by A. M. Hudson
The thunder sounded furious—rolling across the roof like the growl of a hungry beast—angry, like me. As the rain fell harder, it drowned out my sorrowful weeping with its soothing patter. I wish it’d been this noisy while I was crying before, then no one would’ve heard me.
The same tiny bumps I felt when David was holding me today returned, tightening my skin and raising the hairs along my arms. I rubbed my shoulder and spun around on the dresser stool to face the mirror.
With the curtains closed, the darkness of my room swallowed up my reflection—mirroring back only the outline of my head, shoulders, and as the lightning flashed again, the image of my mother—smiling down at the tiny baby in her arms. I lifted the photo frame from the dresser and kissed them both, then wiped away the smudge my lips left on the glass.
This is my favourite photo—my only photo. I so clearly remember the day I took it; Harry, who was about two months old, had just been bathed, and my mum—I ran my fingers over her face—wrapped him safely in a towel. Then, when she looked down at him again, I took the shot—capturing the exact moment she saw her baby’s first real smile. This is the way I’d like to remember them, but at night, when I close my eyes, it’s the last seconds I ever saw them that flash into my dreams—making the smiles and the sunlight fade from nearly every memory.
Resting my bare forearms on the cold wood of the dresser, exhausted from all of the crying, I dropped my head between my hands and let the warm, salty tears fall over my nose and drip away. “I’m so sorry, Mum,” I whispered to nothing. “I’m so, so sorry.”
The sobs retreated to a still, breathless kind of composure, and my eyes closed, heavy and stinging around the hot tears—failing to block out the white flashes of light streaking through the gap in my curtains.
As the darkness of sleep came, the images in my head swirled, spinning in the dizzying silence—and then, after a moment, after another flash of lightning, I let my sorrows take me away on the tide of regrets—into the darkness of a dreamless beyond.
A brilliant, bright yellow light filled my room—beaming through the crystals in front of the window and splashing tiny rainbows over my walls. I lifted my head from the soft warmth of my pillow.
That’s weird. I don’t remember getting into bed last night. Dad must’ve moved me. I looked down at the red sundress still covering my body, then over at my shoes—sitting neatly beside my bedroom door.
Yup, must’ve been Dad. Vicki would’ve put my shoes in the closet.
Great, now I feel bad for yelling at him. He didn’t have to come check on me, but I’m glad he did, otherwise I’d have a really sore neck right now.
The cold breeze of the approaching autumn stole the summer from the morning and slammed my crystals against my window frame as it entered my room, uninvited.
I jumped out of bed, shut my window and drew my curtains across—deliberately taking no notice of the grimy grey clouds threatening to cover up the sun. It may be dreary outside, but there’s no way there could be a heavier cloud hanging over my day than the one that’s in my heart.
And to make matters worse, it looks like a tsunami hit my desk last night. I slumped in my desk chair with a loud groan and lifted my soaked homework—trying to separate the dry pages from the wet ones, then dropped them all with a huff of defeat.
It’s no use; I’ll have to start all over again. How am I going to explain this to my teachers, who already think I’m a first-class slack-off? I dropped my head against my hand and rested my elbow on the desk.
Maybe I should just stay home today. I don’t feel like being a part of the world right now. Everything in my life that was once worth living for is now gone—or thousands of miles on the other side of the world.
After months of trying so hard to keep it together, to be normal and move on, I’ve finally had enough. I can’t think of one good reason to get dressed.
Vicki and Dad might’ve been right to keep such a careful eye on me. But I was fine once David came into my life—but now he’s leaving me, too. I can’t find even the slightest bit of joy today, and I’m not sure I really do want to go on living. I mean, it’s not like I want to die, but I don’t want to live this life anymore. I just want the pain to stop.
From under my pile of class literature, I slid out my diary and opened it. Last night’s rain missed most of my books, thankfully, but the corner of my diary got a bit wet—well, soggy is a better word.
