Kissed by a Rose: A Dead Roses Novel

by Workman, RaShelle

  Icy liquid sprays my body. I quickly adjust the faucet, wondering who would be crazy enough to shower in cold water. Within seconds the water warms, and my body relaxes.

  I wet my hair and squirt shampoo into my hand, then massage it into my scalp. As I’m rinsing, I close my eyes. And Cole is there, as though he’s been waiting. His smile, the one he gave me last night, lights his face, turns my knees to jelly.

  I shudder, and my thighs seem to light on fire.

  From the way he acted last night, the promise he made to save himself for me hasn’t been honored. I try to ignore the way my heart beats when I think about him. If I’m honest with myself, I hoped he’d be here. Despite everything his father did, I’ve missed him.

  After showering, I scrub my teeth, before paying close attention to my tongue. My tattoo no longer needs to be covered. It looks good. I rub lotion on it as well as the rest of my body before dressing in oversized jeans, ballet flats, and a black tee. My hair is still wet, and I tie it in a bun on top of my head before swiping gloss over my lips.

  There are dark circles under my eyes, so I apply concealer and brush on a little mascara. My normally caramel eyes are flecked with green. Sometimes, depending on my mood, they get darker. Today, they’re almost almond in color. I know why. Cole. It isn’t only my encounter with him last night. It’s more than that. It’s the feelings I’ve worked so hard to bury. I’m of two minds. I want to know him again. I want to be his friend, and more. But I shouldn’t. His father is evil.

  As I study myself in the full-length mirror, my aunt’s words repeat like a broken record in my thoughts: “bad parents raise bad kids.” Is Cole here because of his father? Is he out to get me? I heard the news about the dead body. A student at the school. We’d received more than one email telling us to be careful and watch out for each other since that night.

  Evan Morrison found the body—that’s what everyone’s saying. It doesn’t surprise me he’s involved. I never liked Evan. Since he’s Cole’s cousin, I can’t help thinking about all the things I’d overhear my aunt and uncle say about his dad and Cole’s.

  When I was younger, they worried Cole’s dad would come after me, and try to silence me. Because I know what I saw, and he knows what he did. But in seven years, I haven’t seen him or heard a word from him. Cole quit trying to contact me after six months.

  And it was for the best. It’s still the right thing. I know it is, but I don’t want to admit it.

  Remember your latest promise, I tell myself, lifting my shirt, touching the iris tattoo.

  Faith. In others, and most especially in myself.

  But it’s hard. My eyes fall on the kanji symbol. The tattoo I got when I was in a dark place emotionally.

  Hate.

  Over the last year I worked hard to push the emotion out. I believed myself calmer. But seeing Cole has brought back all the hate for his father. It eats at my insides. I won’t ever stop despising him. Not until justice is served. Not until I see him pay for what he did.

  Cole is the son of a murderer. It’s better if I avoid him. I take a deep breath. At least he didn’t seem to recognize me.

  Didn’t he? I wonder, recalling the way his eyes flickered.

  I push that thought away, letting go of my shirt and pulling at a tendril of hair on either side of my face. I give my reflection another once-over and put away my makeup. No sense dwelling on it, on him. It won’t do any good since I’ve decided I won’t speak to him again.

  I’ll attend my classes and spend my free time practicing.

  Avoid.

  Avoid.

  Avoid.

  Right, I think, trying to convince myself to be brave.

  Finished, I sneak into my room, careful to be quiet. Grab some sheet music and my iPod, a secret gift from my uncle, and carefully close the door.

  6

  Several Beats

  Rosie

  The early morning sun beats down as though it’s desperately trying to elevate my mood. There’s a slight chill. Bellam has three seasons: Summer, Winter, and Fring, which is the two weeks between Summer and Winter where it’s almost like Fall and Spring combined. Fring. My mother made that word up when I was little, and it stuck. I kind of like it.

