“You miss David?”
“Yeah. Kinda.”
“He’ll be back.” She shrugged, then smiled and walked off to bark orders at the next act.
It really was such a shame David never fell for Emily. She would’ve been a perfect match for him; she wasn’t complicated or moody, like me, and she would’ve given him eternity.
A jaded smile grasped my lips while I watched her, falling into Spencer’s embrace, tilting her face up so he could kiss the tip of her nose; they were so in love, like normal teenagers—so innocent and so easy. They’d never know the complexities of my life, and could never even imagine them.
Somehow, that made me angry, or maybe it was jealous. Or maybe it just made me feel more—alone.
“It’s not all bad.” Ryan sat beside me on the piano stool.
“What’s not?” I switched on my happy face.
He elbowed me softly. “David? I know you were missing him just now.”
I looked down at my thumbnails, clicking them over each other. “Yeah. I kinda was.”
“Well, he’ll be back before you know it. So, chin up, m’kay?”
“Yeah, okay.” I smiled at him. “Thanks Ryan.” But he was wrong. We were just another town David was moving through, and I was just another ending to a tragic love story. None of us would ever see him again.
I scribbled on a piece of paper and rested it in the lip of my windowsill, then headed for the door. I couldn’t leave my room for the evening without making sure David knew my priorities, should he see fit to come back; one tap on Mike’s window and I’d magically materialise in my room.
“So, how was rehearsal?” Mike closed the DVD drive and grabbed the remote as I shut his bedroom door.
“Crowded.” But lonely.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you play.”
I bounced onto his bed and propped my back against his pillows. “I wish you were doing a duet with me.”
“Well, maybe we’ll have to sneak over to the school during lunch and use the piano one day.” His face lit with a cheeky grin as he slumped down next to me—right on top of the popcorn bowl, scattering it across the sheets, like pebbles on tiles.
“Ah, crap!” We both cursed.
“Here, I’ll get that.” Mike knelt by the bed, took the bowl from me, and started scraping the salty snack off the edge with his broad, square palms.
He’d always had such big hands. So strong and protective. Like somehow, if he was holding me and the world was burning around me, I wouldn’t be afraid.
“Something wrong, kid?” He looked up.
Forgetting his question, I grabbed his hand and turned it over, placing my palm against his, feeling the salt of popcorn all over the tips of his fingers. My hands were thinner, more petite than his, the top of my oval-shaped nail only just falling in line with the first fold of his fingertips. “I missed your hands.”
He laced his fingers through mine, then flipped our hands over and traced circles over my knuckles, seeming distant, almost sad.
“Are you okay, Mike?”
He moved the popcorn bowl to the nightstand and shuffled up to sit beside me. “You have her hands, you know? Your mum’s.”
I tucked my arm under my rib and snuggled against his chest. “I know.”
I had a lot of my mother in me; her hair, her heart-shaped face. But I got my dad’s eyes. Harry had her eyes. Harry had her smile—my smile. But they were gone. The only thing left from that life now was Mike—and I was so glad I at least had him.
It made me wonder—about his hands—how they made me feel so safe, and his eyes, how every thought behind them placed me first, and that smile, the way it’d warm my heart, making me a part of his world every time he gave it to me, without fail—if I went with him to Perth, would it always be like this? Would we be happy, get married and have little dark-haired babies with caramel-coloured eyes and strong hands? I liked the idea—liked the idea of always feeling like this; loved.
Mike looked down at me, watching my eyes expectantly, like he was waiting for me to say what he knew was in my heart. But, after a quiet moment, he pulled me back to his chest and pressed play on the remote.
As the opening credits rolled across the base of the screen, I closed my eyes and listened to the hum of human normality. I loved it—loved Mike, and I wished I could tell him that. Wished he knew. We’d laid like this so many times as friends, but in his arms, tonight, I felt the difference—felt his love, felt how real it was. And it drove a strong urge within me to look up at him and say, “I’ll come with you. Let’s go home to Perth.”
But I knew that when the movie ended, and I crawled away from the warmth of his arms and went back to my cold, empty room, I’d look beyond the eastern hills, feeling the inexplicable gut wrench that made me want to scream to the world below—tell them to find David, beg him to come back and change me into a vampire.
My desires were at odds with my heart, and the war raged inside me, unresolvable still.
I could give my heart to Mike tonight, but if David so much as passed me on the street, ever again, I’d throw it away. I was sure of that. So, I said nothing. Just closed my eyes and played it out as a fantasy instead—imagining my life with him from this exact moment onward. And I smiled.
“Ara?” Mike swept his hands through the front of my hair, his low voice coming from above my brow.
“Mm,” I muttered sleepily, keeping my eyes closed.
“You still with me, baby?”
“Hm?”
“Shh.” He kissed my head and the volume on the TV decreased. “Just sleep.”
The smell of morning and the crass sound of a crow somewhere outside brought my mind back from sleep. I rolled up on my elbows and looked around the room—my room.
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.