Morose Rose
The knife lay on the floor beside them. Sitting in a pool of blood, he sat rocking her slowly like he did whenever she was sad. That wasn’t often. She always had a smile on her face, but no one knew that behind that façade was more pain and suffering than imaginable. Only he knew the truth about her past, but even he did not know how much it hurt her to think of it.
She had been 11 when her mother died. Cancer. Four long years she had suffered wrapped in the crisp white hospital sheets before she gave up and moved home, to her family, her own bed. Her father had been great, a real family man. But that was before hospital bills came rolling in. He started staying out late and when he did come home, he was drunk, and had another woman with him. Strange women (if they could be called women) she had never seen began appearing in the kitchen in search of food. They never stayed though. He began abusing them, first just verbally, then physically. Afraid of what would happen if she went to the police, she kept quiet. Being the oldest, she cared for her two brothers; they adored her. The three of them made the perfect family, and when they were alone together, it all almost seemed okay. Until one day, their father didn’t come home. She would lie awake in bed each night, waiting to hear the stumbling footsteps on the front porch. When the familiar headlights did not appear outside her window, she was almost relieved. It wasn’t until the next night that he finally came home. He was sober, and seemed more distraught than usual. A few days later she discovered why.
He had been in another bar fight that night. But it had quieted quickly when the police were called. The two men left the bar and met up in an alley so continue their brawl. They didn’t discover the body until the next morning, but it took awhile for the police to put all the pieces together. They took him away, which was probably better for the boys, she had thought. She begged the courts to let them take car of the boys on her own, but they barely let her spoke and quickly sent them all off to separate foster homes. She hated him for it. He murdered the man, why did they have to suffer? But it was no use worrying, what’s done is done. She was sent to live with a nice couple with a dog, but no other children. They were well-off and very nice people, but she became bored quickly. Missing her brothers, she ran away in search of them. She traveled from city to city by way of hitchhiking and buses. To pay for the bus rides and food, she began selling herself. She was introduced to drugs and alcohol, and starting selling herself for drugs. She had forgotten her search for her brothers until she saw the newspaper in one city.
The oldest of the two boys had been adopted by a family much like the one she had. But they had two other sons. One of the two was very into drugs, and soon her own brother began doing what she had. Only he had gotten himself killed while selling to a rival gang. Cursing her father for her situation, she checked herself into a rehab clinic. And that’s how she met him.
Three years into rehab she had found a job at the local coffee shop and had a small, one room apartment on the same block. He was a regular, always ordering a cappuccino; extra sugar, hold the foam. He brought her roses one day, and took her to dinner. They went out a few more times, before things got serious. A year into the relationship he asked her to move in with him, she did. She met his family and became close friends with his sister. They had a small dog and a fish. She began working full time at the coffee shop, and he held a steady desk job at the local police station.
They were engaged to be married, and had already begun preparations for the wedding when the stranger began coming to the coffee shop. He sat alone in the corner, ordering only a black coffee with 6 sugars, quietly reading a magazine. She never waited on him, and but was frightened of him. She couldn’t describe her fear or even give a reason, but she was just scared. One day he slowly stepped up to the counter and asked for her by name. Hesitating, she answered realizing who it was. She should have been prepared, he had been let out of jail only a month before. They sat and had coffee while they talked. She told him almost everything she had gone through because of him, how she hated him so. But he had not changed, and he began insulting her there on their first meeting. She quietly said that her break was over and went back to work.
She had planned on going home and cooking a beautiful dinner for her fiancé, because he had to work late that night. But after meeting with her father, she was not in the mood for anything. For the first time in four years, she stopped at the bar and ordered a few drinks. Returning home later than she had hoped, but before him, she ran the bath. She locked the door, and stumbled into the kitchen as the phone rang. At first she did not recognize the voice, but when the insults began, she knew who it was. Forgetting her bath, she dropped the phone and reached for the knife. It had been part of a set they received from his parents as a housewarming gift. She was sure they’d be happy to know it had been put to good use. With tear-blurred eyes, she cut across the soft flesh of her wrists. Dropping the knife, she realized what she had done, and that it was too late. She collapsed to the floor in a puddle of blood and tears. And that was how he found her.
He had had a wonderful day at work, finally getting the raise he was hoping for. In his rush to leave the office, he had forgotten to lock the door, only remembering once he was halfway home. He quickly turned around and jogged back, checking the locks and turning out the lights. Glancing at his watch he got a taxi, for the first time not minding the charge. The elevators in his building were still broken, but he didn’t care, the stairs were fine. He took them by two’s, reaching his 3 story apartment in no time. Opening the door to his apartment, he heard the water of the bath turn on. He quietly turned out and left his apartment. Down the stairs and out of the building he ran, buying a dozen roses at the small shop across the street. He was whistling as he climbed the steps again, and out of breath as he tried the door. Locked. He didn’t remember locking it on his way out, but thought nothing of it and went inside. The bath was still running, and he stepped through the living room towards the bathroom. Peaking into the bathroom, he held the roses behind his back. The bath had begun to overflow, and he quickly turned it off. Confused he called her name. The expected happy reply did not come, and he quickly exited the bathroom calling again.
He fell to his knees upon entering the kitchen. Dropping the roses beside him, he crawled to her and cradled her in his lap. Rocking back and forth he began to quietly cry. The wounds were fresh, and the blood was still dripping from her wrists. As his sobs strengthened, he felt for her heartbeat.
Finding a faint pulse, he quickly reached for the phone.

