by A. M. Hudson
hear what they were saying. I didn’t want to be a part of their conversation—nor did I want to sit
here wishing I was.
I clutched my secret locket and waited for the arrival of another tear-provoked sleep.
When the taps stopped running and the lights and doors were positioned in their nightly rest
stop, I snuggled down in my bed, closed my eyes and imagined David beside me.
“How are you feeling?” the appar ition asked, smiling at me; I could almost feel the solidit y
of his fingers as he trailed them along my hairline.
“Better now you’re here.”
He went to smile, then looked up when my door popped open; I quickl y tucked the l ocket
away, hiding a smile under my feigned sleep. It must be midnight.
Mike walked in and stood over me for a second. As us ual, I kept my eyes closed. I think
he’s afraid I might disappear while he’s sleepi ng. He always checks my window, too—forces it
down and locks it into place. Maybe he’s scared the attacker will come back—looking for me.
But he doesn’t have to worry—I check the window a few times before I go to bed myself. I
have to, even though walking takes a lot of effort, and I all but fall into bed after—I can’t ask them
to do it for me. I don’t want them to know I’m afraid. They can’t know that.
Mike lingered for longer than usual; he leaned down beside me in the dar kness and stroked
my hair—as always, then stopped, and everything went still. A soft tinker filled the silence between
us when he touched my neck and pulled the silver chain from under my shirt.
“Ara—” he sighed my name out, his warm, heavy breath brushing across my nose and lips.
But, he placed the locket gent ly back down on my chest, instead of ripping it away—like he
probably should have.
Well, I guess the secret’s out now. I suppose I’ll be getting grilled tomorrow.
“Oh, Mike—I didn’t realise you were in here,” my dad whispered into the darkness.
“Yeah, I like to check on her before I go to bed,” Mike said with a deep, husky whisper. The
warmth of his body disappeared.
“I’m worried about her, Mike.” The light I could feel filtering in from the hall disappeared. I
opened one eye to see my dad lean against my dresser.
Mike took a breath through his nose, and folded his arms. “I know.”
“I don’t think she’s okay, you know. She plays it tough—” Dad looked right at me; I closed
my eye again. “But I never even see her cry. Not once—surely something like this has got to leave a
girl feeling something?”
Mike went silent for a second. “She cries,” he stated after a deep sigh. “I know you don’t see
it, but that’s because she wants everyone to think she’s okay.”
“But she’s not okay. How do you know she cries? Does she talk to you?”
I opened my eyes a litt le; Mike shook his head. “But I hear her. At ni ght, when she thinks
everyone’s asleep. She cri es, Greg.” Mike looked at Dad. “A f ew times I’ve hovered by her door,
trying to decide if I should come in—but she smiles and plays it cool when I catch her.” There was
a pause. “No—I don’t think she’s okay, either. Come to think of it—she needs to talk to someone.”
“Maybe she’ll talk to Emily?” Dad suggested.
No, I won’t.
“I doubt it—just give her time,” Mike said.
I rolled over and stirred—deliberately—to get them and their gossip out of my room.
“I’ll try and talk to her tomorrow,” Mike concluded. “But don’t worry, she is still capable of
feeling.”
“I hope so,” Dad said. “Otherwise...” His pause lasted a little too long.
I tensed. Otherwise what?
“I know,” Mike said. “But she’s alive, Greg.”
“I’m starting to wonder if that’s all that counts.”
It’s not, Dad. I wish I had died. There was a point in the darkness when I wanted to come
back, but not to this. Not the nightmares I have for the way Jason touched me, the emptiness I feel
for the way David left me, and for the grief that hits me when I stand na ked in the shower—feeling
the exposure of my skin to the air—knowing I’m safe, but feeling so scared and so bare.
No one war ned me that bei ng awake again would be worse. No one told m e I’d ha ve
nightmares—falling, over and over again from that tree, waking up just before I hit the ground. I
can’t sleep in the dark, because wh en I open my eyes, i f I can’t see the outline of my room, I pani c
and fight the constri ction of my covers, never really sure I’m free from the eternal blackness. And
even though Mike comes running when I wake and scream, and he holds me and soothes my
demons away, I’ve become increasingly afraid to go to sleep.
I don’t know how much more I can take. And I’m not the only one who’s tired. I’ve watched
my Mike grow increasingly weat hered these last two weeks, and yet, he will not rest. He persists
with my care—like he’s trying to make up for lost time.
The light from their world intruded on my dayd ream of David for a litt le longer. Dad had
left the door open when he walked away, but I could feel Mike lingering in the doorway. He knew I
was awake. He wanted me to look at him so he could say “Sorry I woke you” and then lay with me.
But I didn’t want company. I just wanted to be alone—to go back to my daydream.
Mike closed the door, granting my secret wish, and I lifted the locket from my chest; this is
the only place I get to have David—this is the only place I will ever find a smile again.
