Monday
If someone were to ask what, by any definition of the term, Kanaya's greatest regret would be, she would say it would be the way Rose had looked at her when she finally returned Sunday night.
It was not a look of anger or frustration, simply confusion and worry. She had asked Kanaya about her anger, had sat next to her on the bed and made her look in her eyes and had asked if there was something she wasn't telling her, something important she needed to know. Kanaya had brushed her off, had said that it was silly and an over-reaction on her part, that she needed the evening to get her thoughts in order and that she was done with her tantrum now.
Rose had no accepted it, but she had realised that it was all she was getting, had hugged her and told her that if she needed her, she would be there, and gone over to her bed to fall asleep immediately, while Kanaya spent the night turning things over in her mind before finally dropping into (thankfully) dreamless sleep.
The facts, as she saw them, lay clear: she had liked Rose for as long as she had known her and had loved her for over a year. She was terrified of telling her, whether because she did not want to ruin their friendship or because she did not want Rose to feel obligated to her, she did not know. Like any crush, being Rose's best friend had its benefits and detriments – as a rule, she spent a lot of time with Rose and was able to be in her presence, even if it was not the way she wanted; on the other hand, when she over-reacted to Rose's closeness to others, it did not go unnoticed and created awkwardness and worry. Finally, she could not stand it.
One way or another, something had to change. Something had to break.
That something is, of course, morning Kanaya's resolve.
The fact of the matter is that Kanaya's friendship with Rose now is more important to her than the potential for a relationship.
The other fact of the matter is that Kanaya has more pressing problems than Rose at the moment.
Class is hard.
She had thought that with a class of slackers who didn't even want to be there, she would at least be able to keep her head above the water as interest and a dedication to work found her rarely falling behind.
And yet it doesn't make sense. The words dance about in front of her eyes, declensions and conjugations bleed together in her mind, vocab runs away in rivers and rivulets and "I don't know" becomes her phrase of the day.
She does not belong. She does not understand. And she cannot stop thinking about the way Rose looked at her.
Lunchtime finds her unable to eat, afternoon break finds her unable to concentrate on her books, the lecture finds her restless.
The art department puts its volunteers on temporary leave as they recover and prepare for Friday's play and Kanaya finds herself at a loss.
Rose gives her time and space and Kanaya finds herself alone.
Her friends have other friends. She tries to study. Each yawn drives the learning from her brain.
She watches the clouds fade into stars, hears classmates return from wherever they have been to their own dorms, smells rain in the distance and thinks.
She dances on the brink of giving up. She hovers around the thought, abandons it, and returns.
Give up, the thought says.
You don't understand. There's no point in you being here.
It's not easy, but it's doable.
It's not even her money she's wasting.
It's not even her money.
Rose returns, forgets herself for a minute, smiles, excuses herself to get ready for bed.
Kanaya looks away from the window, packs up her books, changes quickly.
Rose's purse lies on her bed, a sack of vending machine change.
It's Rose's purse that paid for her to be her. It's Rose who begged her to come.
It's Rose for whom, ultimately, she would give anything up.
It's Rose's animated eyes as time and space make way for passionate discussion that pops the thought like just another bubble.
She will stay, she will study, she will understand, for Rose.
And the crush, the love, the pain? She'll deal with that tomorrow.
Tuesday
Tuesday comes with the solution.
Kanaya wakes up with the words written inside her lips and spends morning distracted, writing them in her brain.
They are simple and swift, a putting off of the main event tied in with some forgiveness and a better understanding. They solve no problem except the one that stands closest, answer no questions except the ones on jet-black lips. They will not tell Kanaya whether she should confess her greatest secret, nor the method by which she should go about it, and they will not tell Rose the real reason for her silence and her secrecy, and they will not solve her anger or her confusion except for now.
They are simple. They are swift.
The truest words, if she could say them, would be simply "I love you. And I understand if you don't want that. And I am at your mercy."
She picks the next best.
Over lunch, she pulls Rose over to the side and says, "After lunch, will you meet me outside? I have something I need to say." Lashing rain and beaten clouds guarantee their seclusion, and Rose eats quickly and looks at her inquisitively, artistically arranged against a building while Kanaya pulls the words out of her throat.
