaded my space.

  “Whoa. Ara. I’m not going to hurt you.” Mike leaned around and looked at me.

  “I’m sorry.” I frowned, touching my jaw on the side where his f ingers had been. “You just

  startled me.”

  “You still defensive about those scars?”

  I lifted one shoulder and dropped it again.

  “You know, you shouldn’t be.”

  “They’re hideous.” I looked away—fighting back tears.

  “Hideous?” Mike’s voice trai led up. “Ar a, you can barely see them. The onl y reason I

  noticed them is because the sun was reflecting off the water beads on your skin. It looked pretty.

  Like little diamonds. I just wanted to touch them.”

  And I just want to run away. In my mind, the scars had faded to an almost invisible memory.

  When I looked in the mirror, I ne ver even noticed them anymore; tiny little dots covering one side

  of my face and neck, silvery and very indistinct. But Mike noticing them made me feel uncovered

  and monstrous—like they were all over me.

  “Ara. I’m serious. They’re barely visible. Really.” He shuffled closer and turned my face to

  him. “You’re still just the same beautiful girl you’ve always been.”

  That’s where he’s wrong. I’m not the s ame. Nothing about me is the same. Not on the

  outside and not from the inside.

  “Ara?” Mike called as I stood and walked down the beach, dusting sand off my butt.

  A little gi rl sitting by the wate r’s edge, digging a hole, smile d at me as I passed. She

  reminded me of myself—a long time ago—and just as ignorant. When I was her age, there was no

  way I could’ve known what was coming for me

  —no way I could have imagined. I t made me

  jealous to watch her play, to see the other kids around her laughing, playing freely; they get to go

  home, do their homework, eat dinner and go to bed, a nd never have to fear anything unimaginably

  real.

  “Ara.” Mike’s hand clasped my arm; I stopped walking with a jolt. “Don’t walk away from

  me like that. Talk to me.”

  “About what, Mike?” The venom in my tone made the little girl look up from her bucket and

  spade. Mike, standing right in front of me, dripping with water, looked for his words on the sand,

  then looked back up at me with a sort of distance resounding from thought in his eyes.

  My cheeks burned like a bright light had been shone down on my wounds—the same one a

  dentist lights his canvas of pearly-whites with.

  After the accident, Mike never saw the horrific wounds on my ch eek. Even at the funeral,

  much of the wound was still covered in gauze, so , standing in front of hi m, letting him study my

  scars, felt humiliating—like I was the patient and him the doctor—examining me. I turned my face

  away.

  “Don’t do that, Ara? Don’t you see? No one can notice them.” His caramel eyes rounded as

  he turned my face back to his. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d never tried to touch you. Please—” I pulled

  away from him, “—please believe me. They’re not bad at all. You’ve healed really well.”

  Liar.

  “Look, I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but all I see is perfect whit e

  skin on the face of the prettiest girl in the world.”

  I touched my scars with my fingertips.

  “Ara.” He gently grabbed my wrist and pushed my hand down from my face. “I promise. On

  my own future grave, I swear you are perfect.”

  “Really?” I whimpered in a breaking voice, keeping my eyes on my toes.

  “Yes.” Mike’s shoulders droppe d enough for me to see t hrough my peripheral. Then, even

  with the warm sun, the salty air, and all the families around us, I felt the rise of pain I’d held in—the

  pain I never got to s hare with Mike—bubbling up in my chest, then my throat, like an aching

  blockage of air.

  I needed him to hold me; I needed him to make everything okay.

  My lashes burned on the edges as hot tears f illed my eyes and the beach disappeared into a

  shadow-rimmed image.

  “Ara, baby—” Mike’s concerne d gaze wrapped my f ace and he extended his hand as the

  shaking in my legs spread to my chest, forcing sobs to turn into audi ble, shrieking gasps. Then, he

  caught me in his arms, holding me against the r ough sand on his chest. “I t’s okay. It’s okay. I’m

  here now.” While I let the pain fa ll out in itchy tears against my salty skin, Mike’s gent le touch

  made everything hurt a little less. “Oh baby, what has life done to you? I hate to see you so broken.”

