Dark Secrets

by A. M. Hudson

  Wait, my room?

  Feeling as though I was holding my breath, I clarified everything in my mind; my room was dark, the curtains closed—obviously by Mike; unopened by David. The house sounded quieter than usual. Even the gentle hum of cars and the distant chatter of school kids outside was absent from the day; it almost sounded like a Saturday, but without the lawnmower.

  Last night, while I fell asleep in my best friend’s arms, a few things became so clear to me that I was afraid clarity would be gone come morning. But the feeling I had as sleep arrested me remained the same.

  I jumped out of bed, dashed my curtains across and looked to the eastern hills. Somewhere over that rise, somewhere further than I cared to imagine, my David went away. I could feel him; feel his soul aching beyond the rising sun. He never told me where he lived, or even which direction he ran to each night, but I could feel him over there—somewhere.

  Down below, nestled into the long, yellow-tipped grass in the backyard, the oak tree sat gloriously, staring back up at me. As many times as we’d studied each other, I had also let my heart skip a beat, expecting to see David beneath its leafy bows. But, for some reason, as I watched the gentle motion of the rope swing, absently touching the brittle bark for a second before floating along the wistful breeze, I felt none of the surprise, the ache, that he wasn’t there. The only thing present in my heart was that warm feeling I had in Mike’s arms last night, which suddenly burned into a flaming heat.

  With a tight fist, I rubbed my chest and grabbed the edge of my desk to remain upright. Was it possible that Mike managed to crawl his way a little bit deeper into my heart while I was sleeping? Could it be possible that my brain finally understood the fact that David was gone—that even tomorrow, when I looked for him on the stage where he should be performing our duet, I wouldn’t see him? Did I finally get the message?

  I backed away from the window, clutching my locket, and turned to face my dresser mirror, studying the girl staring back at me. “He is gone, isn’t he?” she said. Well, I think she did, anyway.

  “Yes.” And I knew he wouldn’t return for anything. Not for the concert, not for all the tears in the world, not if Skittles got stuck in the tree, and not even if I threw myself from the window and splattered all over the ground.

  David Knight was gone—for good.

  But I didn't feel anything. Nothing. I should’ve be crying or kicking things. The admission of fact should’ve changed something in me. Anything. But it didn’t.

  The girl in the mirror looked out at me; I looked away. That reflection told a different story to the reality of the world behind me. My room was light and airy, with the softness of summer morning all around, while her world—the world beyond the glass—was a dark forest, backdrop to the face of this lonely girl, trapped, staring out from beyond her prison of secrets. Love was the key—my starry night, my David—but he left.

  I remembered back to the day I first thought of him as the night, and how, in that same thought, I smiled for Mike because he was always my blue sky; my happiness.

  In the mirror, the contours of the girl’s face became shadowed as the sun rose around her, light touching the darkest shadows of her illusory cage. The iron bars behind her dissolved into white tree trunks, and the leaves became visible as green star-shaped foliage for the first time.

  Blue sky. The night was gone now, but there would always be the blue sky.

  But was it enough?

  I looked away from her again, seeing her hopeful smile dissolve before I turned my head. The roar of thunder all around me became the obvious call of the ogre; I clutched my hand across my belly and listened to his cries for nourishment. The last thing I wanted was to go downstairs and have breakfast with Mike. The feeling, the desire to hold onto him, to make sure I never lost him like I did David, burned in me; I was sure I’d tell him I love him and ruin everything when I changed my mind again as the night descended.

  I needed to think. I needed to let it all sink in. I felt catatonic, empty, hollow. Afraid, because the feeling in me—of not feeling anything—felt like suddenly waking up deaf.

  “Run,” the girl in the mirror said.

  “Run?” I looked back at her.

  She smiled and nodded. “Run.”

  A sneaky tempo guided my steps as I passed the dining area where Vicki and Mike sat laughing and drinking coffee. Then, without first eating, bolted out the front door.

