The Bringer

Page 27

“I’m okay. Really,” I add, seeing the look of doubt on his face. “I’m just trying to process everything.”
He reaches his hand up and brushes my hair back. I quash my instant urge to move away, not understanding why I feel the need to do so.
Arlo is my friend, the only one who has cared for me unconditionally. It must be because I’m not used to him touching me, especially not in such a caring manner.
“I’m so sorry for doubting you, Arlo,” I say sincerely. “And I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“Yes, there is. You’ve done everything I have asked of you. You’ve cared for me even when I didn’t know it. I can never thank you enough.”
He smiles warmly, then his face turns serious. “So what now?”
“What do you mean?”
He looks past me. “Well do you still want to go back to earth . . . back to James?” he asks the latter part in quieter voice.
I shift uncomfortably as a wave of anger pulses through me at the mention of his name. I never knew I could feel such furore, especially not in relation to him. But it’s the thought of what Arran did to me that’s spurring it on, the thought of seeing those eyes again. James and Arran are melding together in my mind, and there is not a thing I can do to stop it. That’s when I know there’s no going back.
“No. I don’t ever want to go back there,” I say vehemently, surprising myself at just the level of resentment in my voice. “I don’t ever want to see him again.”
“You can . . . well you can stay here – if you want to.”
“And whereabouts is here?” I ask distractedly.
“Shangri-La”
I look at him and laugh. He’s certainly got my attention now. “Arlo, be serious. Where are we really?”
“Shangri-La,” he says again, stressing the words to really drive his point home.
“But Shangri-la doesn’t exist,” I say pedantically. “It’s just a myth, invented by a human, a supposed realm for immortals. And if it did exist, then surely I would have known . . .” I peter off at his steady expression.
“It very much does exist,” he grins, waving his hand around. “But only a chosen few know about it, know how to access it.” He winks at me.
“So how do you know?” I ask, still feeling sceptical. “Why are you one of the chosen few?”
“Because I’m special,” he chuckles and taps his nose with his long pale finger. “It really is a beautiful place. It will make a great home for us both –”
“Us both?” I say with open surprise.
His green eyes sparkle at me. “You didn’t think I was going to leave you alone here did you?”
“Well I didn’t expect –”
“I know you didn’t expect, Lucyna,” He smiles. “but I have already spent forever with you. I’m not about to ditch you now.” He rises to stand and holds his hand out for me to take.
I waver, again not knowing why. All I do know is there’s a reluctance coming from deep inside of me.
“Unless you don’t want me to stay with you?” he adds, looking shyly down, his golden hair partly obscuring his perfectly sculptured face.
I look up at him, my only true friend, all I have left, and I brush my stupid hesitation aside. I smile brightly. “Of course I do,” I say, clasping hold of his hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet.
“It’s going to be great,” he says happily, leading me along by my hand. “It’ll be just like old times . . .”
I continue to smile, pretending to listen as he talks on, but I can’t concentrate because right now all I can see in my mind are those eyes, those dark brown eyes.
And I know I’m doing the right thing by staying here but that doesn’t stop the hurt and regret from steadily flowing through me like a poison.
Chapter 17
Guises
It hasn’t worked.
All the pretending I’m okay, all the ignoring my pain.
No, it hasn’t worked, not one single iota.
Arlo was very wrong when he said the pain would dull. It hasn’t. Not in the slightest.
If it’s at all possible, I’m actually even more miserable than I was the day I got my memories back. Which was what . . . two weeks ago, give or take a day or two? Time has become pretty irrelevant whilst I’ve been here.
For all I think about every single second, of every long day, is him.
And even though I may appear to the outside world – well Arlo as he’s the only one I see – that I’m happy, with not a care or concern, the truth is I’m unhappy, sad, forlorn, mournful, afflicted and all of those things combined in one, to create the ultimate, most wretched misery you could ever imagine, that horrific it makes me want to hide away and lick my wounds for all eternity to come.
I wear this happy guise because I’d thought by doing so, by pretending I was okay, that it would somehow make it true . . . only it’s not really working out that way. It was always going to be impossible for me to forget when the luggage of my past was hot on my trail.
And I can’t tell whether the misery I feel is solely because of the pain Arran caused me all that time ago or because I miss James so much that been away from him is starting to cause me what can only be described as actual physical pain.
I’m not really sure what to do, well except for to continue on as I am. Which isn’t looking too promising, all things considered.
I can quite clearly see why I had Arlo wipe my memories and change me all those years ago. I’d be tempted to ask him to do it again, if I didn’t think that’d be the final straw for him when it comes to me.