I have felt lonely and like I don't belong, and it is only with you that I feel secure
I know it's silly to depend on another person so much, but there we are
Between that, classes and the drama in the art department I was stressed out and anxious Saturday
I was okay at first, and then I realised we had separated and other people kept coming over and I was looking for you
You looked so happy on someone else's arm, I felt guilty and decided to leave
I didn't feel well so I stayed outside for some fresh air and Nazia came over to try and talk some sense into me
I was rude to her and I felt guilty and sick and Sunday made me feel worse and I felt silly because of you so I avoided you all day
I felt silly because I had assumed that you were tired of me and that's why you left me
Silly, I know.
I was angry when you said I looked pretty because I was angry at myself for being silly
It all compounded and I had to leave. I made up with Nazia who did talk some sense into me
I was embarrassed so I didn't tell you and then you avoided me all day because you thought it's what I wanted
And I hate that, because it's the opposite of what I want.
So if you'll have me, silly and over-reactive, I'm here.
And I'm not angry anymore.
It's simple, it's swift, it's a solution.
Rose looks at her like she's crazy. Rose smiles. Rose forgives.
And it all falls into place. In her brain all problems solve themselves suddenly until one remains. The final problem. How. To. Tell.
For there is no doubt in her mind that, eventually, she will tell. She cannot keep her secret forever – it consumes her, turns her into someone she hates, turns her in circles till she's on the outside looking in and wondering just where she went wrong. The words are so simple she feels them in her chest, climbing up her throat to dance on her teeth and tongue, itching to pry her lips open and taste the air in full, final fashion, and yet she clams them up, says not yet, it's not yet time.
And yet it feels like seconds before they fall back into their old routine. Rose takes her hand and leads her back to their room where they sit opposite each other on the bed and she takes time from her own studies to explain each of Kanaya's problems until she understand. Rose eats dinner opposite her and tells her all about the discussion that bubbled up in her class, and Kanaya, intrigued, responds in part, wrapped up in their own world. Rose crams in beside her in the lecture theatre, scribbling notes on her pad and waving to the stars as her eyes light up with interest. Rose closes the window and shuts the curtains and says goodnight and drops off and Kanaya follows not a minute later.
Rose, Nazia texts, still believes she's done something wrong.
Rose, Nazia texts, remains yet worried and confused.
Rose, Nazia texts, deserves to know the truth.
Wednesday
Wednesday brings them back into the clockwork movements they inhabited before – coming together and separating and coming together again. Rose is there in the morning and there at lunch and there in the evening and there at night, both impossibly close and impossibly far. She stands beside her, a beacon of light that reminds her who she is, the secrets she chooses to keep, and she stands away from her, one move more than she can make, one touch less.
The theme for Friday's party is announced: film noir, and Kanaya's face spreads into a wicked grin, happy in the knowledge that she and Rose will own this. She meets Rose with a similar smile on her face, leaning together conspiratorially and planning their plans. Nazia comes to join them with a meaningful look at Kanaya met by a shake of the head, and the three share gossip, plans and stories – Nazia's classmate's boyfriend was asked to leave after he pulled the fire alarm in their building Tuesday night; Rose's classmates received a wake-up call when they changed text and those who hadn't studied were at a complete loss while she was fine; two of Kanaya's classmates want to leave.
The rush for Friday costumes begins, and the art department is filled with a steady flow of actors waiting to be fitted. It is second nature for Kanaya and she is efficient and swift in her processing of them: costumes labelled and hung up, sorted into "needs work" and "done", the important ones are reworked and tidied up, and Kanaya leaves in the evening with a sense of satisfaction and peace with the world. She is engaged in conversation with Elise, a fellow prop-worker, and they stand for many minutes finishing their conversation while Rose looks at odds. Eventually Elise's friends show, and she sees her off with a tiny sigh of relief, and peppers the air with apologies while they take their seats.
Rose is forgiving but still frosty, and Kanaya wonders how many invisible lines she can cross.