  My shoes tapped the pavement softly at first, but as I reached the end of the drive, they picked up. I zipped my sweater around my neck—trapping my locket inside. It wasn’t cold, but for some reason I felt exposed and naked. Like I was being watched or followed. I think a part of me knew that if Mike caught a glimpse of me running from the house without him, he’d come after me. And I really didn’t want that. I really needed to be by myself for a while.

  There was a part of me that kept trying to believe the reason David hadn’t come was because he’d been held up at work or hadn’t realised how much time had passed since we last spoke. But the part of me that knew David also knew he wasn’t that absentminded.

  Fact was, he wasn’t here because he had no intention of coming back.

  Feeling unbelievably weak and tired, I beelined for a park bench and graced the seat with my bottom. The leafy shade of the tree felt nice, almost protective. I looked around the park at the children playing in the distance—the moms and dads pushing their kids on the swings, and even the big sisters running to their little brother’s aide when they fell over or got sand in their mouths. It made me miss Harry—miss being a big sister.

  I flopped back on the backrest with my chin tilted to the cool breeze and let my troubles consume me. The only moisture left in me now was the salty, sticky mask of sweat the wind was drying off my brow. I still loved the way a breeze felt on my face, though; it took a month for my wounds to heal enough that I’d let Dad take me in public—on a plane, over to his home. My days were spent in a motel, in the dark—away from civilisation. I never even let Mike see me. Dad tried to let him in once, but I screamed and freaked out like I was going to tear myself apart. I couldn’t let him see me like that. I felt so ashamed—felt like a monster, and worse—looked like one.

  By the time Dad brought me here, there were only a few yellowing bruises left, and I could bear the wind on my face—never to take it for granted again. It brushed my hair over my cheek in a tickly touch, like a thousand butterflies dancing on my skin, and in the simplicity of the sunny day, surrounded by trees and grass, I could almost imagine I had no problems. Even the song of the birds seemed to have a tune to it, like I was in some twisted version of a Disney film. I half expected the woodland animals to gather at my feet as I broke into song.

  For the first time in weeks, I lowered my head and took a good look at my fingers. They were my mum’s hands, but they were bony and looked weak now. Heartache had taken the spirit from them, and though I wanted nothing more than to find the nearest piano and expel the song I’d had stuck in my head all morning, I wondered if I could truly play—for the feel of it—from the heart, anymore.

  I slumped back on the bench again. I didn’t even know what was in my heart now. I used to be sure it was Mike, then it knew nothing but David.

  Now they seemed to share a little piece each.

  When my stomach growled again, I checked the watch Sam gave me for my fifteenth birthday—the sport watch he told me was to help time my runs so I’d realise I wasn’t as fast as I thought—and smiled, unable to see the time through a sudden rush of tears. He was a good little brother—Sam. As much as I hated him sometimes, he was my brother. And in my heart, I’d never really let myself believe that. But I was still a big sister, and though no one would ever replace Harry, I knew that if anything ever happened to Sam, he’d be just as irreplaceable.

  And that’s the thing about love, really, isn’t it? That there is no replacing the ones we love. I’d never replace David—not even with Mike.

  Suddenly, the ri
se of emotion I should’ve had this morning when I finally admitted David wasn’t coming back, presented itself—screaming out from my heart in the form of a song.

  A vibrant, tingling sensation warmed my fingertips; like static electricity before it charges out on something metal.

  I jumped up, ignoring the dizziness and narrowed vision of low blood-pressure, and ran for the school.

  I needed to play.

  The dark room echoed as the door closed behind me and the shadows swallowed me whole. No one looked up; no one turned their heads, because the only sentinel was the pitch black. Everyone was at lunch, the auditorium set for the concert tomorrow night.

