Dark Secrets

by A. M. Hudson

  “No.” He held both my arms and leaned back a little. “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 scars. It was hard to even feel the slight bumps anymore; they used to feel like little 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. Maybe a little older—wiser, even.”

  I smiled. “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 keep 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? Look, you just came in and, out of the blue, on the first day you get here, 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.”

  “I did not. It took me ages to decide that.”

  He scoffed. “A week then.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I jerked forward, pointing to his chest. “You’re the one who told me I was being silly for not following my heart.”

  “What was I supposed to say? Forget him, he doesn’t like you, he’s just 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 were in love with him.”

  “Believe I’m in love with him? What would you know about it? You don’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 with 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 him. “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 away.

  “Oh, never, huh?” He followed, 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 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.

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

  “I—”

  “David did it. Didn’t he?” He came up out of nowhere, spinning me around sharply and held my wrist up. “Is this what love is, Ara? Is it? Because I love you more than this. I would never hurt you like this.”

  “You’re hurting me now.” I twisted my wrist in his grip and yanked it out through his fingers. “Just leave me alone, okay? I’ve had enough.”

  “Ara?” he called.

  Forget it. I didn’t need to stand there and have him tell me I knew nothing about love; I’d felt its spiny sting—I knew exactly what it was. Mike was just worried because he thought David hurt me. But of course he did; love is pain. And maybe it was wrong of David and I to do what we did, but it felt right in the moment, so I didn’t care what Mike thought. Not that he’d know it was blood sharing, anyway. In fact, I actually couldn’t even imagine what he thought David had done to me.

  “Ara. Stop.”

  “I said leave me alone, Mike.”

  “No,” he said from a few feet away. “I’m not letting you walk off by yourself. You’re a young girl in a bikini, for God’s sake. Anything could happen.”

  “Why, because I’m walking on such a deserted strip of sand?” I faced him, gesturing to all the beach-goers.

  “You don’t have to be alone to have something bad happen.”

  “I know,” I said conceitedly, because it was the bad things that made you end up alone.

  “Look, you can walk off and throw your little tantrum, but I’m going to follow you wherever you go.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  Across the carpet of sunburned backs and multi-coloured towels, the salty, plastic smell of sunscreen wafted between us, and even in the brightness of the day, the compassion in his eyes shone out like a beacon among the darkest sea. The last of my dummy-spit released with a huff, and I dropped my hands to my sides.

  Damn him and his kind eyes.

  All I wanted then was to fall back into his arms—back to where we stood before—before I yelled at him and told him he knows nothing. “Mike, I—”

  “Uh-uh.” He shook his head and launched forward into a half run, sweeping me into him. “You don't need to say a word, baby. Okay?”

  The hot sun beat down, making sweat trickle down my temples, but I closed my eyes and held my breath in the intense squeeze of his arms—a hold so tight I knew he never wanted to let go, knew he loved me. Not like he loved the ocean or the sunset, but like the way I loved David. True, honest, and intense love.

  “I’m sorry, Ara. I know you love David, and I know he loves you. I shouldn’ta said those things. It’s just—” He brushed my hair from my face, then lifted my locket for a second. “I love you, too. I really do. I love the way your eyes turn deep blue when you’re sad; the way you bite your lip when you play piano; I love your smile and the way you view the world, Ara. I absolutely love everything about you.” He paused and his eyes darted over my face. “I just wish you could understand that—wish you’d forgive me for making the biggest mistake I ever made—and love me back.”

  I folded my face against his chest again; the sand had dried in the heat, soothing the itch along my jaw, and the sound of his heart through the thick of his skin had an oddly comforting hum to it. I could tell from the way he took shallower breaths that he was waiting for me to say something. But I couldn’t grace him with a response, because I had nothing good to say to him. He could never understand the love I had with David, or the way we interacted with each other, and he probably thought I was sadistic for allowing David to hurt me, but he’d never understand the true intensity of the passion behind it, either.

  Slowly, and more surely than ever before, I was starting to consider going with David.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  No one even looked up as I stepped into the auditorium and dumped my bag by a chair. “Hi, guys,” I said, unwinding my scarf from my neck.

  “Hey, stranger,” Spencer called from the stage.

  “Hi,” Emily said as I sat beside her in the front row.

  “Where’ve you been, girl?” Ryan landed in the next seat and gave me a skinny-armed hug.

  “Just hanging out at home.” I sat back in the chair. “Good turnout for a rehearsal.”

  Emily nodded, her eyes on a notepad. “Most of them are just here to watch—or distract those who are trying to practice.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan said. “We have to be out by ten, but no one’s taking things seriously.”