The talk of fire alarms earlier break their peaceful spell, and 2AM calls the twain from their beds to walk through hallways of riotous noise, down metal stairs with a clink on every other step, past cold concrete corridors with shut up coffee shops and across crisp grass to stand shivering in the shadows, watching with hazy eyes as names are called.
It's an unwelcome distraction from the shows that haunt her nights – no longer sleepless, Kanaya is instead haunted by the visions of what could be if she were braver, and the harsh contrast with the way Rose turns her back on her makes the comparison seem all too vivid – until Rose turns back around and leans into her side, whispering 'wake me up when it's over' and, later, 'I was having such a good dream.'
Kanaya goes to sleep wondering what Rose dreams of. Is it, she wonders, a future world where she is a respected author, her opinion sought on most every topic? Or, perhaps, a distant past where she plays the role of the best known woman in town, fabled for her risqué conversations and her liberal opinions? Surely such a one does not have commonplace dreams, she thinks. Surely such a one does not dream of someone else's arms.
Said arms curve in hers in her dreams and drape across the wide expanse of skin that leads from side to side and bring her head down for another kiss.
Thursday
The dream she wakes up from seems a continuation from the one she dropped off to: in it, they are a happy pair, and they walk down the seafront hand in hand and watch the gulls fly above. They curl up together in dark cinemas and Rose rests her head on Kanaya's shoulder, hands in lap. They discuss politics over breakfast and fashion over dinner, live lives separate but together, whirling like clockwork around each other, but come night they stick together like glue, bent and curved around each other as if they grew that way.
She dreams of sticky skin, of the cool breeze on her back and Rose's lips on her neck, her voice in her ear, her skin a wide expanse of ivory to be explored and mapped. She dreams of the sounds Rose would make as she flies down, down, to meet her below and the way her kisses would taste when both are satisfied. She dreams of the way Rose would feel as the two wake together, sheets twisted and bodies curved together.
She wakes, to find guilt and sorrow her only companions.
Nazia says that Rose deserves to know the truth, Kanaya reflects as she watches light steal across the lawn, and if Kanaya is honest with herself, she is not sure she can stand it anymore. She had known it would be difficult, to be this close to Rose for so long and yet be unable to speak her secrets, to wake up opposite rather than next to her, to know that this life of revolving around each other could be just a preview of a future that could never happen. And yet, never had she foreseen it being this difficult, just to wake up in the same room as her with that stain of her guilt and her longing painted across her.
Rose is perfect, she thinks, from this far away, and all she wants to do is to find her imperfections.
Whatever deity she prayed to on her first night has surely done their work – she is caught between the rock of her desire and the hard place of her fear, unable to find the courage to speak her secrets, yet unable to face more time at the mercy of her secret longing.
And yet, she thinks, there is an opportunity. It is, she thinks, hardly the best place to do it and yet, she thinks, there is no place better.
She will be brave, she will be beautiful, she will not be cowed. She will not let jealousy take hold of her, nor fear: she will ask, as simply as she can, and she will not stake her whole life on the answer. No, she will stake her heart and her happiness, but she will recover – she knows she can – and if she ends the night heartbroken, well, it will not be the last, and if not…she thinks perhaps her secret shame will no longer be secret.
She thinks it strange, that the world should be so normal after such a change could be made in her. Her housemates treat her as usual, morning greetings and her usual seat; Rose behaves the same as always, eating breakfast quickly and complaining all the way into her classroom; she struggles, but not unduly, and counts the minutes till class finishes. The art department is busier, both with actors and ordinary students, and yet again she works swiftly and efficiently till all the fittings are done; discussions and conversations bubble up around her amongst classmates, friends and, she supposes, co-workers; Rose is animated and beautiful as ever, close and distant as ever, her best friend and all she wants in this world.
The decision gnaws at the inside of her brain and haunts all her thoughts, and she spends her free time working on her wording, assessing each move and planning each moment, finding the opportune moment and binding herself to her bravery.
She knows the words inside out and backwards, she knows each movement and the way either scenario will play out, she thinks of each way her plan could be derailed and plans eventualities for each: she is neurotic, and she knows Nazia would tell her to chill and let it come as it would but she knows that she will need the preparation, the fortification, the bravery in her bones.