  I kicked the door ajar a little, placed the doorstop in the crack and hugged myself as I headed down the aisle, walking the path of the thin blue line of light from outside. The warmth of the day remained behind, making me shiver as I reached the stage. I looked back for a moment, seeing only a faint outline of the seats along the aisle, then felt my way up the stairs, keeping my hands out in front of me in case I tripped.

  “Ara?”

  “H-hello?” I waited in the middle of the stage, hearing nothing. No one whispered back. “Hello? Is anyone there?” My voice stayed low, almost as if I didn’t want an answer.

  All around me, the shadows carried eerie secrets, like a person may be lingering within—waiting for me—while the strong feel of being watched crawled over my skin, tightening my pores. I knew I shouldn’t be in here. Knew I should be at lunch, be attending school today like everyone else. I hesitated a moment longer. If I was caught in here, I’d be in trouble.

  But, like a beacon of salvation, the piano greeted me with all its glory, sitting majestically centre stage. I took a seat and looked down at my hands on the keys. Here, in front of the piano, I felt narrowed in—safe inside some magical, invisible orb, where no one could see me. For one moment I just needed to sit; just to exist in the space where music was the centre of my world; where the only thing that mattered was the notes, the keys, and me.

  My heart was trying to make sense of things—of the fact that David left me because I had that stupid dream, even though I had no control over it. And I guess, in a way, that was the problem; what we dream does have meaning. What we think, feel, desire—it matters. And it hurts.

  But life taught me that searching for reasons why it sucks is as futile as screaming out to the heavens “Why, God, why?”

  No one will ever answer, because there is no answer. No one is watching from above; no angels are standing by to answer our prayers. We are the authors of our own lives, and what we suffer is due to our own error. How we endure is determined by our will to survive.

  I would survive this. I had to stop asking, had to stop wondering if there was some point to all this—some lesson to be learned—because, in doing that, I was holding myself back from moving on.

  David told me to move on—told me to love another, but contradicted that by being hurt at the possibility.

  My heart was Mike’s before I came here—before it all happened. And, sometimes, I wished I’d never met David at all—wished I didn’t know what it felt like to love someone that way.

  My thoughts came back to the auditorium while I took a deep breath.

  Though I sat motionless, aside from my hands scaling across the keys, the room seemed to be spinning slowly around me. I wasn’t sure if I was dizzy or just lost in some ultra-realism with slow-motion camera panning, but nothing felt right—or looked right.

  I played the scales slowly back and forth a few times, listening carefully, seeing my future in the physical form of the notes; Mike, our children—their little round faces smiling out at me from the space between thought and reality. I saw our lives—long and happy. And he would love me, and I would love him just as much.

  But I still just didn’t know if it was enough.

  Confusion consumed my emotions and took control of my hands; I played harder, slamming the notes. All of the anguish, the loss—I wanted it to go away. I wanted David to stay, to marry me, to have babies with me and grow old together.

  The notes became slow and high once again. It’d never happen. I had a choice to make. To choose life or eternal love—if David would still even have me. He probably didn’t even want my answer anymore. And I didn’t expect to see him at the Masquerade next Sunday.

  I wanted to hope he was happy somewhere out there, that he’d moved on—but it hurt when I tried.

  I closed my eyes tight and let my heart die a little more, as it had been, slowly and surely, every day since my first kiss.

  David, if you’re out there, somewhere, please know how much I miss you. Please know how sorry I—

  “Ara!” Mike’s angry voice broke through my thoughts. “Where have you been?”

  The room fell silent instantly as I pulled my hands from the keys and placed them in my lap, lowering my head.

  “Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through this morning?” The stage thudded under his feet. “I was about to call the police.”

  “Police? I was at school—”

  “Don’t give me that rubbish. I knew you didn’t attend school today because your dad’s been out there searching for you since we realised you weren’t in roll call!”

