Cole smiles and kisses the top of my head. “Should we watch our movie?”
“Course. Except—” I pause and look up at him.
“What?”
“Do you have any Junior Mints?” It’s silly, I know, but they are my favorite candy.
He winks. Walks into the kitchen and opens a cupboard. There is a box resting in plain view. He eyes me. “Do I have Junior Mints?” He shakes his head and laughs.
I join in.
He puts in the movie and we sit on the couch, his arm around me. The opening sequence is in full swing and half of the Junior Mints are gone when there’s a knock at the door.
“Hang on.” He paused the movie and went to the door.
I can see there’s no one there. Just a small box on the ground. “What is it?” I ask, jumping up, thinking it might be something exciting.
He holds me at arm’s length. “It’s got your name on it.” He looks out into the dark night. There’s a squeal of tires, but it’s too far away to see what car the noise belongs to. He bends down and cautiously picks it up.
I’m confused about his need to be careful. “If it’s for me, then let me see it.” I grab it from his hands, smile when he huffs, and push the lid open.
“What is it?” he asks.
I can’t respond. It’s difficult to register what I’m seeing, and I blink several times until I realize tears are streaming down my cheeks. “I—it’s—”
“Rosie?”
There’s worry in his voice, but I can’t respond. I can’t do anything but stare. All of the happy moments I’ve had the last few weeks smash to pieces and I sink to the floor.
Cole is there, kneeling beside me. The deep timbre of his voice cuts through, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. Finally, he takes the box from my hands. Then lifts me into his arms and carries me into the spare bedroom. He lays me down and sits beside me, one of his hands stroking my hair. It feels nice, but I can’t respond to anything because all I see is the photo of my mom and dad lying on the floor and blood is everywhere. Later, I’ll realize it was a crime scene photo, but now I’m back to that moment. The moment I discovered their bodies and I wonder how I ever thought I could get over such a grewsome scene. The smell of death hanging in the room, the sound of silence, except for my screams. And then I run away. I leave the house, leave them. It’s the last time I ever saw them. No amount of time can erase that moment. I’ll never be the same. A wrenching pain rips through my chest and I know it’s my heart breaking all over again. Seven years or seventy, the loss is raw and real and ever present.
It’s like I’m in an ever-tumbling maelstrom of that memory. It repeats itself over and over. All of the tattoos, the music, the sessions with my therapist, they mean nothing in that everlasting moment. At some point, the desire to break free fills me, but that moment, captured within the confines of the photo and my mind won’t let me.
26
Don’t Say I Didn’t Warn You
Cole
The picture of Rosie’s mom and dad lying in their own blood sickens me. I can’t imagine what finding them must’ve been like. My dad’s death was difficult for me and I didn’t even like him. When Rosie is asleep, I call Abigail, her therapist, and tell her what’s going on. She thanks me and advises me to have Rosie set up an appointment. With all that’s been going on, she needs to be seen. I agree and am about to hang up, when Abigail says my name.
“Yeah?” I respond, a little distracted. Rosie is trying to say something, and I don’t want to miss it.
“Tell her about your dad as soon as possible. She needs to know.”
“I will.” I hang up and set Rosie’s cell phone on the bedside table.
Rosie says something indiscernible again and grabs my hand. I lean in so my face is next to hers. There’s a hint of her soap—sandalwood and rose. It’s light and I like it. “What is it, Rosie?” Her lips move. I watch them, desperate to kiss them, but I don’t. “Tell me what I can do to help you.” Never in my life have I wanted someone more than I want Rosie right now. But she’s passed out. “Rosie.” If this were anyone else, I’d leave her alone and let her sleep it off, but this isn’t anyone. It’s Rosie. The girl I shared my dreams with.
“I love you. Cole, I love you.” Her words come out distinctly. There’s no way to deny what she said. But she’s also out of it. Her eyes are closed, her body relaxed. Definitely asleep.
