by A. M. Hudson
“Anything is possible.” David smiled. I smiled back and reached out as the glowing sun filtered down through the leaves and lit the winged creatures in a soft, misty light. The butterflies formed a circle, encasing us in a magical orb of nature as they fluttered across my skin like tiny silk kisses.
When David’s eyes met mine, the almost gem-like green stood out among the pale colours of the butterflies. The corners of his lips twitched into a simple smile and he looked up at my open hand. I looked, too, just in time to see a blue and black butterfly land in my fingertips and flutter its wings for a single moment, before flying away. “David, this is so beautiful.”
His eyes fixed on my face and he pressed the tip of his nose to mine. “I know.”
After a smile, I let my lips fall softly apart, and my mouth watered with the sweet, almost honey-like scent of his breath. If I stay here too long, he’ll run away—he never likes to be this close to me. But my mind took control, and my eyes closed as I inhaled the heat of his breath on the tip of my tongue, letting myself imagine the way his kiss would feel.
Then, the dream left my thoughts and touched reality. David’s lips skimmed across the surface of mine, so softly, so hesitantly, coming to rest just in front of my mouth as he breathed for the both of us.
The world stopped. Every sound, every brush of air disappeared until only he and I existed. His fingers tightened on the small of my back, and my heart tapped like a pen-tip on leather—tight and anxious.
My dress lifted a little when he closed his hand into a fist, bunching it up at the back, then pressed his wrist into my spine, sweeping me up onto my toes. As my face came in line with his, our lips touched—moulding into the shape of perfection as each fine crease along them lined up. He held my bottom lip in a seal with his, breathing deeply through his nose for one long breath, then broke away for a single moment before pulling me closer and holding my lips to his again—tangling his fingers in my hair.
This dream will be over all too soon. If I’m going to make it last forever, I have to see his face. When I opened my eyes, the golden beams of sunlight shone through the cloud of butterflies, and I held back a smile.
This has to be a dream. I must be asleep.
The look of concentration remained on David’s face while he kissed me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts against his bare chest until I could feel the heat of his body through my thin, red cotton dress. It’s the only thing between us now; I wish it were gone.
With a soft laugh, David pressed his hands to my cheeks and drew my face away from his. His wide eyes displayed surprise and his lips sat parted as he panted heavily, staring at me incredulously. “So, it’s true. You’re not shy.”
My cheeks flushed with the heat that rose up from my limbs. I wanted hide my face. David smoothed his thumb over my lips—wiping away the moisture from the kiss—and smiled. “Don’t be embarrassed, Ara. You are so beautiful when you blush.” He pulled me close again and whispered in my ear, “Are you happy here?”
“Yes.” I breathed out, closing my eyes. “But it’s only for the moment. You’ll be gone soon. And then I won’t be happy anymore.”
“You will forget about me one day,” he said in his soft, deep voice. “I promise you that.”
I shook my head. “No, David, I’ll never forget you. I’ll love you for the rest of my life.”
One corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. “That, my love, is what I’m afraid of. Because I…will love you…until the end of time.” He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and rested my hand against his heart, then, with his other hand tangled in the back of my hair, pressed my face into his chest again.
We stood together in the endless embrace and watched the miracle of life swarm around us for a while. But all it did to feel him so close was make me fall so much deeper in love with him—so much that I’m sure I’ll die when he goes away.
Chapter Thirteen
At dinner, my salad gave no consolation as I absentmindedly poked it with my fork. I’m losing David. He’ll be gone by winter and there’s nothing I can do about it—not even a magical first kiss can save happily ever after.
Our dreamy afternoon was followed by an intensely silent drive home, with me trying so hard not to burst into a snivelling, needy teenage girl. I didn’t even get to go hide in my room and sob when I got home, because Vicki needed help with dinner, so the grief has just been accumulating. And now, my chest feels like I swallowed a rock.