He sat down and looked at his watch. 2:47am, and he hadn't slept a wink. His paper was due the next day and he had yet to get past his opening sentence. "Catholicism began in..." He just couldn't stop thinking about Krysta. He wanted to call her, but he couldn't fail history again. He'd never get out of high school. "I need a job." He thought. He had been living in his car for the past few weeks, and it would be getting cold soon. "Maybe I could stay with Steve for a while, at least through the winter, or until I get enough money for a place of my own, whichever comes first." He picked up his cell phone and hoped that Krysta wouldn't be too upset. He slowly dialed her number, but hung up before it could ring. Why was he so afraid to call? After all, they had been together for almost a year; just 5 more days. Taking a deep breath, he dialed her number. This time he let the phone rang once before he hung up. He laid across the back seat of his car, using his history textbook as a pillow. Looking out the window, he was reminded of the first time Krysta and him had made love. It was on the hill behind where he was parked, on a night quite like this. He often thought of that night, and wondered if she did as well. She was only 15 at the time, and him 18. Before he moved out of his parents house, he often sat in his room late at night, watching the candles she bought him burn, thinking of her. He could almost smell the candles. They smelled a lot like her. Again he reached for his phone, but this time stopped himself before he finished dialing. Sighing, he laid back again. He wondered what she was doing, if she was sleeping, or maybe she was awake and writing, as she often did late into the night. She could write better than anyone else he had ever met. She had notebooks full of short stories and poetry by her bedside. He often asked to read them, but she would only show a few. She didn't keep a diary, and he thought that was odd. "Poems describe my day better than stories,” she said when he asked her why. He tried keeping a diary once, but never got past the first day. Unlike his girlfriend, he couldn't put his thoughts and feelings into words.

Before he realized it, he found himself dialing her number again. This time he listened as it rang. He was about to hang up, when she answered with a groggy "hello". He could never tell if she had been sleeping or writing when he called, she always sounded the same.
"Did i wake you?" He asked apologetically.
"Of course you did, it's 3am!" She replied laughing, sounding as if she had been awake for hours.
"I'm sorry, go back to sleep." He said, feeling sheepish.
"Well, i won't be able to sleep now. Have you finished your paper?"
"Yeah, i just finished, that’s why i called you." He lied.
"No you didn't, you called me because you can't finish your paper. You're never going to get out of high school!"
"I know, but i can't stop thinking of you, i miss you." He said, watching a plane fly across the sky.
"You just saw me four hours ago!” He could almost hear her smile.
"Maybe if i see you I’ll be able to finish my paper."
"Well, i suppose, if it will help your education." She laughed. "Just don't wake up my parents this time. See you in a few." He held the phone to his ear for a few seconds after hearing the soft click on the receiver. He climbed to the front seat and started the ignition. So he wouldn't finish his paper on time. High school really wasn't that bad.

