The Knight Of The Rose (14 page)

powerful, and it will always be a part of us.”

“Just not a physical part,” I said solemnly.

“Love is stronger than the physical bei ng, Ara. I don’t need to feel your lips, your touch, or

to hear your words to know you will always love me. And you know that, too, deep inside.” He

rested his hand over my heart, letting his fingertip fall against the skin above my dress.

“But, if I can’t bear the thought of your lips or your hands—“ I touched mine over his, “—

on someone else, how can you possibly stand to think of me that way?”

He laughed and looked away for a breath. “It makes me feel hollowed out in the pit of my

stomach. But what choice do I have? I am a mourner without tears, a singer without a voice, a wild

stallion locked in a stable—powerless to change my position.”

“I’m sorry, David.” I looked down.

“I know you are, Ara.” He hooked his finger under my chin and rolled my face upward. “But

you should not have to apologise for the desires of your heart.”

“Do you…do you think we’ll ever stop missing each other, or that maybe, one day, you’ll be

able to forget me?”

“Forget you?” His green eyes searched mine for comprehension. “Do you not understand?

My love, I won’t just miss you. I will exist as if I were a rose without the grace of rain. There will

be no peace for me—ever.”

“Then why?” I pushed away from him and t ook a step back. “Why did fat e bring us

together? Why did we find each other only to be forced apart?”

“We found each other, my love, but maybe fate had nothing to do with it. What if we just

weren’t meant to be?”

“So we were a mistake?”

“Perhaps, but, if so, you are the one mistake I will never regret.”

So, I’m somebody’s mistake. But, sadly, I know exactly what he means, because I feel the

same way. Neither of us will recover from this, but, it’s been worth all the pain. I knew a love more

perfect and more devastating than any other feeling I’ve ever had in my life, and I ow e that to this

man, who has very unfortunate timing.

Our eyes met in a standstill of anguish and indecision. Neither of us could find the words to

make everything okay—it would never be okay.

The school bell ringing in the distance broke the silence in my room. It seemed so stupid to

me then; school, life, everything in the wake of the thought that I’d lose David forever. Going t o

school, living life like normal was an empty, silly idea.

“You better call the school and tell them you’re sick today.” David, now leaning against the

window frame with his ar ms folded and his thoughts beyond the gl ass, adopted a s ombre tone of

reasoning. “Roll call will start soon. They’ll alert your dad if you’re not there.”

“Okay.” I nodded, letting my words fall out in a breath. But I stayed motionl ess, watching

David where he stood by the win dow, while my thoughts consumed the empty space around us. I

didn’t care that he could hear them, and I didn’t care that if Vicki came home early from shopping

she’d find David and I ditching school.

Nothing mattered to me in the same way it used to. It all just seemed inconsequential with

the idea that the gentle glow of the morning, highlighting the contours of David’s face, were the last

touches of light I would ever see on his skin. I would never know the summer sun glistening behind

his emerald eyes again, never see it kiss his hair with tones of gold, and never again feel it warm his

fingers while he played my guitar, sitting in front of me in a world of childhood dreams, as innocent

as a sweet smile.

All we had was one last day, where we would watch the sun se t before our eyes, and bring

with it the darkness of eternal nights.

There will be no way to prevent it; it wi ll come, and even the nights wil l disappear in a

countdown around us until he’s gone.

But I will forever be David’s girl. I know I’ll look for him in the face of every man I pass for

the rest of my days, and though my physical existence on Earth will end on e day, I know in my

heart that I will love him, too—for eternity.

The morning dissolved into afternoon quickly. David made me breakfast, and with each sip

of his glorious coffee, t he salty taste of tears dripped into my mouth. I ne ver let him see me cry,

though—he didn’t need to see that.

“I want to teach you a song.” David grinned, sinking down on my bed.

“Okay. Guitar?” I asked, lifting it off the stand; it clunked softly as it hit my bedside drawer.

“Yeah, thanks, pretty girl.” David’s s trong, elongated fingers took the instrument, and he

held it out from his body, smiling at me as he patted his lap. “Come sit with me.”

As I fel l into the space of mattress between his legs, he wrapped his arms around me,

positioning the guitar in front of us, on my lap. The heat of his chest, pressing against my spine, felt

like the midday sun on an almost-summer day.

He snuck out to eat while I was in the bathroom, I was sure, because his scent was stronger

than it was earlier. “Hope it wasn’t anyone I know?” I joked.

“That’s really distasteful, Ara.” He sho ok his head, though I could tell he was smil ing.

“Now—I’ll show you the chords.” He took my fingers in his.

“Did you write this song?” I asked, losing my voi ce to the mys tical trail of a whis per as a

kind of tingling magic filled the air.

“Yes.”

“What’s it about?”

He paused, seeming agitated. “You.”

“About leaving me?”

“No. It’s not a goodbye so ng; it’s a love song…” his t one softened away to near silence. “It

was just written with the tears of farewell.”

“Somehow, that makes it hurt more.”

David smiled against the side of my face, then took my hand. “Place your fingers here.”

“Here?” I looked down at the strings.

“Yes.” The way his breath filtered down over my neck and the side of my face as he spoke

made my fingers dr op from the strings for a second . With a tiny huff of frustration, he lifted them

back in place. “Can I let go now?” he asked. “Or are you going to drop them again?”

“Mm-hm.” I nodded, holding my fingers firmly to the strings.

“Okay. So, you keep your fingers there, and I’ll place mine here.”

A deep, shaky breath drew th rough my nose as David pulle d me cl oser to his chest—

reaching his right hand around to pluck the strings on the guitar. I watched as his thumb and fingers

danced over t he strings i n an el aborate pattern. He pl ayed with such capabilit y; never missi ng a

note, never hitting the wrong string.

