Dark Secrets

I picked through my music brain, but didn’t recognise the melody at all.



With each chord change, my mind began to wander, the wind-chime notes carrying me to another place—a dream-like world where emotions were displayed in melody. This one, with its harmony balancing on the edge of sadness, would be the song of a night sky that fell in love with the sun—forever forbidden to be together, watching over a world that would end if one didn’t exist.



David looked at me, and as he sung, the notes starting low and rolling up through the scale, his lips curved into that sexy smile. He tried to hold it back, but it crept onto his face anyway. And I closed my eyes, feeling a tight pull, like the blood in my brain suddenly gained ten pounds, filling my skull, David’s perfect voice surrounding my thoughts. He made me want to cry—to be a part of him, part of his voice—and though I couldn’t see anything but the golden light turning my eyelids red underneath, I could feel the colour of the lake around me; an image carved out in melody.



As the song came to an end, the last notes hovered in my subconscious for a moment. I wiped a fingertip under my eye.



“Ara? You’re crying.” Sudden warmth spread through my cheek, the bright red glow behind my eyelids becoming shadowed as David’s hot, sun-kissed fingers touched my face, pressing it against his heart.



“I’m sorry, David, it’s just that—” I pulled away and wiped my face with both hands, “—music is something that comes from a really deep place in me. I feel things so much, so completely, and that song?” I leaned back and looked into his emerald eyes. “It was so beautiful.”



“It reminds me of you—of us.”



“Why?”



“Don’t you see how much I’m in love with you?” He grabbed my face, his gaze penetrating my watery barrier, making my heart forget how to beat. “Don’t you get it? Forever doesn’t have to be a curse for me. Not anymore—not now that I have you.”



Motionless, breathless, with the only connection to the real world being the burning sun above, my mind fought for reason. “But we don’t get to live forever.”



“What if we did? What if you could have an eternity with me?” His thumbs pressed into my cheeks a little firmer. “Would you take it?”



I nodded. “If eternity were real—I’d give my soul to spend it with you.”



“Ara?” He squeezed my face. “Open your eyes. Look at me and say that.”



The sun brought momentary blindness with its bright glare as I looked at David. “I didn’t know they were closed.”



He studied me carefully, his brow tight in the middle.



“What did you want me to say?” I asked.



Nearby, bee’s buzzed with a gentle hum and a few birds chattered noisily in the treetops above us, and David’s round eyes stared, glassy and distant, his lips sitting parted—no words coming out.



“David?”



“Nothing.” He dropped his hands, shifting away from me, weighted like the dead.



A cool breath lifted my chest in a long, slow gasp, and a strange pull of energy—or maybe warmth—detached from the physical space between us, like hot ribbons had bound us, and now, snapped and tore away.



A spell had been broken.



The cold breath rushed out of my lungs too quickly, tightening my throat. I touched my fingertips to the racing pulse between my collarbones. “David? I feel dizzy.”



“It’s okay.” He rolled me onto his lap, brushing my hair from my face.



“What just happened? I feel so sick.” I snuggled my brow against his denim jeans, closing my eyes around the icy torrent of blood draining all the warmth from my cheeks.



“Come on.” David patted my back and lifted me to sit. “You need to eat. You get dizzy when you’re hungry.”



I forced a smile. “True.” But that was different, I was sure of it. That felt more like my soul had been connected to his for a split second. I felt so drawn to him, like I could’ve stayed there forever—died in his arms and have been grateful for that one, close moment. Now it was gone—that warmth, the breathtaking intensity of our bodies so close to each other—I wanted it back. I felt like it belonged to me.



David shuffled over and leaned his back against the rock while I swallowed every agonising bite of the food he handed me, forcing it down with orange juice because my mouth refused to make saliva. In fact, my body refused to do anything normal—including breathe properly.



“Did you feel that?” I looked up from under my lashes, pinching the edges of a sandwich. “Before—when we were close?”



“Feel what?”



“That…the energy?”



He shook his head once, pursing his lips. “Nope.”



“You big, fat liar!”



“I’m not lying.”



“Yes—” I got to my knees, “—you are.”



“Look, even if I knew what you were talking about, that does not mean I felt it.” He sighed heavily and threw his sandwich into the basket, then sat back against the rock, folding his arms.



“Well, what was that? What was I feeling?”



“Love?”



I dropped the sandwich to the rug. “David!”



“I don’t know, Ara. What am I, a scientist?”



“You do know.” I looked over at the picnic basket. “Did you drug those grapes?”



David laughed. “Ara? Why would I do—”



“Then what was that?” I cut in. “It didn’t feel natural, and I know you know something about it. I saw how you looked at me.” I pointed at him; he shook his head, smiling down at his folded arms. “You felt it, too. I know you did. Now tell me what it was.”



“I’m not going to fight with you,” he said calmly.



“I’m not fighting.”



“Then drop it.”



“No. Don’t you think if I felt a—a gravitational pull toward you, like my soul just split in two and then was suddenly—” I scrunched an imaginary piece of paper between my palms, “—forced back together, that if you felt it, too, or if you know why I felt it, you should tell me?”



“Gravitational pull?” His brow rose; he leaned forward a little, resting his forearm over his knee.



“Why do you do that?”



“What?”



“Make me feel silly—make me think I feel things you don’t.”



After rubbing his forehead viciously, he swept a hand through his hair and sat back against the rock again. “Can we drop this? Please?”



I looked down at the ant-covered bread in front of me, blinking back tears.



“Ara.” His voice commanded I look at him; I shook my head. “Ara, please. Look at me.”



“Why?”



“Please?”



Reluctantly, I rolled my face upward.



His golden smile warmed. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He reached out to me. “You know how I feel about you.”