The sunlight outside reflected off the icy roads and shone through the window with its early
morning glow. It felt like years since I’d seen the sun, since I’d looked up at the blue sky and found
the summer.
I wonder now, if I will ever love the summer again.
“Hi, gorgeous.” Mike glided into my room with breakfast. “You hungry?”
I shook my head; Mike lowered the plate of toast, dropping his smile with it. “Okay. I’ll take
it back down.”
“Thanks, Mike. But...” I sat up a littl e. “Don’t tell Vicki. She’s worried I’m not getting
enough nutrients.”
“Okay.” He paused and chewed the inside of his lip as he studied my half-dr ied tears.
“Ara?”
“Mm?”
“No more, baby.” He squatted beside me and placed the plate on the ground. “You gotta talk
to me.”
“I do talk to you.” I folded my arms and looked down. I was careless. I should’ve pretended
to be asleep again.
“No! You don’t—you haven’t even been able to look at me. You flinch when—” he dropped
his hand away from my face as I recoiled, “—when I touch you.”
“Well, what do you expect, Mike?”
“I get it. I do. But I don’t understand why you’re pushing me away. I’d never hurt you, Ara.”
“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” I said with a hint of detest.
“Well—” He dropped back on his heels a little. “What is it then?”
I stared at him through a film of tears, and as the words of truth rose to the surface, spilling
onto my cheeks at the same time as the tears, I spat them out, “I’m just so ashamed. I never wanted
you to find me that way.”
“What way? Ara, how do you think I found you?
“He—he,” I stammered, “he left me naked. He sa
id he was going t o make sure that...when
you found me, you wouldn’t sleep for fifty years.”
Mike’s eyes widened; his hands shot out so fast that I squealed and ducked my head, but he
held me to his chest anyway and stroked my hair. “You never to ld me that. Why didn’t you tell me
that?” Sniffling, with my quivering shaking from the chest down, I shook my head. “I didn’t want
anyone to know.”
“Well, did you tell the cops that?”
I shook my head again. “I haven’t told anyone—anything. I only told them the basics.”
“Then, you remember more than you say?” His tone was soft, not angry like I expected.
“Mm-hm.”
“Oh, baby. Why? Why would you do that? How can they catch this guy if they don’t know
the full story?”
“They’ll never catch him.” That much I’m sure of.
Mike ignored that comment and took a deep breath. “Do you want to know what I saw when
I found you—can you cope with this yet?”
“I need to know, Mike—it’s been eating me up.”
“Oh, Ara. You should’ve talked to me about this before now—I could’ve helped you.”
“I thought you wouldn’t wanna talk about it.”
“That’s just silly, baby.” Mike laid me back down on my pill ow and studied my face—
which I wanted to turn away from him. His hand fell into the curve of my neck, and he stroked my
cheek with his thumb.
The bruising from where Jason strangled me had faded, but it left a mental scar; with Mike’s
hand there, my heart hammered in my chest and I fought the urge to push him off.
“When I found you—” he looked deep into my eyes with his soulful, caramel gaze, “—your
hair was covering you; laying unnat urally over your chest, like it ’d been positioned that way. And
your broken leg—” he touched my right thigh; “was sitting gently over the other one—your body
turned slightly. Nothing was showing, baby, oka y? No one saw anything, and I had you covered
with my jacket before anyone else came.”
Tears of relief overflowed and rolled down my cheeks. Mike started to wipe them away, but
gave up in vain when they kept flowing.
“You’re so silly, Ara. All this time, you thought I found you—exposed.” He shook his head
and smiled. Then, he nodded once as grave ser iousness masked his eyes. “There is one thing
though. I did check you. I...there was so much blood,” he covered his chin with his palm, “—when I
saw it coming from between your legs, I thought that he’d…I thought he might have cut you there.
But he didn’t—it was coming from the top of your leg.” He stopped and turned his head away for a
second, wincing. “You don’t know what I went through while the doctors were examining you—to
make sure he hadn’t...” he swallowed hard, “raped you.”
I touched his arm, wishing I could have been there to comfort him through that.
“I cried when they told me,” he said, cupping his hand over mine. “When they said you were
untouched, I just cried. Baby, it was so dark in that field—without a torch, I might not’ve seen you
at all. And when I found you, I noticed only one small flicker of pale, blood-covered skin, and I ran,
faster than I’ve ever run before.”
In my mind, I could see Mike in the field. I could see him with his torch, shining it on my
body, and then running, unable to speak, unable to breathe as he bolted acr oss the gras s. He
would’ve fallen to his knees beside me and checked every inch my body for injuries before lifting
me into his arms.
“All we’d come across so far was—” he paus ed and lowered his voi ce, “was your bra. I
can’t tell you what went through my mind when I found it.”
I felt my cheeks flush.