Vicki watched me closely the whole afternoon—dinnertime being no exception—and Dad, oblivious to my emotional state, talked with Sam across the table about his History project with Mr. Adams. But I didn’t care for any of it. I just had my first kiss. All I wanted was to go upstairs and waste my evening dreaming about it—or maybe, in my case, crying.
“Ara?”
I looked up from my plate. “Hm?”
“How was practice this afternoon?” Dad asked.
Practice? Oh, yeah, David told him a lie to get me out of class. “Um, good. I’m gonna perform a piece of music from a movie.” I smiled and continued my all-important fork-assault on a carrot.
“You mean going to, not gonna,” Dad added sternly.
I shrugged.
“And you have your friends coming over this weekend, don’t you? Emily and Alana?” Vicki asked, taking the salt from Dad’s hand.
I nodded.
“How’s your mythology paper coming along?” Dad asked.
“Good,” is all I said, borrowing Emily’s shrug. It isn’t good, though—I haven’t even started it.
Though they all sat silently then, and the feel of their stares burned into my face until Sam started laughing; Dad looked at him with a raised brow. “Something funny, Son?”
“Ara’s in love,” Sam teased.
I sat up straight in my chair and scowled at him. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are. You wanna marry David.” He laughed, poking his fingers in the air at me.
My cheeks went really hot. Dad looked at Vicki, and a smile crept up under her lips. “I think you’re right, Sam.” She pointed to my scornful face. “I’ve seen that look before.”
Okay, Dad, time to step in—stand up for your only daughter. I pleaded with my eyes, but Dad broke into laughter, too.
Traitor.
“I’m sorry, honey.” Dad wiped his mouth and placed his napkin on the table. “But I think your brother may be right.”
Damn it. I shouldn’t have sat here and thought about David. Now they’re all going to ask questions, and worse, expect answers.
“I wondered why you were so eager to go to school.” Vicki covered her smile with her hand.
“Well, I guess we’d better have young David over for dinner—discuss the dowry,” Dad joked.
“Dad?” I whined and hid my face in my hands. How embarrassing. But they’re right. I’m painfully in love with this guy—for all the good that’s going to do me.
“So, I guess he’s taking you to the Fall Masquerade, then?” Dad asked.
I looked up. “The what?”
“Oh, yeah.” Vicki heaped a spoon-full of potato salad onto her plate and smiled. “Ara’s never been to a masquerade, has she?”
Dad’s eyes lit up. “No, she hasn’t. Well, this’ll be exciting then.”
“Wait, what’s the Fall Masquerade?” I asked, confused.
“Every year, during fall, the town holds a masquerade for high-school seniors—like a school ball, but for the whole town,” Sam said. “You have to wear a mask and a giant dress—totally lame.”
“And you know what that means?” Vicki squeaked. "We get to go shopping.”
“Well, David hasn’t asked me yet.” Thank God. “When is it?”
“They’ll put posters up soon. It’s usually held in early autumn,” Dad added.
Hm, a ball. I guess it would be pretty fun to go to a real ball. The last one I went to wasn’t really a ball at all. It was an end of year ‘Formal’, and my �
�date’ was my best friend, whom my mum actually had to pay to take me, because he thinks wearing a penguin suit is an indication that you want to mate with an arctic bird. And since he didn’t want to mate with me, he’d told my mum, it was going to cost her. We had fun, though, Mike and I, but the Formal was no masquerade.
Almost as if Dad read my mind, he asked, “When’s Mike coming?”
“Oh, um, his interview is next Monday, so he’ll be here on the Tuesday some time.” I smiled widely as I spoke, tapping my feet rapidly under the table.
“How does David feel about that?” Vicki asked in an evocative, feather-ruffling tone, without looking up from her theatrical diversion of dishing out the salad.
My shoulders dropped and an involuntary sigh escaped my lips. “David? Why would he care about my best friend coming to stay?”