  There was nothing for me to say. I kind of knew he’d be worried. “Well.” I shrugged. “Guess you found me, so—”

  “No. I didn’t. Your dad did. And he was so mad he couldn’t even come in here to talk to you, Ara. He called me.” He pointed to his chest. “How could you just run off like that? Not tell anyone where you were going. Jesus, girl.” The fabric on the stool dipped as he sat beside me, shaking his head.

  “I don’t need your permission to go for a run.”

  “That’s what you were doing?”

  “Yes. Is that okay with you?”

  “Ara, stop being a child. You know damn well you should’ve told someone where you were. Don’t try to make me out to be the bad guy. I’ve been driving all over town looking for you. We had no idea what time you left or how long you’d been gone.” He looked at his watch. “It’s twelve-thirty, for God’s sake, girl.”

  I looked down at my lap, running my thumb over my locket. “Stop yelling at me.”

  “No. I’m mad. I was so worried about you I nearly shook Emily when I asked her if she’d seen you.”

  “What! You talked to my friends?” I smacked the stool with both hands. “Mike, how could you—now you’ve gone and made a huge drama out of thi—”

  “No. Ara. You made the drama. You took off without leaving a note to say you hadn’t gone to school. You’ve been gone all bloody day!”

  “Yeah, well, no one asked you to come looking for me.” I folded my arms. “I’m fine. I just lost track of time.”

  “Well, that may be the case, but you’ve caused a lot of worry. People care about you, Ara—” He reached for me; I jerked away. “I care about you.”

  “You? You don’t care about me. You just feel sorry for me. You just feel responsible for me, like you always have—”

  “Ara? Don’t say things like that.”

  “I didn’t say it!” I shot up off the stool and fled to the heavy curtains near the wall. “You did!”

  “What? When?” He sat taller. “Ara, I would never say something like tha—”

  “You did. The day I arrived here, when my dad made me speak to you on the phone. You said you were tired of being responsible for me, that I had to grow up, and if I wasn’t such a baby then none of this would’ve happened!”

  Mike stood up, reaching for me. “Ara, that was not what I said and you know it. You’re adding words to what I—”

  “Am I? Or is that what you wanted to say? Is that what you really meant, only you didn’t have the guts to say it?” I yelled across the stage, feeling rather well-placed for such a theatrical display of emotion.

  “My exact words to you that day, and my exact meaning were, I feel responsible for what happened to your mum and Harry. And you
said it was your fault, that if you hadn’t run away it wouldn’t’ve happened. That’s when I said that running away was a childish thing to do. And that was all I said, Ara. The fact is, I was responsible for you. I let you down. I did not say you caused this. I never said, felt, or meant that. You know that.”

  “No. I don’t. I know the way you looked at me. I saw you look away when you first saw me after the accident; I remember how disgusted you were in me that night for daring to feel what I felt for you—”

  “That’s what you think?” He briskly stepped forward and grabbed my arms. “That I was disgusted? In you? Ara, I was disgusted in myself for—”

  “For telling me how you truly felt?” I shrugged out of his hands. “You shouldn’t be. Because that should be allowed. If you don’t love someone, you have a right to tell them.”

  “But I do love you. You know that.” He swooped into me again.

  “Don’t touch me!” I ducked out from under his arms and ran to the edge of the stage. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

  “Ara. Please—”

  I took a glance over my shoulder to see his bulky silhouette by the piano, reaching out to me, then jumped off the edge, bent my knees as I landed on the ground, and walked away with my arms folded.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Home.”

  At a run, Mike’s footfalls fell down on the hollow-sounding floor, then stopped as a soft tap of shoes on carpet came up behind me. “Baby, talk to me. Please don’t be like this. I just want you to be happy.”

  “Happy!” I spun around. “If you wanted me to be happy, then you’d never have told me you love me, Mike. Now I’m just confused and empty.”

  Mike doubled back, dropping his hand to his side as the blade of my words hit his heart. “You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

  “What would you know? You don’t know anything about me, Mike. Maybe you used to—in fact, no—scratch that. If you did, you’d never have rejected me like that.”