Mike covered his mouth. “Oh, God, baby, the things I imagined he might’ve done to you
while I wasn’t there to protect you. I felt so helpless, I—I couldn’t walk properly; every step I took
was like my legs were carrying the weight of a train. But I kept going, just to find you—to hold you
and make you safe again.
“If you could only feel what I f elt when I saw you there. I wasn’t ashamed or disgusted like
you seem to think, princess—I was overjoyed. Had it not been for the blood and the bones that stuck
out from your body, I’d have thought, from the way you were laying, so peaceful and so beautiful,
that you’d been placed that way. I promise you, no one saw y our body—except for Emily; she was
right beside me the whole time.” When he looked back unexpectedly at my eyes, I nearly jumped
out of my skin; Mike’s eyes became soft and rou nd as one corner of his lip turned up, though the
smile didn’t fill his eyes. “I covered you with my jacket,” he continued, “a nd told Emily to look
away while I checked to see where the blood was coming from.” He pressed his lips together and
sighed. “You are my beautiful, precious girl, Ara. I know you didn’t want me to see you like t hat,
but I never looked at anything in that way. I was just so happy to find you still breathing. All I saw
was the girl I’m in love with—and the only memory I’ve taken with me from that night is the way
you looked up suddenly, with panic behi nd your eyes, and then smiled when you saw me.”
He squeezed my hand and smiled. “You closed your eyes then, and fell into my chest, despite all
your broken bones. But, you didn’t open them again—not for three months.”
An audible sob left my lips, and Mike gathered me into his chest, tight er than ever before.
The tears came for the shame, but also for relief; Jason didn’t do as he threatened. It made me
nauseated though—to feel gratitude toward him for that—toward Jason. What kind of sick, twisted
being am I?
The sick feeling welled up into a circle of anger within me. My fists clutched behind Mike’s
back, and I closed my eyes ti ght. One day, I don’t know when, but one day, I will make Jason pay
for what he did to me.
“I wish you’d just talked t o me before now, baby. If that’s what’s been bothering you, I
could’ve put your mind at ease weeks ago.” He leaned out from our embrace and looked down at my
lips, then my eyes, stroking my hair of f my brow. “Is that why you won’t see Emily? Because, you
know, she’s been hysterical over this—she needs to see you—she blames herself, Ara, fo r not
chasing after you when she saw you walk away with that man.”
“Really?” I asked in a soft whimper.
“Yes. She cries every ti me I see her, and t here’s nothing I can do to console her. Will you
please just see her? She loves you, just the same as we all do.”
“But—she saw, Mike. I—I can’t help how I feel.”
“Oh, baby. Please don’t be like that. Emily’s your friend—and she’s a girl. I’m sure she’s
seen it all before.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know. But I’m just trying to get you understand how little any of that means when, in the
greater scheme of things, we thought we’d find you dead—or much, much worse.”
I wedged the tongue of stubbornness into my cheek and shook my head.
“Ara. Emily’s not to blame. You can’t hide from this, and you won’t make your self feel
better by punishing her.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! Fine. I’ll see her.”
Mike let out a quick huff of reli
ef. “Really?”
“Yes. If you shut up.”
“Shutting up.” He kissed my lips, scrunching my cheeks be tween his hands. “I’m gonna go
call her. Okay?”
I nodded and fell back against my pillows as he backed away and closed the door. It only
felt like ten minutes passed before Sam popped his head around the corner and said, “Emily’s here.”
I put my book down and pressed my hands into the mattress until I was sitting up properly.
“Send her in.”
“You sure, sis?” Sam asked, slightly closing himself in the room with me. “Because I know
Mike kinda pushed you into this.”
I smiled at Sam. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”
He nodded, then signalled into the cor ridor. Emily, with her hands clasped in front of her,
walked very slowly into my room, and smiled.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.” As soon as the words left her lips, she spun around to cl ose my door, then just stood
there, with her head rested against it.
“Em?”
“I’m okay.” She nodded and exhaled.
“What’s wrong?”
“I. I have rules. Things I’m not allowed to say, but—”
I waited, allowing her to pull herself together.
“I—I just don’t know what to say. I’m so...so sorry.” She turned to face me then, and tears
rained over her crossed arms, falling past her elbows to the carpet. “It’s my fault. I should have—”
“Em. Don’t. okay.” I held a hand up and closed my eyes. “Just don’t. Say. Anything about
it.”
After a moment, she sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
“Thanks, Em.” I opened my eyes.
“We’ll just talk about the weather, then.” She smiled a weak smile, then sat beside me on the
bed.
“That’s what I need,” I said breathily as I rested my head on her shoulder.
And we did talk about the weather, the past, the present, the future. The coming spring, the
wild winter, and I know a few times Emily wondered if I was talking in code, referring to David as
the rain, the sadness, or talking about the attack when I spoke about the storms. And who knows,
maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t. But it was nice to just talk for no other reason than to exchange words
in the company of someone you’d come to love.