I climb onto the other side of the bed, my body turned toward her. “You love me, huh?” I whisper softly. I’ve heard that before. Words said in the heat of passion. “Freckles. What am I going to do with you?”
I watch her breathe in and out for several long minutes. When I’m sure she’ll be okay, I climb off the bed, cover her with a blanket, and carefully close the door. When I’m in the hall, my front door opens. Slams closed. “Cole. Bro. You decent?”
I crack my knuckles and take a deep breath.
Evan is smiling.
“How did you get in here? I locked that.”
He holds up a key. “A spare.” Evan gives me a once over. “Nice outfit. Bet Lar… uh, Rosie loved it.” He laughs, obnoxious. “Now that you’ve got her all warmed up, can I play?” His eyes glance toward the spare room.
“No. She’s sleeping.” My mind is on high alert. I’m angry, frustrated, and desperate for some answers.
“Not for long,” he says, heading down the hall.
I block his path. “I said no.” My arms are crossed, my feet planted firmly.
“Dude. What do you care? She’s played you. Seven years ago, and now too. Treated you like dirt under your feet. Why are you protecting her? Let’s have some fun. She deser—”
“Evan, I swear, if you finish that sentence, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.” Obviously, our little chat the other night meant nothing to him.
Evan snorts. Shoves me. “You saying you’d choose her over me? Over family?”
“That’s what I’m saying. Yes.” I nod once. As we talk, I push him back into the living room and I notice the box on the floor. “Did you do this?” I swing around him and pick up the box, which is still holding the picture, and show it to him.
“Wow, that’s sad.” He shakes his head in mock sympathy. He doesn’t look sad at all.
“Tell me the truth!” I shove the box into his stomach.
“No, man.” He chuckles. “But maybe I should have. When her parents were alive, they drove a wedge between my dad and yours. She’s doing the same to you and me.” He shakes his head, disgusted. “I don’t get you.” He removes the picture and flips it over. “Interesting.” His eyes narrow shrewdly. “Why would you choose her?” He drops the box onto the couch and hands the picture to me. “Plus, when my dad finds out, he’s going to be ticked.” Evan heads back to the front door. “You don’t choose her over family or there will be consequences.” He yanks open the door. Slams it shut.
I heave a sigh of relief after locking the door. Evan’s words echo in my mind. He threatened me, but he’s done that so many times before I can’t count. I have a feeling a therapist would have a field day with my story.
My eyes scrutinize the picture and I pull it closer. One of my dad’s baseball hats is on the floor beside Rosie’s dad. At least I think it’s his. He went over to Rosie’s house a lot. He and her parents were friends, but it seemed odd the hat was on the floor, leaning on its side so it was easy to read the writing: Bellam Police Department. I flip over the photo. There are words written on the back. Three words to be exact. In all caps: YOU’RE NEXT ROSE.
Without thinking, I sit on the couch. I need to figure out what to do. The cops should be involved, but I’m worried about what involving the police will do to Rosie. I lean my head against the rest. It’s only been a few short weeks since Rose came back into my life, but I know without a doubt that if I have to choose Rosie over family, there is no choice.
* * *
Rosie
I open my eyes and am surprised to see light shining through the
blinds. “What happened?” I have a headache and my eyes hurt, probably from crying. I’m in Cole’s spare bedroom, still fully dressed, and covered with a blanket. I know Cole did that for me and I’m grateful. Then I remember the photo. Of my mom and dad. My stomach gets queasy, but I take a deep breath. I can’t go on like this. I need help.
I grab my phone off the bedside table, determined to call Abigail, but am distracted by the texts. There are two from Gina.
One from last night. Staying the night with Romney. Don’t worry.
Then, this morning. Are you and Cole still together? Still the big V? Let me know you’re all right.
“That girl has a one-track mind.” I smile a little though it hurts. But I’m trying not to think about my mom and dad.
There’s also a text from Cole. Had an emergency. See you later. Lock the door when you leave. We need to talk!
My pulse quickens. What was the emergency? Does he know who delivered that picture? And the biggest question? Why?