  The little girl by the water stared at me as he r mother grabbed her by the wrist and quickly

  led her away.

  Great. I can scare families off.

  But I don’t care. The funny thing about breaking down is that you can’t choose when to do

  it—it just hits you like a storm; a flash of heat , an over powering surge of anger, and then—the

  pouring rain.

  “Yeah, she’s okay,” Mike spoke softly to someone behind me. How embarrassing. “She lost

  her mum recently,” he added.

  “Oh. Oh, poor dear ,” an elderly-sounding lady said. S he said something else, but I didn’t

  hear. Mike pressed my face tightly against his bare chest—causing a sort of unintentional vacuum

  seal over my ears.

  The sobs slowed, and I scr atched the salt away from my cheek as I l ooked up at him. “You

  really can’t tell my face is horrifically scarred?” His opi nion mattered to me more than almost

  anyone else’s.

  Mike held both my arms and leaned back a little. “No. You can’t tell at all. You are perfect,

  just like you were before. You still have flawless, tight, smooth skin. Okay? So, stop feeling so bad

  about yourself, baby.” He bent his knees so his eyes came in line with mine. “You are beautiful.”

  I nodded and ran my fingers over the scar s. It was hard to even feel the slight bumps

  anymore; they used to feel like litt le pins rising up from under my skin. “I hate looking at myself,

  you know. I don’t look like me anymore.”

  “You look the same to me.”

  I nodded. “I really missed you, Mike.”

  “Yeah. I know you did.“

  “I really miss Mum and Harry, too.” I looked at the water, trying to stop the memory of their

  faces; “I k
eep thinking I’m just gonna go home and they’ll be there, you know, like always.”

  “Is that why you don’t want to move back with me?”

  “I never said that, Mike. Okay? Lo ok, you just came in and, out of the blue, on the first day

  you get here, you tell me you love me—no mind for the fact that I have a boyfriend—”

  “Boyfriend?” Mike said. “Ara, you knew him for a day before you decided you were in love

  with him.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I jerked forward defensively. “You’re the one who told me I was

  being silly for not following my heart.”

  “What was I s upposed to say? For get him, he doesn’t like you, he’s j ust pretending? I’m

  your friend. I care about you. I wanted you to be happy.” He dropped one hand to his side. “I

  just never thought you’d actually believe you’re in love with him.”

  “Believe I’m in love with him? What would you know about it? You d on’t even know your

  own heart?” I shrugged out of his grasp. “You think you love me…but you don’t!”

  “Ara—” Mike reached out, warning me of the staring people around us wi th a look in his

  eye.

  “No! I don’t care if they look. Let them look. I’m not going to stand here while you tell me

  what’s in my heart.”

  “That’s not what I’m doi—”

  “Stop trying to touch me!” I jerked away from hi m. “I do love David, Mike. I do. You have

  no idea how much—and you never will,” I added coldly and folded my arms as I turned around.

  “Oh, never, huh?” He foll owed, raising his voice as much as I had. “So this freaky, overly-

  possessive thing you have with David—is that true love, is it—is that how it works?” he asked in a

  conceited tone. “So, when you love someone more than anyone in the world has ever loved anyone

  else before, you let them hurt you and leave bruises on you.”

  I huffed and started walking away again.

  “—And don’t think I didn’t see that cut on your wrist, Ara.”

  My steps came to an abrupt halt; I unfolded my arms and looked down at my left wrist. Oh,

  crud! Since he never mentioned it, I thought he hadn’t noticed. But how can he not? I ran my finger

  along the two inch, dark-brown scab where David cut me to drink my blood.

  “Yes. I saw it!” His voice became huskier. “I know you didn’t do that. I know you better