Siara
Rye makes me happy. He does. The sort of happiness that comes when you see a selfless good deed, or when you see children playing at the park, or when you see puppies – just in general.
It’s a warmth, a comfort, a gift of hope in that split moment that feeds the thought that maybe everything isn’t so bad and maybe people are good, if not sometimes misguided. In reality, it’s just a pretty dream filled with ribbons and buttons and lace and –
‘Siara, did you hear what I said?’ At some point on the walk home, I’ve dazed off. Now we linger on the cold concrete steps, our time together ending for the day. Just like it did yesterday and the day before. Happy, comfortable and warm.
I shake my head. ‘No, sorry I was thinking of something else.’
‘I was saying I really like you a lot.’ My heart stops.
That’s the thing though about dreams; eventually you wake up.
‘Oh, thanks, Rye. I think you’re cool too.’ Even despite your resistance to do so. ‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then, same place?’
It isn’t a question that needs an answer. And it doesn’t deserve one. Turning to the door, I can’t bring myself to look at his face. How can I? My smile is fake. I can feel it painted on my face like the greatest masterpiece Da Vinci ever created. It’s a fantasy, an ideal, made for Rye’s perception and enjoyment. Dreams aren’t real. Yet, I need this one to be for just a while longer. Please let me leave.
He doesn’t.
He’s always been too stubborn for his own good and, apparently, now for mine as well. My body forms a rigid bind, a tight internal hold on my bones as they tense up in response to his grip on my wrist. Rye is my only friend. If I lose him, there’s no one else who will remember I exist.
I don’t want this.
Surely, my face must be as pale as it feels. It doesn’t matter though, as Rye doesn’t see it. His eyes are shut as he moves forward, his palms sweaty and face flushed. He’s confident I feel the same way and he has no reason to believe otherwise. Rye’s pulse hammers through his grip on my arm. Meanwhile, my heart beats steady, cold, unaffected.
The dream has ended. I’ve been forced awake. There’s no way back in. Reality has done what reality does best, ruin things.
Not all people are good. That’s a fact.
I know because I’m not.
His face draws nearer and I don’t resist. This is fine. I can pretend again. I’ve known of Rye’s feelings for longer than I would care to admit. Although I pretended I didn’t. Reciprocating his advances enough to keep him interested but not so much as to tie myself down.
Why?
Loneliness, maybe, or possibly to soothe my own ego. They’re generous justifications; ones I don’t deserve. The likely truth? Because I wanted to. Either way, in the end, does the reason really matter? I chose to hurt him the most, by avoiding hurting him at all. A happy prisoner, where the cage is embellished with gold and money but none of it yours. I know that I need him, although I’m not sure why or for what. Rye always saw me as this better version of who I really was. A Siara that could do no wrong, who was inherently good. How long could I pretend to be that person? Until everyone’s memories are restored and I no longer need him? And when that happens, what then?
Cold red eyes stare through the window of the top floor, piercing into mine like they know all my horrid thoughts. My heart drops, my body simultaneously breaking free from its frozen nature and stepping backwards. My hand flies up, my mind expecting it to cover my mouth in shock. It doesn’t. It covers someone else’s. It happens before I even understand the significance. My hand presses assertively against Rye’s mouth, a clean and clear rejection.
I watch in dread as his eyes blink in confusion, slowly taking in the small cues of my discomfort that he hadn’t noticed before.
‘I don’t understand. I thought you… do you not feel the same way?’ This is the exact thing that I didn’t want to happen.
‘Rye.’ My strangled voice barely manages to claw itself from between my lips. I try to think of a way to save everything, to save this friendship. My eyes plead for him to just stay, to talk it out, make sense of the situation so we can go back to normal. We can go back to how we were before.
Instead, they just validate his suspicion. Hurt, he steps back. An unreadable expression darkens his face.
‘I’m going home.’
‘Rye, wait. We can work this out.’ My words don’t reach him as he jogs down the steps, striding down the street with his hands in his pockets, his head hung. The demon’s red eyes flash in my mind. I look back to the window. A sound of mild surprise falls from my lips. It has frozen over, snowflake patterns scrambled across the glass, sealing the window shut. The curtain is now drawn. I really wish he hadn’t seen that. How awkward.
‘Are you going to come in? Or are you staying out there?’ Xander’s voice cuts through the silence. My body reacts with a slight shudder.
‘You need to stop appearing like that. Make some noise next time,’ I say, taking a step inside the open door. Xander shrugs.
‘Why is everyone so jumpy today?’ he murmurs, walking down the hall. ‘You’re not going after him, right? I’m happy you’re not friends anymore. Now you can stay here more often.’
‘We’re still friends,’ I say, more to myself than Xander. The boy takes a quick glance in my direction, his expression dark as he sits cross legged on the couch, the TV chatting away.
‘Oh?’
We are still friends, right? This will go back to how we were before. Of course, it will, we’ve known each other since we were kids.
‘Xander, I’ll be back soon.’
The boy rolls his eyes, a small unimpressed grunt erupting from his direction.
I take the route to Rye’s, briskly, but still giving myself enough time to summon some sort of courage. I don’t know what I’m going to say but I need to find my conviction to say something. The small cosy home feels different now. Still warm and sweet but now exuding an aloof and accusing nature as if I have betrayed it somehow. Running up the porch steps, I can now appreciate the convenience of being reintroduced to his grandmother. It’s not so much of a shock for her now when I ring the doorbell like a mad woman. The door creaks open, slowly and gently. Rye’s grandmother, Mary, stands idly in the doorway, her frail body slightly hunched.
‘Oh, hello, dear. Siara, wasn’t it?’ she says softly, her smile echoing traces of Rye’s.
‘Uh, yes, that’s right. Is Rye here? I need to speak with him.’
She nods, moving away from the door but not particularly inviting me in. An uncharacteristic action, indicating that Rye has probably mentioned something about what happened. I wait outside patiently for a few moments, writing a script in my mind. Rye steps out, closing the door firmly behind him. His eyes meet mine for only a few seconds before looking away. The space is cold, colder than it ever has been between us before and I don’t understand why. There’s no point in biding time so I cut to the chase, my mental script vanishing in seconds.
‘Can’t we just stay friends?’
Rye leans back against the verandah railing, arms folded. ‘We were never friends.’