Like an ornate and nameless masterpiece or a choir of angels praising the creator, the song

we played filled every corner of the darkness i n my heart, and I could’ve sworn the room

illuminated with bright, white light.

His was an intriguing melody, one you might hear on a Gondola along a river in Venice—an

untouchable, yet somehow physical spirit.

David whispered the chords in my ear each time he moved his fingers, and mine followed;

though they moved to the notes, I was barely in control—lost t o the soft tickle of his breath, the

velvety tone of his voice, and his arms wrapped so tightly around me.

Two weeks. Two weeks, and I will never feel his breath on my skin again, never look int o

those emerald eyes, never kiss his soft, dark-pink lips.

He says it’s not a goodbye song, but it has all the sadness of parting in the flow of its notes.

How can I not cry, how can I not fall to my knees right now and beg the universe for one chance.

Just one little piece of hope that there will be a happy ending for us. I’ll give anything. Anything for

that. But I will not kill.

David, after he brought the song to an end, lifted the guitar from my tightly clenched fingers,

and soft, tickly tears, warm and salty, streamed down my cheeks and onto my lips.

We shuffled back and David sat against the pillows, keeping me tucked in his arms. “Why

do you cry, sweet girl?”

“I just—I can’t believe how beautiful that song was.”

“I call it The Knight of the Rose,” he whispered into my hair. “Named so, for you, my love,

are a flawless white rose—and I am your knight.”

The last of my strength diss olved with the sadness that lost hope left. “Then save me from

eternal longing.”

“If it were within my power…” He let his words hang.

Calm, but exultant, my eyes closed again, and I rested my head against his chest, all owing

myself to dream for a moment that things were different; that David and I could be together forever,

and I’d never have t o let go of the one thing in this world t hat made my heart soar—made me feel

heavy and yet weightless, consumed and yet aware.

We could’ve been happy together—if he were human.

David listened carefully to my thoughts as t hey danced around my head like a short film. I

played out our wedding day, how it’d be if there was no such thing as vampires; I smiled at the boy

standing by the altar. His eyes reflected the awe in his heart as he watched me, in my white gown,

walk slowly toward him.

Everything in the dream was black and white; my dress, my skin, the rows of empty pews

and even the green in his smiling eyes.

The only colour among the timeless image was a single, immaculatel y blossomed scarlet

rose—set at the very centre of my completely white bouquet.

“What’s that one for?” David asked in a soft, warm breath against the top of my head.

“The part of my heart that will never belong to anyone else; the part of me that will always

be only yours.”

With a long exhale, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and rested on my stomach; I

rolled my head back against his chest—turning it slightly so my ear rested against the place where

his heart should be beating.

“Ara?”

“Mm?”

“I have something for you,” he whispered.

My eyes opened to the golden light of the afternoon sun on my walls, and I looked down at

David’s hands, hovering just above my lap. He unfolded his fingers, revealing, in the cup of his

palm, a pool of delicate silver chain, and on the end, a heart-shaped locket.

“So you may never forget that you—” he pointed to the engraved rose, “are in my heart.”

“David, it’s beautiful.” I turned the locket over and ran my finger over the fine inscription on

the back; though I wasn’t sure, it looked like it was written in French. “What does it say?”

“Tu m’appartiens.” He kissed my cheek and smoothed my hair away from my shoulder,

leaving a cool tingle behind where he linked the chain around my neck.

As it fell onto my chest, just below my collarbone, my hand flew up instantly to hold it tight.

“What does that mean?”

He paused, slowly pressing his lips to my ear. “You belong to me.”

“For as long as I live?”

“No, mon amour. For all time.” David’s soft, deep voice filled my soul. He wrapped both

arms across my waist again and held me tight.

Both of us exi sted silently in the world of our own thoughts until the sun went down,

stealing away the last day of our forever.

The sun stretched orange sha dows across the highway, and I leaned my weary head on the

glass of the car-window, releasing my mind to th e deeper thoughts about life. Today, for the first

time, I woke to the sting of normality; coffee, with its unusual ability to make everything seem okay;

toast on the table when I came down, feeling the earl y morning chill on my bare arms, and quiet

conversation with Dad—trying not to wake the rest of the house.

Even though Mike’s ar riving today, excitement was not the first feeling I had as my alarm

startled me from peaceful slumber; it was devastation, weighed down with a tight ache in my throat

called sorrow.

It’s kinda fitting really, that the last time I saw him, I was in exactly the same state of mind as

I am now—miserable.

I really thought Mike’s coming to stay would ease the pain I’m feeling for losing David. But I

was wrong.

Dad moved his gaze f rom the road and smiled at me; I blew out a breath and forced a grin,

but the world couldn’t make me sm ile for real, and in two weeks, when David would leave forever,

I’d never smile again.

Two weeks, that’s all I get—two weeks of days with Mike, and two weeks of David at night.

And in that time, I still have a chance to change my mind about immortality.

But how is that possibly enough time to make the decision between life or love?

When I asked David to give me more time, in the hopes that coming to terms with what he is

might change my opinion on the whole matter, I was a li ttle right. With th e days of losing him

coming closer and closer, the idea of killing for love seems less horrific. But not enough that I’m

ready to tell him that—or think it around him.

The music in the car became louder when one of Dad’s favourite songs came on. His tenor

voice made me wi sh I’d brought my iPod. I’m sure Mike will probably sit in the front seat on the

way home and talk to Dad. If I’d had my own music, I could’ve at least ha d a decent soundtrack to

my contemplations.

As we turned onto the long stretch of highway toward the airport, a black billboard with a

white circle of light caught my attention. I spun in my seat and read the words as we whizzed past:

Let Fate Decide
.

Dad turned the radio off when his song ended, leaving me feeling as though my t houghts

were being shouted out through a megaphone.