Vicki’s expression suggested the obvious; she didn’t even have to speak. My lip curled. “David doesn’t see it like that. He knows Mike’s my friend.” How narrow-minded can you get?
“Well, we’ll just see, won’t we?” She rolled her head to the side. “Ara, sometimes a girl as young as you can misinterpret things, see them as more innocent than they really are. Mike’s a fully-grown man—” She placed the salad back on the table, “maybe he feels differently about you than you do about him.”
Dad just sat there—saying nothing. My mouth hung open a little; I can’t believe he didn’t correct her. Betrayal. Again.
Infuriated, I threw my napkin down and stood up. “Mike and I are friends. That’s all it’s ever been!”
“Ara, sit back down. Vicki knows that,” Dad said.
“No, Dad! I’m tired of it. Just because Mike’s a boy and I’m a girl?” I pointed to my chest. “Don’t you guys get it? Don’t you understand what David means to me?”
“Honey, you’ve known him for a week,” Dad reminded me.
“Yeah, and that was enough to make me fall in love with him,” I retorted, “but seventeen years didn’t work for Mike? So what’s gonna change now?” Why are they ganging up on me? This isn’t fair.
“She’s got a point.” Sam shrugged.
I looked at Dad and he looked at Vicki. “Ara, you’re so young. This thing with David—it’s just an infatuation. You can’t know what love is yet,” she said.
“How can you say that?” I leaned forward slightly. “You don’t know what I feel. None of you do—”
“Honey, you can’t feel that kind of love at your age—”
“So, are you saying that I don’t love you, Dad?” I folded my arms.
“What your father means to say—”
“How would you know? I’m sorry, are you the all experienced love gurus because you’ve both had a failed marriage?” I waved my hands around at the word guru, then dropped them to my hips. “So, just because I’m under eighteen, means I don’t know how to feel?”
“We’re just saying that love is complicated,” Dad said and held his hand up to Vicki, quietening her. “It takes a long time to figure it—”
“Don’t tell me I don’t know my own heart.” I pointed to my chest again. “’Cause I can tell you, I do—and it hurts,” my voice broke under the strain of tears. “It hurts all the time, Dad. It hurts for Mum, and Harry, and Mike. And I loved them. And I love you—” my squeaky voice shook, “so, you can’t tell me I don’t know what love is, because I think of all the people in this room, I’m the most highly qualified to say what my heart is capable of.” My eyes flicked over everyone as I composed myself with a jagged breath.
Dad’s jaw fell open and Vicki looked at her salad. Sam hovered between standing and sitting, his eyes reaching for me in a way I’ve never seen before. I feel bad for him that he’s seen me talk to his mum and dad that way. I wish I’d just kept my mouth shut.
My lip broke into an irrepressible quiver; I bit it between my teeth. What am I supposed to do now? Run away? Sit back down?
“Well, Ara,” Vicki placed her fork on her plate and folded her fingers in front of her chin, “do you feel better now you’ve effectively displayed your maturity in front of your fourteen-year-old brother?”
My arms fell to my sides. I just can’t believe it. I’ve had enough—just about all a girl can take. Everything has gone so wrong. First, I lose my mum and baby brother. Then, I get dragged away from the only life I’ve ever known, brought to a new town with one bag of my own things—thrown into a new school, where I meet a guy who forces me to talk to him—to fall in love with him, only to have him tell me he’s leaving me.
I watched them all—waiting for me to respond. But I have no response. Of course I don’t feel better. What a stupid question to ask. I let my lip quiver and my fists clenched tightly as tears blinded me.
They’ve been waiting for me to finally lose it. Well, they just got their wish, didn’t they? They’ve pushed me too far.
My chair fell over and hit the wall as I pushed it out with the backs of my legs and ran from the room.
“Vicki, let her go,” Dad said calmly as I thudded up the stairs, holding the ache across my gut with my forearm.
