Prologue
Everyone has a secret. The depth and darkness of that inner truth can be the precursor that determines ones lifeline or, perhaps, eventually, personality. To err is human, so I'm told. But my mistakes and regrets were buried so deep, darkened my soul so black, that they were no longer secrets, but bars on a prison I trapped myself in, I guess. And if I opened that door, if I let them out, there was a strong chance that those who love me might never look at me the same. I couldn't live with that; I was the treasure in everyone’s life—the little girl who was born still, without hope of ever taking a breath. To show them what I truly was would be to destroy them.
They say that death blessed me with skin pale as the moon, soft as a rose petal, and lips coloured with blood. The day I was born, my parents held my tiny, dead body for a last goodbye, but all the tears in the world couldn't restore life. Until they did.
Mum always said my father’s love saved me—that as his hands touched my breathless form, I started coughing, which became crying and, finally, blue skin turned pink, renewing the room with hope. His large hands laid open, cradling this screaming child like a curious new stone and a breath passed before they could move, before they could dare to believe I was alive.
My mother named me for my grandmother, Amara, which means “everlasting.” But I no longer wear that name with pride; she was a woman of beauty and kindness, something I could not liken to. Not anymore.
How could that miracle, that child they proclaimed to be the “blossom of life,” have become something so dark, so tainted, that the wish they had for her to breathe would one day become the mistake they regretted?
I had ended life and, in that, was not worthy of mine any longer.
Chapter One
“Ara-Rose, hurry up. You’re going to be late.”
“Sure, Vic—uh, Mom,” I called down to the woman at the base of the stairs. “Just finishing my hair.”
“Your hair’s perfect,” she called back. I rolled my eyes, unwinding the long braid, then scooped the dark waves into a ponytail, pulling the elastic band out again after a few seconds to fluff it around my face. It was Murphy’s Law—to be starting a new school, in a new country, on a bad hair day.
With a deep huff at my reflection, I stood back; the girl in the mirror looked as miserable as my soul felt. Even the smile she’d practiced so many times just looked forced—overly polite. But it was the best we could do. On the bright side, I was lucky to have stayed so thin over the months. Even with all the emotions I’d been eating, my yellow dress still looked nice on me. Maybe too fem for school. Maybe not. I had no way of knowing what the kids over here wore or even if long hair was fashionable. For all I knew, I could be heading into a one-way popularity suicide jump. And I think, in truth, that’s why I wore this dress. I kinda wanted to just blend in—stay away from everyone. But being cast as a frigid dork on day one served my purpose too.
I turned away from the mirror, stuffed a summer cardigan in my bag and readied myself by the bedroom door.
Step one on Ara-Rose’s road to recovery: new school.
A lanky galoot passed me in the hall, giving a cool nod as he ruffled a hand through his bed-hair, shrugging his backpack onto both shoulders. Where I came from, that was something only dorks did.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Amara.”
“Sam,” I huffed. “I hate being called Amara, you know that.”
“I'm sorry.” His shoulders dropped. “You’re right. Butt-face suits you so much better.”
“Oh, yeah?” I said as he stalked down the stairs. “Well…it suits you better more.”
“Nice try,” he called, slamming the front door on my humiliation.
I slapped my own brow, shaking my head. My knack for sibling rivalry needed improvement.
“Morning, honey,” Dad said, coming out of his room at the end of the hall, wearing his suit and an expectant grin.
“Morning, Dad.”
“Nervous?”
I stood on my toes, pressing my forehead into his kiss. “No. I'm actually fine.” But my pathetic giggle exposed the truth my words buried.
“You’ll be okay. You just need to get back into living, honey. After all, it’s been two months.”
“I know.” I’d been counting the days. “But…what if someone says something mean and I start crying?”
“Says something about what?”
“You know.”
He clicked his tongue. “The scars?”
I nodded, my eyes on my feet.
“Honey, you are beautiful. And these—” I flinched a little when he touched my jaw. “The doctor said they’d completely fade, eventually, and for now—well, they’re barely visible. You’re still my beautiful girl.”
Beautiful? My lip quivered. “How can you even say that, Dad? Maybe I was once, but—”
“Oh, honey, don’t cry. It’ll be okay. Hey—” He squished my cheeks together. “Look, all the kids there are great. You’re going to love it, I promise. But you know the hardest part of a journey is always the first step. And look at you; all dressed up, lookin’ pretty, and you’ve got your little backpack. The hard part’s over now.”
“Um, actually, I think the hard part’s gonna be the whispers and stares when I walk into that school with a neon sign over my head that says ‘New’.”
He laughed once. “Would you like me to drive you?”
“Dad?” A frown replaced my pout. “It’s across the road. I’ll walk.”
“I could walk with you?”
“Yeah, right. That’ll really help me blend in, won’t it? I might even be lucky enough to get my head flushed down the toilet.”
“None of the kids there are like that. I think you’ll be just fine. Now—” he turned me toward the stairs and gave a soft shove, “—go to school. And don’t come home until you’ve been a normal teenager for at least a day.”
“Bye,” I called over my shoulder, vaguely aware of Dad following. I opened the front door and stepped outside, hearing it close behind me with a certain amount of farewell in the sound that did not permit return. I had been officially kicked out of the house for the day. No more moping, Ara-Rose. Time to move on. After all, they’ve been dead now for two whole months. Not like you should still be grieving.
“Boo!”
“Ah!” The sudden noise pushed my heart up my throat. “God damn it, Sam, you little butt-head.” I leaped off the porch step, dumped my backpack on the grass, and ran after him. “Come back here and I’ll make it quick.”