It cracked as I opened it and turned to a blank page. The fading smell of home lingered in its binding, slowly being washed away by the ageing of its pages and the sticky, inky smell of a blue biro.
So many thoughts have been written down in here from times when everything was okay—and not so okay. I fanned the edges of the paper with my thumb and considered flipping back through it, but thought better. Before I knew grief, my problems were so mediocre, so unimportant. I don’t think I could stand to hear myself drone on about my hopeless thoughts on boys or friends who wouldn’t talk to me after a fight. Back then, I was so narrow-minded, so naïve and ignorant to the world—I think it’d just make me wanna throw up—or slap myself.
I grabbed a pen from my drawer and leaned over the diary.
Dear diary,
Before my parents railroaded me at dinner, I had just spent my most amazing afternoon with David.
I had my first kiss, and it was as sweet and romantic as a fairy-tale. But all I can taste now is the sour sting of loathing.
Why did he do that? Why would he kiss me—steal my first kiss, essentially, from the man who might’ve wanted to marry me one day. I’ll never get that back—and it should belong to someone I’m going to spend the rest of my life with—not someone who doesn’t even care about me.
The worst part is…I feel like he was just humouring me—giving me what I wanted.
Nothing makes sense anymore. I mean, did he know all along that he might leave, and still decided to make me fall in love with him? Or maybe he planned to leave as soon as he thought things were getting too intense?
Perhaps that’s not it, at all. Perhaps I’m just too tragic for him—too much hassle.
I tapped my pen on my lip, looking at my curtains. He didn’t know I was the cause of my mother’s death when he led me around on that first day of school—my dad couldn’t have told him that, because he still doesn’t know the truth.
But David does. Maybe that’s all there is to it. Maybe he simply agreed to look out for me, as a favour to my dad, but didn’t realise I was a moody, selfish cow, and now he wants out. I guess, when I step back and look at things from his perspective, I can’t blame him for leaving me.
But I don’t have to tolerate his odd behaviour, either. If he wants to leave, if I’m too messed up for him, then he’ll just have to make the separation start now—and no more lies! No more nature-documentary-deadlines. I mean, “He’ll be gone by winter?” What is he, a duck? Does he plan to fly south?
I don’t need any more pain or secrets or lies in my life. I’m not going to let him string me along like some puppet he gets to play with until he’s ready to move on.
No more kissing. No more being friends.
I snapped my diary shut and stood up.
As of now—it’s over!
With a new sense of purpose, I grabbed my iPod and jammed it into the dock. If I’m going to take a new approach to life, then I’m going to need a montage. Time for my Beyoncé playlist and an outfit that’s totally hot—totally not me.
I sang along, making a huge mess as I pulled nearly everything out of the neat little crevices in my wardrobe. I tossed my jeans, my red singlet top and the only heeled shoes I own into the bathroom. Then, in true montage style, flipped my hair, slammed the bathroom door shut and emerged again as the new, sexy, I-don’t-take-no-crap me—complete with red lip-gloss.
I stopped by my dresser to dash on some mascara, and the soulless face of my past stared back at me. I squared my shoulders and dug deep within for that strength I had five minutes ago,
then Mike’s advice popped into my mind instead, “If you’re going to break up with them, baby—make sure you look damn beautiful when you do it.” I flipped my hair, grabbed my schoolbag and headed down the stairs. When my stomach rolled with hunger, pleading for its usual rations, I told it to shut up. That’s another part of the new me—no more ogre.
The front door slammed a little as I stepped out onto the porch. Okay, so that didn’t feel so good, but the new me wants it to. Vicki’s been waiting for the evil teen—and boy is she gonna get it.
The strawberry scent of my shampoo whipped across my face with a few strands of my hair. I brushed them from my eyes and shook my head. Humph! Some tough kid I’m turning out to be—all sugar and no spice.
Well, I’ll just have to be a strawberry-scented bitc—well, new me.