  That’s what today feels like, a beautiful Fring day. I hurry into the cafeteria, punch my code into the console, and grab a bagel, cream cheese, and a glass of orange juice. The smell of coffee and bacon fill the room. Should I grab some? But the line is long, and I don’t have time. I want an hour to practice the piano before my first class.

  There’s a tiny round table in the corner near one of several large windows, and I sit. After I smear cream cheese on half a bagel, I take a bite. The air is crackling with anticipation. It’s my first day of college. I’m giddy. I feel grown up.

  The cafeteria is packed. People are in groups, the same as what I imagine high school was like. One long table is filled with kids, all chatting and laughing loudly. I can’t help wondering what they’re talking about.

  I take another bite of bagel and put my ear buds in. Scrolling through my music, I find the piece I’m going to practice—Nocturne No. 2 in E—and press play. It starts out slow, whimsical.

  As I listen, Cole walks in. His hair is wet and rumpled. Like he got out of the shower and shook it dry. He’s wearing a tight blue t-shirt that accentuates every muscle in his arms, chest, and abs. His jeans sit low on his hips. The girl from the party last night is beside him. I wonder if they spent the night together. And that makes me crazy. My heart starts to race, and my cheeks get hot. Jealous beyond belief, I look away, taking another bite of my bagel, but I can’t keep my traitorous eyes from tracking him.

  The music playing in my ears speeds up, and so does my breathing.

  Cole glances over, his eyes locking on mine, and a smile spreads across his lips.

  He remembers me. He has too. I know that look. Even if he is a man now, I’d recognize it anywhere, which makes me more excited that I thought possible. All the times we hung out together—in his room, in my room, listening to music, talking about what we wanted in life, rushing through homework so we could ride bikes through the field or play video games—it bubbles up and runs over. I’ve missed him terribly.

  He whispers something to the girl and then strolls over, leaving her to fend for herself. My heart leaps. Butterflies escape, spread their wings and flutter lightly in my stomach. What will he say? I can’t help but notice the way people in the cafeteria watch his movements. He’s like one end of a magnet. Everyone is drawn to him.

  Including me.

  I sit up straight and pull out an ear bud.

  “Hi,” I say when he’s close. My heart skips several beats.

  “Hey.” He places both hands on the edge of a chair and leans forward.

  I can smell his aftershave and a hint of vanilla… his shampoo?

  “Didn’t I see you at a party last night?” He licks his lips, and I’m mesmerized. “What’s your name?” he asks.

  I blink several times, open my mouth and close it, trying not to look like a trout. My bagel drops onto the napkin.

  He doesn’t know who I am. I can’t believe it. Am I really that forgettable?

  The girl he left behind saunters up next to him. She’s wearing a white button shirt, tied to expose her belly button, a navy miniskirt, over-the-knee navy socks, and black, super high Mary Janes. I focus several moments on her shoes, trying to decide what they tell me about her. Craves attention. Lonely. Desperate? I’m not entirely sure.

  She drapes her arm through Cole’s and glares at me before smiling brightly at Cole. “Let’s eat,” she coos.

  Trying not to gag, I stand. “It doesn’t matter. I thought you were someone else.” I pick up my music and my iPod and move to leave. “You’re welcome to sit here, if you want,” I say, edging around them.

  His smile falters, but only for a second. “Thanks.”

  As I walk by, he makes a point to pull the girl in close and kiss her. She s
queals and giggles.

  Yeah, he’s a jerk. I didn’t check his shoes, but I’m sure they scream jerk.

  Because you were too busy staring at his gorgeous face and beautiful body, I think, disgusted with myself.

  I huff. He probably had on really expensive shoes. Pretentious shoes. I’m tempted to turn back and look, but I don’t. It’s better if we stay as far from each other as possible.

  * * *

  Cole

  The look on Rosie’s face as she walks away burns out everything else and I get why. I’ve hurt her by pretending I don’t know who she is. But I figure that’s the least of what she deserves. Part of me feels guilt over the way I acted, but mostly I feel burning ager over the way she ignored me for so many years. She totally deserves the way I behaved.