I quickly text Gina. I’m okay. I debate whether to comment on my virgin status but decide I might as well, or she’ll keep asking. Yep, still the big V. I don’t go into details.
The clock on the wall says it’s eight fifty-five. My English class starts in five minutes. I’m not going to make it. And since I have Cole’s place to myself for the next hour at least, I decide to take a look around.
After freshening up in the bathroom, I make myself some toast and wander as I eat. On the desk in his room is a computer. The screensaver is an image of scrolling musical notes. A piano rendition of Titanium. I can hear the melody in my head as it crosses the screen. His window has blue curtains. They’re open. I peer out the window and can see Bellam University campus. What few trees there are have lost all of their leaves. The grass is yellow. It’s windy out, a Bellam standard. Most days are windy. A big tumbleweed bounces across the park in front of the complex, gets stuck on a silver slide.
My stomach grumbles and I head toward the kitchen. Open the fridge. There are strawberries in a blue, ceramic bowl. Next to it is a smaller bowl of what looks like chocolate sauce. Underneath is the chocolate soufflé.
Guilt blooms in my chest. We didn’t get to eat dessert.
“You’re such an idiot.” I grab a strawberry and pop it in my mouth. It is delicious. I get a bottle of water and open it. Chug half of it down. I wonder how Cole can afford a three-bedroom apartment? And why isn’t he living with his dad? This is his hometown. It would make sense. And even if he wanted a place of his own, why wouldn’t he have roommates?
The bedroom with his piano is closed, but I can’t resist going in. I want to play, lose myself in the music for a little while. The room smells like old paper, and Cole. A heady combination. I sit at the bench and run through a few exercises. Limbering up my fingers. While I’m playing, I allow my mind to wander. To think about my life and the way everything is topsy-turvy.
I think about Gina. My aunt and uncle. The reasons behind why my aunt forced me to stay away from Cole and the photo of my mom and dad. It was hard to see, but I’m feeling less emotional today. More relaxed.
After thirty minutes of playing, I stand. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off the closet. I have to know what’s inside. I open it and my nose is pummeled with dust. Crate after crate filled with old books and yellowing music. One is loaded with piles of sealed envelopes.
That’s different. I pull the crate closer and peer inside.
My breath hitches in my throat. They are letters. Addressed to me. I pull out a few from a stack of hundreds. They all have my aunt and uncle’s address on them. Across the front, in my aunts handwriting is: Return to sender. None of them are open. All of them are from Cole.
The most recent letter has a date of three months ago.
He never stopped trying! He never gave up! My heart pounds at the realization that I’m holding Cole’s words in my hands. They are written to me. For me. An eager excitement rocks my body to its core. I have to know what’s inside.
I pick up the crate, thinking I’ll carry it and all of the letters back to my dorm. But what if Cole saw me? The crate is too conspicuous. I search frantically for a bag, something. Anything. I run into the kitchen and throw open cupboards. I spot bowls, plates, cups, wine glasses. Cereal, boxes of macaroni and cheese. Bread, peanut butter and jelly. But no bags. Finally, I spot a wadded-up grocery bag on the floor near the trash can.
“Yes!” I cheer.
I shove all the letters inside. Seven years’ worth. The sheer number is overwhelming. When I leave his apartment, I lock the door like he asked, and turn the handle to make sure it’s done. At that exact moment I consider the consequences of my actions.
Sooner or later he’ll find the empty crate I hastily stuffed back in the closet. And when he does, what will he do?
“I’m an idiot,” I say, slamming my head against his door.
“Hey, you alright?” Cole’s cousin Evan is looking at me. His eyebrow cocked.
“Oh, hey, Evan,” I say, casually hiding the bag behind my back.
“Want a ride to campus? I’m on my way.” He moves to the staircase and heads down the three floors to the parking lot.
I follow, internally debating.
I want to say no, but it’s raining and windy. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”
His car is red and flashy, with big tires and large round lights on top. It’s an SUV of some kind. I think maybe a Ford, but I’m not sure.