How could they? How could they say things like that? I slammed my bedroom door unintentionally hard, making my open window rattle, sending vibrations through the house. Then, with a wailing breath, gasping through the agony of my own fears and sorrows, I slid down the door as my legs fell out from under me, and sat on the ground, hugging my knees to my chest—trying to make myself as small as possible.
What now? What do I do now? I can’t breathe. I can’t even find a good enough reason to breathe. I want to go home. I covered my face. I just want to go home.
Tears, warm with the pain of losing my mother, the fear of losing David and the ache of treachery my own father inflicted, streamed over my cheeks and down my neck. I wiped them away, but more came in their place.
I hate my dad. In fact, I hate all of them. They’re probably down there right now, shaking their heads, thinking they were right about me—that I was going to lose it. But they’re wrong. This is their fault—they made me cry.
I dug the balls of my palms into my eyes. Stop it, Ara-Rose—stop crying. I need to stop crying. But then, what’s the point? Tears or no tears, nothing ever changes.
I rolled my head back against the door and let the warm liquid flow down the sides of my face where it dried in tight lines. Since my mum died, every tear I’ve cried has been for my own self-pity—for the fact that they’re gone and I took them. But not these tears. These are for David. For the fact that I’m losing him, for the fact that his leaving has proved my fears—I’m cursed to lose everyone I ever loved. I wish I could figure out what horrid crime I committed in a past life, and atone for it. Then, maybe things would stop hurting so much in this one.
Outside, the sunlight turned orange, and the soft yellow glow that filled my room earlier slipped away into an empty blackness. Tears turned my nose cold and my cheeks numb, and after a while, an eerie rumble of thunder growled as a flash of white scorched the sky for split second, then disappeared.
I stayed motionless in my nightmare life, listening to the quiet patter of rainfall that crept into my world under the cover of night—afraid to move, afraid to cry anymore in case the brooding storm should find me here.
The familiar sound of doors being locked into place and lights flicked off around the house filled the wordless evening with noise. My parents’ footsteps thudded up the stairs, and while the lighter ones continued down the hall, the heavy ones stopped by my door. My heart picked up and I sank my face into crossed arms. Please don’t come in, Dad.
“I’m sure she’s sleeping,” Vicki whispered. The footsteps faded to the other end of the house, and silence swept over the night once more as Dad’s bedroom door closed.
Feeling fragile from all the crying, I let the sudden cold of night seep past my guard and wrap my bare shoulders as it filled the room with its unwelcome chill.
If my mum was here, my real mum, she’d tell me not to be silly. Sh
e’d tell me to get up off the floor and get into bed, that when I wake in the morning, everything will seem clear again.
A part of me knows that, like a part of me knows I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. But I miss her so much. I can’t help feeling sorry for myself.
The breath of composure I took escaped in a high-pitched squeal when a loud crack of thunder struck the ground outside and lightning hit barely a second after it. My mouth gaped and the corners of my lips turned down, releasing my heaving breaths as inaudible squeaks. I hate storms. There’s no way to control them. I can’t run away from it and there’s no one to make it all okay—no best friend to sit and talk to me and no Mum to hold me until it all blows over. I have nowhere to hide anymore, and the worst thing is, I did this to myself.
I covered my head with my arms and cried into my knees as the thunder struck again. Maybe I should call Mike. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. But my phone is all the way over there—at my desk—right near the open window.
The lightning flashed outside again, streaking the night with a silvery-blue line. Cringing at the sight of my saturated homework blowing around in the icy wind, I slid my hands up the wood of the door, edging stiffly to my feet. My legs feel like jelly and my butt is numb.
In my head, I counted the seconds between the thunder, then, as soon as it struck and grew silent again, I ran, wedged my fingers onto the top of the wooden frame and slammed my window shut—drawing the curtains together before the next strike of lightning. It hit as I turned away. I squealed, stifling my cry under my hand, then tripped all over myself to sit at the stool by my dresser.
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.