I look up at the bright blue sky, watching it wink down at me through the green leaves that sit high above, the hammock I’m laid on swaying gently in line with the warm breeze. Then, without warning, an image of James kissing me flickers through my mind, the sight so clear, so intense, I feel like I’m going to explode from the agony that accompanies it. I clutch my arms across my chest, hoping to somehow compress the pain.
I miss him. So much. Too much.
My minds starts to drift, remembering the way he would touch me, kiss me, his smell, his laugh . . . his infectious laugh. I wonder what he’s doing right now . . . if he misses me . . .
Stop it.
I made the decision to stay away and I have to stick to it. Going back to James would ultimately only lead me straight back to hurt. That’s what Arlo says, and he’s right, I think.
James is Arran. James is Arran. James is Arran.
I sit up in the hammock, swinging my legs over the edge and try to block my mind from my memories. Then an image of purple asters, just like the ones from James’ garden, appears in my mind. I open my eyes up to see hundreds of them all sprouting out of the ground before me. Great, now I’m manifesting without even meaning to.
What was it he said they stood for . . . a symbol of love and patience?
And that’s when I know it’s no good. I can’t go on like this.
I love him, I miss him and there’s not a single thing I can do about it.
What’s the point of being here wallowing in eternal misery, hiding myself away from love, when if I just give myself up to it, even with all the risks that accompany it, at least I’d finally be living, even if only for a short time.
What is life without love? A hollow empty existence and haven’t I already done that one for long enough.
James isn’t Arran, he’s simply James, and he’s who I want to be with. I have to go back. . . . no I want to go back.
Now I just have to find a way to tell Arlo.
I start, when I look up and see him walking toward me. Well I suppose now is a good a time as any . . .
“Asters . . . nice.” He nods down at them. “I was looking for you. I’ve got something to show you.” He turns and starts walk away as though it’s a given I’ll follow him.
“No, Arlo, wait . . . I need to talk to you.”
He stops and turns back to me, a sudden curiosity stamped on his face.
I glance down at the trampled asters he’s just waded through, stalling, feeling fearful for what I have to say.
“You’re leaving aren’t you?” he asks quietly, slowly. The disappointment evident in his voice.
I nod.
“You’re going back to him?”
“Yes,” I utter, sounding as guilty as I feel.
He says nothing, just glares at me, a look so icy it cuts right through me, a silence so strong it’s practically deafening.
“And what about everything he’s done to you?” he asks stonily.
I curl my fingers around the thick edge of the netting and shake my head, unable to meet his eyes. “It wasn’t James that hurt me.”
He grips his head, frustrated. “James is Arran, what do you not understand about that? And we all know what Arran was, what he did, what he was capable of.” He sounds so condescending, so belligerent, that it enrages me.
I jump to my feet. “What Arran did!” I expostulate. “Not James. He doesn’t know any of this. Nothing of who he was, what he did.”
I so desperately want him to understand my decision, understand how I feel. I want him to be okay with it.
He turns and walks away from me and for a moment I think, that’s it, argument over, but then he turns back.
“James is Arran, Lucyna, irrespective of what you may say or want to believe. He might not know it, but he is. It’s in him to hurt you again. And he will, trust me. If you go back to him, it’ll only be a matter of time . . . and do you really want to go through all of that again?”
I sit back down on the hammock. “No, but –”
“There are no buts when it comes to him, Lucyna. You know this better than anyone.” He comes and sits beside me. “I only want what’s best for you,” he says gently, looking sideways at me with his vivid green eyes. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. You’re better off here with me where it’s safe, where he can never hurt you again.” He reaches over and pats my hand.
I can feel myself weakening to his words. I close my eyes and count to ten. Then I open them back up.
“I know you want what’s best for me, but he is what’s best for me. I know you don’t understand that but I want to be with him.”
He stiffens beside me, then abruptly stands, and when he finally looks down at me, I see a rage in his eyes so fierce it actually unnerves me.
“After everything I have done for you!” he suddenly bellows, his voice so thunderous it startles me. “And this is how you choose to repay me! By throwing it back in my face and returning to him. He destroyed you, Lucyna, made you so completely miserable you felt that you had no other choice than to change who you were so you wouldn’t have to feel the pain that he left you with.”
I scream. I actually scream.
Arlo looks visibly shocked and I know how he feels. Even now, I sometimes have no idea where some of these emotions come from.
I get to my feet. “I will not have this argument with you, Arlo. I’ll do as I wish.” I know how petulant I sound but I can’t help it.