  “Cole? What you thinking about?” Simone gives me a secret smile, one that says she’s thinking about last night.

  “Nothing.” It’s time to put an end to this. “Last night was fun, but that’s it.”

  “Yeah, it was super fun.” Simone’s hand runs down my back.

  “Thanks again.” I pat her shoulder like I’m touching a tarantula. This is always the awkward part.

  Simone grabs my arm. “Wait. I—Let’s do it again sometime?” She winks.

  I don’t respond to the question. “See ya around.” I try to walk away, but Simone won’t let go of my arm. “Hey, I’ve got to go.” I have to pry her fingers from my arm. The girl is way too needy. “I had a great time.” I squeeze Simone’s hand.

  “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” She sits at the table where Rosie had been sitting moments ago.

  My heart lurches at the thought of her, and that makes me angry. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Every time I’m near her, my body proves I’m lying. And it irritates me.

  I grab some bacon and a slice of cheddar. Slap the ingredients between two pieces of toast and eat as I make my way over to the practice rooms.

  My music professor asked me at the end of my freshman year to play a duet for the Winter Gala this year. I’ve got to practice. As it is, I’ll probably only get in an hour this morning.

  * * *

  Rosie

  The practice rooms are in the basement of the Fine Arts Center. My shoes skim down the stairs. The padding echoes off the walls. I push open one of the heavy double doors and am rewarded with one of my favorite sounds.

  Music.

  It’s loud and soft. Heavy and light. Staccato and legato. Classical and jazz. Rock and roll, as stringed instruments play, people sing, and piano keys plunk, each to their own rhythms. It’s the sounds of every emotion that ever existed, all bottled up into individual rooms. I make my way down the hall slowly.

  This is my church.

  My home.

  The best place in the world.

  I stop in front of a door and peer inside. It’s empty except for a piano and a bench. My breathing slows, my heart settles. The door closes behind me with a click. My body unwinds. I place my music down and sit.

  Another breath.

  Nothing exists but the keys, the way they press against the strings and form a sound. Beautiful or angry. It’s there because of me, tattooed in the air because I created the sound with the press of a finger.

  I scoot the bench, shift my butt, and begin.

  Scales first. I start at middle C. The left hand plays down and the right plays up in synchrony. Without skipping a beat, I move to the next set of scales. My breathing keeps time with my hands. I rock back and forth slightly, allowing my body to feel the beat, my fingers to warm up and modify to the keys of an unfamiliar piano.

  By the time I’m halfway through my world shifts and I feel better, right. For the first time in days, there is no Gina and her sad face, her words shredding the room with hurt. No Cole and his beautiful smile or his flippant attitude. There’s only this room and these keys and my fingers forming notes. There is only crescendo and decrescendo, allegro and adagio. Notes played together in chords.

  After fifteen minutes I move on to the piece I want to play for Professor Jenkins. I’ll see him tomorrow for my private lesson. It’s an honor to be taught by the Professor and not one of the graduate students, so I want to be prepared.

  But as I begin, Cole’s face fills my mind. It blocks out my peace. Instead of notes, I see his dark messy hair and his glorious, blue eyes.

  Slamming my hands against the keys, I stand. The clock on my iPod says my first class starts in ten minutes. I grab my stuff and dash out the door. I don’t want to be late.

  7

  College is Serious

  Rosie

  I’m not going to make a great first impression.

  Outside the light burns my eyes, and I squint.

  The campus is huge and spread out. The day I arrived, I took the map they gave me and did a walkthrough of my classes. Then we had orientation, and a couple hundred bored freshmen followed perky guides around for three hours. Luckily, most of my classes are near each other.