  “Oh.” I slid down in the seat and put my feet on the crate in front of me. “Well, do you mind if I take the stage now—I gotta get back early tonight?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Emily said to her page. “Everything okay?”

  “Mm-hm.” Except, I didn’t really want to be around this place any longer than absolutely necessary.

  “Where’s David? Is he coming tonight?” Ryan asked.

  Emily looked up from her book; I shrugg
ed, reaching for my locket.

  “Oh, I thought he said he’d make it for dress rehearsals.” Ryan looked a little confused.

  “He did—” I tipped the crate with my foot, trying to look disinterested, “—but I guess the plan changed.” Or the heart.

  “Where’s your new pal...Mike?” Ryan asked.

  “Uh, he’s taking my brother to a movie tonight.”

  “Sweet.” Ryan nodded. “Well, I’ll fill in on guitar for David, if you like?”

  “Okay. Let’s just get this over with then.” I gave a reassuring smile to Emily’s frown as I stomped up the stairs, then stopped dead. “Hey, where’d the piano come from?”

  “Oh, it’s on loan from Musicology,” Emily called out.

  “What’s Musicology?” I sat down on the stool in front of the baby grand, flipping out imaginary jacket tails first.

  “Music store,” Ryan said, walking past me to grab his guitar.

  “Oh, cool. The keys feel nice.”

  “Wait ‘til you hear her.” Ryan sat on a stool near Alana, who turned the pages on her music stand. “We’re calling her Betty.”

  “Calling who Betty?” I said.

  “The piano,” Alana said.

  “Oh.” I looked at it. “Why Betty?”

  “The song…” Alana said, rolling her eyes in Ryan’s direction. “Black Betty.”

  “Hm.” I looked down at my fingers as they positioned themselves on the home-plates. “Okay, we’ll start with Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

  Ryan nodded and found the page in his sheet music, then repositioned the capo on the neck of his guitar. “Hip, bubbly, Ucayali-style or…”

  “Longing misery,” I said.

  Ryan nodded. “Nice. Let’s do it.”

  They played, all of them, including the version of me who took over when the real one could no longer bear to feel. In those moments, sometimes I felt like I was watching from outside myself, while another version of me lived inside my own mind—recreating this land of misery to a world where I could smile. I tried so hard to imagine David sitting in place of Ryan, smiling over at me. But no matter how hard I tried, the image wouldn't alter, and wishing with all my heart wouldn't change things either. It would be a waste of time.

  Ryan gave a nod of approval, and I smiled back because, in truth, our song did sound amazing. The three instruments harmonised so well with each other, even though my fingers were a little stiff and the flow of emotion through them was rigid, if not absent.

  When I opened my mouth to sing the words, my voice cracked and we all burst out laughing. All the sea-salt I swallowed the other day made my throat dry and hoarse; I sounded like a broken gramophone. But I was glad Mike took me to the beach, because despite our argument, the rest of that day went really well; just two old friends hanging out, eating salty fish and chips, talking about nothing, as the sun went down.

  While my mind wandered into the other days we’d spent together, the performance moved to the next song on our list; an instrumental piece from one of Nathan’s favourite gangster movies.

  “Ryan?” I stopped playing for a second.

  “Yeah?” He looked over the music stand, and Alana lowered her violin.

  “On that last bar, can you give me a B flat, instead?”

  “Uh—yeah, okay,” he said slowly and frowned, but did it anyway, and then his face lit up when I came in with the piano.

  “Okay. Cool, so, just remember; B flat on the second verse, okay?” I said, flexing my fingers. “Em? You got the time?”

  “Uh, yep,” she said from the base of the stage. “Eight-thirty.”

  I closed the cover on the keys. “I’m gonna call it quits, guys. I need to get home.” Mike would be back by now.

  “Okay, cool.” Ryan placed his guitar on the stand and turned to Alana.

  “Hey, Ara?” Emily’s light footsteps made a dull thud as she came up the stairs and stood beside me. “Um, I hope you don't mind, but…being that your act has the most heart, I thought I might place you last in the set—you know, kind of thought if people leave on a sad note—”

  “Yeah, all cool.” I held my hand up. Em obviously didn't realise that closing a show was actually a great honour.

  “And, um, that sounded amazing, by the way.” She ran her fingertip over the glossy top of the piano, her reflection appearing upside-down.

  “Thanks. Looks like I still have enough soul left in me to play music.” I smiled, trying to sound light.

  “You miss David?”

  “Yeah. Kinda.”

  “He’ll be back.” She shrugged, then smiled and walked off to bark orders at the next act.

  It really was such a shame David never fell for Emily. She would’ve been a perfect match for him; she wasn’t complicated or moody, like me, and she would’ve given him eternity.