She smiled as she turned on the faucet, filling the bath with hot water. She went to the kitchen to have something to eat. Opening the fridge, she hoped that there might be some leftover chicken from the night before. Seeing none, she closed the door in dismay. She quickly walked to the bathroom to check on the water, but it still had a while before it was filled. Testing it with her hand, she turned up the hot water and closed the bathroom door to let the room fill with steam. She hesitantly picked up the phone, but quickly set it back on the receiver. She saw the picture on her bedside table upon entering her bedroom. For almost a full minute she stood, unmoving, staring at the photo. She could almost see where she had glued the wood back together. For the first time, she noticed that his shirt was inside-out. She laughed. He never quite knew how to dress himself correctly. Boy, she would miss him. She slowly walked across the room, having to step over dirty laundry and school books on the way. She turned the frame face-down, and reached for a small blue candle and a box of matches. It was her favorite candle, with a yellow and gold sun imprinted on one side and a silver moon on the other. She again returned to kitchen to find a light snack. She washed and dried a Red-Delicious apple, but then decided against it. She reached for a much less healthy snack; potato chips. They always had been her favorite. Opening the bag, she slowly revisited the bathroom. The room was filled with a warm mist so thick she could barely see the tub in front of her from the doorway. Setting her candle on the sink, she tested the water, but it still was not warm enough. Turning up the hot water once again, she sat for a moment, watching the water pour into the tub, and following the rising steam until she could no longer see it. She stood slowly and made her way to the living room. The remote to the TV was still missing, so she planted herself directly in front of the set. Finishing off the bag of chips, she watched as a young girl, quite like herself, was held tightly in the arms of her lover. She continued to watched until they let go. Reaching forward, she quickly changed the channel. Good things must always end. On the following channel, the news showed the path of the hurricane, which had already begun to affect her home town. It had been raining all day, and the temperature had dropped significantly since yesterday. On the next channel, a fire raged while a family of four stood outside and watched their home burn to the ground. To everyone’s surprise a small brown dog ran out through the wall of smoke, barking almost happily. The family smiled and ran to meet their beloved canine. Sighing, she stood and turned off the TV, it was time for her bath. Turning off the light, she blindly lit her candle and turned off the running water, inviting a calming silence into the room. Removing her clothes, she stepped into the almost too- hot bath. She sank into the water and closed her eyes. She sat in the silence, until it was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the telephone. It was like a baby’s cry for his mother; lost, alone, and afraid. She did not move to answer it. Hearing his voice on the answering machine, she slid underwater before the tears could come. She stayed submersed until she felt as though her lungs were about to rupture. Reaching over the edge of the bath, she slid her hand into the pocket of her silk bath robe, and felt her fingers wrap around the cold hard metal. Shaking it free of the robe, she let it fall into the bath, watching it sink beneath the soap-filled water. She grasped the handle just before she lost sight of it under the foamy water. Holding it in view, she looked at herself in the reflection of the metal. Her long brown hair, and hazel eyes gave her an almost young and innocent look. Wiping away a tear, she sighed and set the knife down on the floor next to her. Drying off, and dressing herself only in her bathrobe, she brought the knife to the kitchen. Entering her room again, she curled up on her bed, and wrapped herself in her sheets. She laid her head upon her pillow, and let the stream of tears flow. Feeling them stream down her face, she was reminded of the bath water running, a constant flow of water controlled by the turn of a handle. She wished it was that easy. She rolled over and closed her eyes. She awoke late the next morning, with the sun shining brightly into her room. Closing the shades, she sighed. Everything would be okay after all.

She walked to the casket with downcast eyes. She knew everyone was watching her, and she held back a tear. Slowly bending to her knees before the coffin, she gently fingered the small pendant around her neck. A teardrop sapphire on a fine gold chain. Remembering how happy they had been, she smiled sadly. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought of the times they spent just laughing and talking. Sometimes they would sit alone together, and never say a word. All that mattered was that they were together.

Standing slowly she wiped away a tear and turned to face them. They watched her with sympathetic eyes as she strolled down the aisle. She stopped at the door and turned toward the coffin. “Love you,” she whispered to his breathless body beneath the wood, and she sat on the steps outside the chapel crying tears that never came.

Snap. She could feel it in her head, this physical sound, the sensation of something breaking. A small thing, a very soft sound, almost overlooked... but she knew what it meant.

She felt the veils fall around her mind, cushioning her conciousness. Her eyes changed as something in them darkened and something in them lit. "She" was quiet... she shut down. And all there was left was a shell, stronger against the onslought of emotion, yet oddly empty against the world. She lacked that center, that crucial aspect of humanity that grounds one to reality.

The sky was so blue, the sun so bright, yet the wind so bitingly cold. It looked perfect, looked beautiful, yet sucked the heat from your body when you reached for it. Like her. They saw the smiles, the laughter... and they missed the hidden tears swimming just out of reach. The brave reached beyond the walls, and got their warmth pulled from them by the desperation swirling in her mind.

Everything seemed brighter, everything seemed clearer, as if she weren't quite there, as if she were just an observer, watching the chaos. She wondered when what had broken would mend.