He unlocks the door with a click-click and climbs in. I open the passenger door and lift myself up. I think about Cole and how I know he would’ve opened my door, helped me in. I wonder where Cole learned his manners. Certainly not from his father.
The engine turns over and roars to life. Loud country blares from the stereo. Evan doesn’t bother to turn it down. I quickly buckle up and clutch the grocery bag full of Cole’s letters to my chest.
“Whatcha got in there?” Evan hollers over the loud music. His eyes indicate my bag.
Thinking quickly, I tuck it behind my back. “My phone,” I shrug. “And some other stuff. Personal stuff.”
“I still can’t believe Cole bought you a phone. That boy is whipped.” He shakes his head as he laughs.
I have no response.
Evan’s driving is maniacal, and I have to resist the urge to grab the dash and hang on for dear life.
When he reaches Irvine Hall, he screeches to a halt. Finally, he turns the music down. “Good seeing ya, Rose.”
I open the door and slide out. “You too.” I give him a tight smile before shutting the door. I hear him peel away and sigh. As I ride the elevator up, I can’t help thinking about what I’ve done. I should be ashamed, but I can’t be. I’m beyond anxious to read what Cole wrote to me.
27
Slice the Edge
Rosie
When I get inside the room pause, debating what I want to do. Should I read the letters now? “Yes.” I plop onto my bed and dump them all out. Then organize them by year. My hands tremble as I touch them. If I open these there will be no going back. Cole will know I’ve read them, even if I were to somehow sneak them back into his apartment. But if I come clean now, maybe he’d give them to me. Let me read them anyway. I should’ve asked him instead of stealing them. He’ll probably be mad. I’ve invaded his privacy, broken his trust. Stolen from him.
I’m a rotten, no good thief.
I’m about to pack them all up when I notice one with a single heart drawn in black pen on the front.
A heart.
My heart speeds, and beats against my chest. I have to read it.
Just this one. Then I’ll take them back. With a pair of scissors, I cut off one of the short sides of the envelope, blow inside, and carefully slide the three-ring binder paper out. I unfold it and read:
Dear Rosie,
I turned fourteen today. Didn’t do much. Hung out with Evan. We saw a movie. Ate. Listened to music.
I kept thinking about you. I nev
er stop.
When we went to the movies, I ordered Junior Mints because those are your favorite. When we ate lunch, I ordered a cheeseburger instead of a chicken sandwich because I knew that’s what you would’ve ordered. Evan asked what my problem was, but I ignored him.
You were everywhere today. I swear I saw you six different times. Your brown hair tucked behind your ears. But then the girl would turn around, and it wasn’t you.
I kept looking. I’ll keep looking. I won’t stop.
I wished you could’ve spent today with me. We probably would’ve done the same thing me and Evan did, but it would’ve been a lot more fun, because it would’ve been with you.
Remember the cake you made for my eleventh birthday? It was chocolate with chocolate icing. You put sprinkles on it, and eleven candles. At the time I think I acted kind of embarrassed, like I didn’t really like it. But I want you to know, it meant a lot to me. It still does. Every birthday since I’ve thought about your cake. You. I’m sorry if I was mean.
And Rosie, whatever I’ve done to make you mad, I’m sorry for that too. Really sorry. Like every day I wake up and for one moment I’m happy because I haven’t remembered that you’re gone yet. But when I do, it’s a struggle to get out of bed, do what I have to, because you aren’t here. My life was so much better when you were in it.
This may sound weird, but I think I love you. And not like best friend love. Even though I feel that way about you too, but my heart hasn’t been the same since you left.
I miss you.
Please talk to me. Write me back.
Cole
I read it once. Then again. And a third time. Studying each word. Each sentence. He thought he loved me. At fourteen. I hadn’t seen him in three years. I press the paper to my nose and inhale. It may be my imagination, but I swear I can smell his scent on the paper.
Kissed by a Rose: A Dead Roses Novel Page 15