So, great, I can’t even curse in my own head. This is so not working.
But it has to. I have to let him go. No more David Knight.
As the music of the montage ended with an abrupt and sudden silence inside my head, my resolve started to waver completely.
Keep going, Ara-Rose.
But even my determined steps slowed as I spotted the recipient of my impending wrath, waiting for me across the road. The only thing that looks normal about him right now is the fact that he’s standing in the same place he always does, but the rest; his face, the moon-shaped down-turn of his lips and the withdrawn, distracted look in his eyes, forced my heart to sink.
What is his problem? He’s the one leaving—why should he be sad?
He looked up at me as he bent down to pick up his schoolbag, then stood up, leaving the bag where it sat. His eyes almost bulged out of his head and a wide smile spread across his lips—washing away the sad look.
It’s childish, I know, but I tilted my nose in the air, just a little.
“Ara? My God, you look amazing,” he almost gasped the words out, extending his hand toward me when I stepped up on the grass. I shrugged away from his touch and looked down at my feet; I don’t want to see the hurt in his eyes when I do this.
The heels of my pretty black shoes—so out of place on the thick turf of the oval—sunk into the ground. I rolled onto my toes a little to stop from flipping backward.
“Ara, are you okay?” David asked, making me want to fall into his arms and scream no!
I braced myself and looked up at him. “David. I can’t be friends with you anymore.”
“Friends?” His eyes narrowed in obvious confusion. “Ara, I thought we were more than—”
“I’m sorry, David, it’s better this way.” The words felt like shards of glass in my throat. “Look, yesterday was great and all, but we both know where this is going. I don’t see the point in dragging it out.”
“Dragging it out?” His chin jutted forward a little. “But—”
“You heard me.” My fists clenched—forcing me to be strong. “You had no right to do that to me—to kiss me like that. The only thing it’s achieved is to make me feel more miserable, and I’m tired. I can’t take any more pain.”
He stood taller and dropped his hand to his side. “I’m sorry. If I’d known my kissing you would cause you pain, I’d never have—”
“It doesn’t matter.” I shook my head, standing taller. “As of now, it’s over—don’t wait for me here anymore and don’t walk me to class.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look serious?” I added rhetorically, and despite the strength of the invisible strings tying my heart—trying to make me move toward David—I forced myself to turn away.
“Ara, are you breaking up with me?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yes!”
“What? But…you said you loved me,” he called in a strained voice as I walked away. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“How dare you!” I turned back and stomped up to him. “You are the one who’s leaving? You did this, David. Don’t you dare try to pin this on me,” I yelled, pointing my finger toward his chest.
“I—I’m not, it’s just…” he searched for the words in every angle of my face. “I love you. I—please, don’t do this.”
“Why? Why should I stay with you? You said it yourself…you’re. Not. Staying.” I leaned forward, delivering my words coldly. “And guess what, David? Neither am I.”
“Ara, no! Wait!” He grabbed my arm and released it instantly when I glared at him coldly. “Don’t give up on us. Please?” He shook his head; I huffed and turned away. “Please, girl. Don’t you get it? I want to be with you until they drag me away.”
“That’s the problem,” I called over my shoulder. “You still have to go away. Where does that leave me?”
“Loved eternally from afar,” he called out softly.
“Not good enough,” I yelled louder as I made it closer to the school. “Do me a favour, don’t talk to me anymore.”
“Do you really mean that, Ara?” His voice travelled across the distance effortlessly, carrying the entire weight of his confusion.
God no. I stopped walking.
“Ara?” David said from right behind me; I didn’t realise he was following me all this time. “If you mean that…I’ll go. I’ll leave now. But if you don’t, you have to tell me, please?”
I stopped letting the anger control my words for a second, then spun around to meet his emerald green gaze—and my resolve slipped completely.
How can I walk away from someone I love so much?