  Dorms and the cafeteria are located to the south. The sororities are north of the dorms. Asher Field and a hangout known as The Mall sit behind the sororities. Then there are the fraternities. Behind them is a graveyard. To the west of Asher Field is the library and colleges in specific fields—Education, Agriculture, Anthropology, Engineering, Physical Sciences, and the Arts and Sciences. To the east are the Law Building, the Fine Arts Center, the Mikesell Building, the Arena Auditorium, an athletic center, the stadium, the College of Molecular Biology and Animal Sciences, and finally the Center for the Visual Arts. There are buses that can take me where I need to go, and I’ll probably use them when it gets colder, but for now I’ll walk. Especially since the building is close.

  English is a required course. I enter the Mikesell Building along with several other students. A tall guy wearing University of Bellam sweats pushes past me. He has a basketball in one hand. With the other he touches my shoulder, his palm swallowing it up.

  “Sorry about that.” His face is friendly.

  “That’s okay.”

  He takes off in the direction I’m heading and walks into an auditorium-style classroom. The room is packed, filled with fresh-faced new students, same as me. I find a seat near the back and slide in.

  The doors close with a resounding click. A tanned woman with bleached blond hair twirled into a perfect bun walks to the podium. She’s wearing irresponsible but absolutely gorgeous heels that match her navy suit. There’s a pencil protruding from the flawless bun. She looks tiny from way back here.

  “After today—”

  The door closest to me springs open and Gina walks in. She looks rough in a pair of navy sweats, but at least her face is missing the smeared black liner she’s been sporting since Friday night and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I wave her over when she catches my gaze.

  Once Gina is seated, the woman continues, “These doors will be locked at exactly nine o’clock beginning next class. If you’re even one second late, you will not be allowed to take part in my lecture.”

  She gives a pointed look in our direction. I feel myself sink down in my chair.

  “Sheesh. College is serious,” Gina pouts.

  I give her a sideways look and see she’s smiling. None of the hurt from the weekend is apparent in her features.

  “My name is Professor Susan Spears. You may call me Professor or Ms. Spears. I will not answer to anything else, including Susan, Ma’am, or Teacher.” She grabs a thick stack of papers and hands them to someone in the front row.

  He stands, and my heart freezes. Holy crap, it’s Cole! Every semblance of self-control exits my body. I suck in my breath, wishing I could disappear, bury myself under a ton of rock.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I turn to Gina but can’t speak. My mouth is full of cotton.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I shake my head and return my attention to Cole. He’s already on the third row.

  “Mr. Morrison is
my TA. He’s passing out your syllabus. Don’t lose it. It’s the only one you’ll receive, so protect it with your lives.”

  There are a few snickers.

  “Dramatic much?” someone says.

  Professor Spears breaks a pencil, snaps it in half with her fingers. “This isn’t high school. You don’t have to be here. If you aren’t in your seats, ready to learn at exactly nine o’clock, you will not be allowed to participate.” Then she points to someone and says, “Get out. You’re no longer welcome.”

  I hear a gasp. A girl rises and steps around other student’s feet. “Witch,” she stage whispers. There are a few giggles.

  “Keep it up and I’ll have you thrown out of school.”

  The girl clamps her lips shut and walks to the door, throwing it open. The door closes behind her and the room is silent. Even Cole has paused in passing out the papers. It’s so quiet. All I can hear is breathing and the pounding of my heart.

  Cole moves to the next row. Three away from mine. I’m tempted to get up and leave, but unlike some, I want to be here. I want a degree.

  Gina scribbles something on a piece of paper and shoves it toward me.

  What’s your problem? Witchy Spears? Or hottie TA?

  I don’t respond.

  “Anyone else feel the need to leave my class?” Ms. Spears asks.

  No one says anything, which isn’t surprising.

  “Excellent. Once you have your syllabus, review it. You’ll notice there’s a paper due each week…” She continues speaking, but I’ve stopped listening.

  My body is trained on Cole. Two away.

  Gina adds more question marks to the paper.

  I swallow. My first thought is to deny, deny, deny. What’s the point though?