She prays that sleep will take her. He caresses her cheek, closes her eyelids, kisses her forehead and leaves.
She wakes to hear the soft noises come from Rose's throat. She closes her eyes to pretend she hears nothing.
Friday
With Friday's dawn comes the realisation that it is their last day of classes. This realisation comes both welcome and yet sad – she will be glad to go home, glad to see her family again, glad to enjoy the last vestiges of summer before autumn comes with burnt leaves and yet-
And yet, she will miss it. She will miss the odd sense of isolation, the knowledge that everyone here is equally weird in their own way, the creak on the last stair into the art department. She will miss the pervasive smell of art and glue and the quiet rustle of books in the library. She will miss how it feels to watch the world wake up around her in the morning, how it feels to be greeted each morning by her breakfast crew, how it feels to rush from room to class and back again. She will miss the way that Rose looks when they see each other across the field (for the two will surely go their separate ways next year, even if they will stay in the same city), the greeting as familiar to her ears as her own family's, the way Rose's hands would slip into hers late at night or when she was too tired to stand.
She will miss her new friends from her class and her sewing machine, she will miss Nazia's quick wit and quicker mind, and she will miss the way the gardens open in front of you when you stand in front of the great windows and sniff the air for the remains of the drink you poured into the grass.
For once, she lies in until the kitchens open rather than sitting at her desk preparing. An intermittent morning waker, she watches the dawn creep up on the horizon and the light spill across the floor from the bottom of the curtain, waits as the second hand beats out the minutes on the clock, and listens to the sounds of a school waking up.
She dresses slowly, mindful of each action, each movement. She drifts as if in a dream, stumbling against the doorway and blinking sleep from her eyes in the crisp breeze. Her coffee is too hot and her bread too cold, and the crackers she brings back for Rose seem to crumble in her hands. Rose is soft and pliable in the morning, and she eats in bed for once, sliding out of the covers slowly and stretching as if she has not moved for years.
And then time seems to speed up, till Kanaya finds herself opening the door to her classroom with no real memory of even walking there.
She sits down next to Rose and drops her books on the floor, lies out on the grass and wonders out loud how, even on the last day, classes could be so stressful.
She eats on the go with Rose at her side and watches her find her classmates before Kanaya prepares for the last day rush.
Actors and directors pass by in a rush, props glossed and glued together, safety pins applied liberally and lost parts found and replaced.
Class comes, goodbyes are said and thank you's given, and class goes, with Rose bringing her dinner and acting as their runner.
The final costumes are on, the last safety pins in place, a bit of tape where no-one will see it and the art department, her home away from home, is closed and locked.
Their costumes will look best when complete and neither really wants to start now so they sit in the falling dusk with some friends and converse in low voices about the turning of the days. Some look forward to the play, others to the party, and yet others to simply being at home and Kanaya finds her own voice trips from her voice to join in with the others, a slow-moving, melodic turning of noise.
The air seems close and cottony, and Kanaya counts her heartbeats and the minutes wind down, and then they make their way over to the amphitheatre and file in, slowly, paper in hand.
A tragedy they say, and a tragedy it is – betrayal here, death there, and the slow-spoken soliloquy as the "hero" realises his great sin, his great error, his great woe.
Afterwards, Kanaya cannot recall a word. She spends the whole time rehearsing the conversation in her head, feeling her stomach turn flips and her breathing quicken when she looks at Rose.
She has had enough of dreams and pretence, enough of lying and hiding, enough of loving Rose from afar and keeping quiet for no reason other than plain cowardice.
Rose has her heart locked in a silver cage; Rose has her firmly curled around her little finger; Rose, ever ignorant and unknowing, ties her head in knots and her stomach in circles and it is time that she lets loose the birds inside her heart.
Fire alarms. We were plagued by 'em.
Also, you may think that it's not possible for Kanaya to feel so many emotions in one week. As one who was there, I can assure you that you can (or, well, I could but w/e, I'm sure there were some people who were happy all the time).
Anyway, I know I left it on a massive cliffhanger, but worry not readers, for the next chapter is coming...tonight?