My teeth clenched under my tightly closed lips. This is for the best, remember. “I just don’t get it,” I said. “Why? Why should we stay together when we know how this ends?”
“Why should we let that fact take away our last few months together?”
“Because I’ll fall more in love with you.” I shook my head, forcing back tears. “If I keep doing this it’ll only make me break down when you’re gone—and I won’t get back up this time, David. I’ve got nothing left in me. It’s easier for me to let go of you now.” When the tears broke the barrier of my restraint, I turned away and headed for the school.
“Fight, Ara! If you really love me, you should fight until the end,” he said, sounding defeated.
“Maybe I’m tired of fighting.” I stopped walking, but didn’t turn around. “Maybe I just need to trust that the people I love will be with me. Forever.”
“Ara. Please, look at me?” he asked smoothly, his voice dropping on the end.
My arms folded across my chest and I shook my lowered head. I can’t look at him. If I see him there, alone, pleading with me—I’ll break down and I’ll give in.
“Ara. Please? Please, sweet girl—” his voice came from right behind me again and his fingers tapered over my shoulders, “don’t do this.”
Don’t do this? How dare he? I’m not the one…As I spun around to yell at him, his anguish-laden eyes stole my words, leaving my mouth gaping like an empty, mute vortex.
David took a breath. “I—I will be with you, forever. I have to leave, yes, but I will always love you—always be with you. In here.” He held his hand over his heart. “Don’t you know that?”
“It’s just not enough, David.” I shook my head, and the invisible string of electricity that pulled my heart toward him stretched out as I backed away—using all of my strength.
“You don’t want to do this now, Ara,” he warned. “I could still be here for another few months.” He walked toward me, very slowly. “Don’t you want to savour every last minute together? Because I know I do.”
“No.” I masked my pain with a stiff jaw and narrowed glare. “It’s better this way. Maybe not for you, but I have to look out for me. I’m the only one who will.”
“Please, Ara—I’m begging you. You are everything to me. More than just a friend.” He stopped with his arms down by his sides, his backpack a few feet behind him on the grass, and his head tilted slightly to one side. “I want to be with you—forever. I know I can’t have that, though, so I need these last few months. Please? You can
’t walk away now.”
My shoulders lifted to my ears as my brow crumpled. I shook my head and thrust them back as I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I mean so much to you that you’re just going to leave?” Then, the fear took over and turned this back into an anger-driven crusade. “Well, let me tell you something, David Knight. You don’t know me. I can walk away from this. You don’t know what I’m capable of.” I don’t know what I’m capable of. This is hurting more than it should.
“So? What? You have the strength to walk away, but not to stay and fight?” His hands went back into his pockets and anger consumed his face like a wood-carved mask.
“Would it do any good? To Fight? And for what? For a guy who loves me enough to leave me for my own good?”
“You have no idea how right you are,” his tone softened and he looked down, shaking his head.
God, could he make this any harder? “You beg me—” I said, calming my tone, “—to stay until you have to go? But what can I do? What good would pleading do me? Would you stay? Would it work on you?” I took a breath and shook my head. “No. You’ve made up your mind—and I have made up mine.”
Then, from somewhere deep inside me—a place I never knew existed—I found a little brick, a solid object to hold on to—to give me strength, to pull me away from him. I turned away, afraid to look back in case my newfound resolve should slip.
“What if I told you why?” David appeared beside me, faster than humanly possible; his round, pained eyes questioning.
“How did you—?”
“I’m not supposed to and it wouldn’t change anything—I still have to leave. But, what if I just told you why?” His eyes searched mine intently. “Would you stay with me—just a little longer?”
A long moment passed while we stared into each other—David’s strong grip on my arm the only thing keeping me from falling to pieces. “Why?” I shook my head, trying to keep up with this new me, who was slipping away as quickly as she came into being. “What does it matter? You’re leaving and you already gave me the it’s not you speech, so doesn’t that about cover it?” I shrugged, failing to hide my hurt.