  A jaded smile grasped my lips while I watched her, falling into Spencer’s embrace, tilting her face up so he could kiss the tip of her nose; they were so in love, like normal teenagers—so innocent and so easy. They’d never know the complexities of my life, and could never even imagine them.

  Somehow, that made me angry, or maybe it was jealous. Or maybe it just made me feel more—alone.

  “It’s not all bad.” Ryan sat beside me on the piano stool.

  “What’s not?” I switched on my happy face.

  He elbowed me softly. “David? I know you were missing him just now.”

  I looked down at my thumbnails, clicking them over each other. “Yeah. I kinda was.”

  “Well, he’ll be back before you know it. So, chin up, m’kay?”

  “Yeah, okay.” I smiled at him. “Thanks Ryan.” But he was wrong. We were just another town David was moving through, and I was just another ending to a tragic love story. None of us would ever see him again.

  I scribbled on a piece of paper and rested it in the lip of my windowsill, then headed for the door. I couldn’t leave my room for the evening without making sure David knew my priorities, should he see fit to come back; one tap on Mike’s window and I’d magically materialise in my room.

  “So, how was rehearsal?” Mike closed the DVD drive and grabbed the remote as I shut his bedroom door.

  “Crowded.” But lonely.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you play.”

  I bounced onto his bed and propped my back against his pillows. “I wish you were doing a duet with me.”

  “Well, maybe we’ll have to sneak over to the school during lunch and use the piano one day.” His face lit with a cheeky grin as he slumped down next to me—right on top of the popcorn bowl, scattering it across the sheets, like pebbles on tiles.

  “Ah, crap!” We both cursed.

  “Here, I’ll get that.” Mike knelt by the bed, took the bowl from me, and started scraping the salty snack off the edge with his broad, square palms.

  He’d always had such big hands. So strong and protective. Like somehow, if he was holding me and the world was burning around me, I wouldn’t be afraid.

  “Something wrong, kid?” He looked up.

  Forgetting his question, I grabbed his hand and turned it over, placing my palm against his, feeling the salt of popcorn all over the tips of his fingers. My hands were thinner, more petite than his, the top of my oval-shaped nail only just falling in line with the first fold of his fingertips. “I missed your hands.”

  He laced his fingers through mine, then flipped our hands over and traced circles over my knuckles, seeming distant, almost sad.

  “Are you okay, Mike?”

  He moved the popcorn bowl to the nightstand and shuffled up to sit beside me. “You have her hands, you know? Your mum’s.”

  I tucked my arm under my rib and snuggled against his chest. “I know.”

  I had a lot of my mother in me; her hair, her heart-shaped face. But I got my dad’s eyes. Harry had her eyes. Harry had her smile—my smile. But they were gone. The only thing left from that life now was Mike—and I was so glad I at least had him.
r />   It made me wonder—about his hands—how they made me feel so safe, and his eyes, how every thought behind them placed me first, and that smile, the way it’d warm my heart, making me a part of his world every time he gave it to me, without fail—if I went with him to Perth, would it always be like this? Would we be happy, get married and have little dark-haired babies with caramel-coloured eyes and strong hands? I liked the idea—liked the idea of always feeling like this; loved.

  Mike looked down at me, watching my eyes expectantly, like he was waiting for me to say what he knew was in my heart. But, after a quiet moment, he pulled me back to his chest and pressed play on the remote.

  As the opening credits rolled across the base of the screen, I closed my eyes and listened to the hum of human normality. I loved it—loved Mike, and I wished I could tell him that. Wished he knew. We’d laid like this so many times as friends, but in his arms, tonight, I felt the difference—felt his love, felt how real it was. And it drove a strong urge within me to look up at him and say, “I’ll come with you. Let’s go home to Perth.”

  But I knew that when the movie ended, and I crawled away from the warmth of his arms and went back to my cold, empty room, I’d look beyond the eastern hills, feeling the inexplicable gut wrench that made me want to scream to the world below—tell them to find David, beg him to come back and change me into a vampire.

  My desires were at odds with my heart, and the war raged inside me, unresolvable still.

  I could give my heart to Mike tonight, but if David so much as passed me on the street, ever again, I’d throw it away. I was sure of that. So, I said nothing. Just closed my eyes and played it out as a fantasy instead—imagining my life with him from this exact moment onward. And I smiled.

  “Ara?” Mike swept his hands through the front of my hair, his low voice coming from above my brow.

  “Mm,” I muttered sleepily, keeping my eyes closed.

  “You still with me, baby?”

  “Hm?”

  “Shh.” He kissed my head and the volume on the TV decreased. “Just sleep.”

  The smell of morning and the crass sound of a crow somewhere outside brought my mind back from sleep. I rolled up on my elbows and looked around the room—my room.