“But I don’t know if you felt what I just felt.” I nodded to the place on the rug where we’d been sitting during the…moment. “If you didn’t feel it too…what does that mean?”



“What that was has nothing to do with how I—” His fists clenched in obvious frustration. “You are one of the most stubborn damn girls I’ve ever met.” He looked right into me. “Do you know that?”



I bit my lip.



“And do you know what else, Ara?” He appeared in front of me, tilting my chin upward.



“What?”



“It’s also one of the most charming things about you.” I caught the gleaming in David’s eye, committing it to memory. “No more tears, okay?”



“Okay.”



He tugged my hand until I came to sit beside him against the rock, and I nestled the crown of my head under his chin, placing my hand over the cotton shirt that barely contained the coolness of his skin underneath. I was sure he was getting colder.



“Ara?”



“Mm-hm.”



His strong arms squeezed me closer for a second. “We’ll talk about things another time, all right?”



I nodded.



As the day rolled on, David asked me a lot about home—about my mum and Mike, and didn’t back down until I answered every question. But I found that, somehow, when I spoke to him about home, the good memories, I could do it without wanting to cry. It was like he formed an invisible, remedial barrier around me. I could just be with him, and that was nice. I rested my head in his lap, letting the tickle of sweat roll down my spine under the hot summer sun and soak into my green cotton dress, while David gently stroked my hair, pointing out odd clouds.



“I don’t know.” He squinted, shadowing his brow. “I think it looks more like a bee.”



“No way,” I scoffed, outlining the cloud with my fingertip. “See? Long tail, giant wings. It’s a dragon.”



“Okay, you’re right. It’s a bee.” David chuckled.



I slapped his arm playfully.



“Ouch.” He rubbed his chest.



“What are you doing?” I laughed. “I hit you in the arm.”



“Yeah, but it hurt here.”



Aw, so sweet. “Then, where would it hurt if I damaged your heart?” I asked in a light, joking tone.



His eyes darkened, the smile fading. “The soul.”



“Um—” I cleared my throat, looking away from his eyes. “So, what’s out on that island? Anything interesting?”



“I could show you, if you like.”



“Okay. But won’t we get wet?”



David looked down at the tops of my thighs, just covered by the rim of my green dress, and smiled. “You won’t.”



“Well, maybe we’ll leave it for today. There’s always tomorrow, right?” I rolled onto my knees and sat with my face right in front of David’s, the tips of our noses just off touching. We both took a long, shaky breath, and the sweet scent of honey came back on my lips, making my mouth water. His hand slowly came up, taking hold of me, steering my face toward his. But he stopped—held me there, my lips tingling just in front of his, and softly ran his thumb over them.



“David?”



He closed his eyes tightly. “Please don’t.”



“Don’t what?”



He didn’t answer—just sat there, taking shallow breaths. I focused on his mouth, moving slowly forward, closing my eyes, holding my breath.



“It’s getting late,” he said, and a cold rush separated us.



My eyes opened to the ugly black face of the rock he’d been leaning against. I turned around to watch him walking off, running a hand through his hair. “David?”



“You know, you’re right.” He stopped about ten paces away. “We can go out to the island another day. I think I remember something about a History assignment being due,” his voice rose in question.



The breath I’d been holding made a huge lump in my throat. “It can wait.”



“No—” He shook his head, coming over to pack the picnic basket. “It can’t.”



I flopped onto my back with a huff. In the corner of my mind, my silly fantasy continued—David and I, all hands and lips, floating along the rest of the day in each other’s arms. But reality shut the door on that world; opening another to the mountain of pending homework I faced instead.



With a sigh, I stood up and folded the picnic rug. “Here, you wanna stash this back in your rock crevice?”



He stepped away, shaking his head. “This is your secret place now too, Ara. I’ll show you where to hide it.”



I hugged the blanket and smiled. “You mean our secret place.”



Chapter Eleven



Everything had been set out properly; my pencils neatly lined up beside a notepad, my laptop centred, and even a glass of water for hydration. But after surfing the Net for two hours, the only thing I’d accomplished was a mental list of reasons David wouldn’t kiss me.



Outside, the hills to the east grew dark, and the summer sun settled red on a cloudless sky, turning the tops of the maple trees golden pink. It wasn’t until my eyes burned, looking back at the white glow of my computer screen that I realised my attention had been on the distant horizon longer than I thought. It was almost too dark in my room to see now.



I tapped my pencil on the desk, trying to focus, but every time I tried to commit to an idea, the burn of kiss-rejection stole my concentration, forcing me to worry about why David jumped away from me so quick. All I wanted was to do normal things with him like, you know, holding hands, going to a movie or snuggling up on the couch—kissing when my parents weren’t in the room. But we were in the middle of nowhere today, and he still wouldn’t kiss me.



I groaned at myself, and despite the sticky heat sneaking in through my window, gluing itself to my brow and neck, I lifted the feather quilt on my bed and slid my feet under it, rolling onto my side as I drew it up over my shoulders. Maybe if I could fall asleep until Vicki called me for dinner, I wouldn’t have to think about David.



I flicked the lamp out and snuggled down, breathing the fruity scent of my sheets. That was the hardest thing about moving; how different things smelled—like the towels and my shirts as I pulled them over my head. Vicki’s clean laundry had a vibrant, peachy smell, whereas my mum’s was a milky, powdery scent—a bit like Mike, since our mums always bought the same laundry detergent. But peach was kind of comforting to me now; it meant I was in bed, away from the world, away from my troubles. I lay perfectly still, listening for the crickets’ closing act, but the air was so thick and dense with heat even the bugs had taken the back road to anywhere but here.