Kissed by a Rose: A Dead Roses Novel

by Workman, RaShelle

  “Can I play you a song?” he asks after a while.

  “Yes,” I respond, quietly.

  I follow him over to a piano bench. He sits. Adjusts it. I’m leaning against the edge of the piano.

  “Don’t laugh. It’s a work in progress.”

  I balk. “I’ll do my best,” I say, with a wink.

  He chuckles and I realize I could listen to that noise come from him forever.

  “Man, I-I love hanging out with you.” His words fall flat, and I wonder what he actually meant to say.

  I think I know, but that seems too crazy to entertain. My heart beats rapidly. “I love hanging out with you, too.”

  He smiles and closes his eyes. He plays a D and an E with his right hand. Then his left hand comes in. I close my eyes and listen. It’s a haunting, beautiful strain, and I’m quickly lost in it.

  My heart melts when he starts to sing.

  Love is like a warrior.

  Builds and protects those who let it in.

  Like a powerful breeze, it rages and tightens.

  Ferocious to the end.

  When love and death combine.

  It’s a desperate battle.

  Because sometimes when you win, you lose.

  And sometimes when you lose, you win.

  Death is a part of life.

  It steals, a creeping dream.

  Rips at the hearts of those left behind.

  A slithering snake, a striking fiend.

  When love and death combine.

  It’s a desperate battle.

  Because sometimes when you win, you lose.

  And sometimes when you lose, you win.

  He stops and the room is still, except our breathing.

  “It’s not finished,” he says after a while.

  I open my eyes. “It’s beautiful.” I swallow. “You’re amazing.”

  “So are you,” he replies, pulling me onto the bench with him, kissing me softly. “Thanks,” he whispers.

  “For what?” I smile into his lips.

  “Letting me be myself.”

  I search his face. He’s worried I wouldn’t like it. Self-conscious. I touch his cheek. “Always.”

  He stands suddenly. “I’m famished. You really know how to wear a guy out.”

  I laugh and pull open the door. The letters are still scattered on the floor, and my heart lurches in my throat.

  Will he regret kissing me after my thievery? I hope he doesn’t because it was wonderful. He’s wonderful. And I realize I’ve separated him from his father. In that moment, I know they aren’t the same. He’s good and sweet and handsome and the most amazing kisser. With him, I can do anything.

  I get on my knees and begin picking them up. Cole is beside me.

  “I’m sorry I took them. I know I shouldn’t have. It’s just when I saw they were from you… I wanted to know. You. Read the words you wrote to me.” It’s the only way I know how to explain. Like the way a body thirsts for water, my heart craves his letters.

  He puts a hand over mine. “I get it. You can have them. I hoped I’d get an opportunity to give them to you, but I hadn’t found an opportunity. You saved me the trouble.” There’s a light smile on his face. His eyes tell me he wants to say more. I wonder if he’s thinking about my allegations. About his dad.

  I’m not sure how to bring that up, and I don’t have to.

  “I didn’t know about my dad.” He shakes his head. “I’m—I can’t believe he would do—”

  “Don’t, Cole.” I lean away. We’re encroaching on a touchy subject. Because I know what I saw. Without a doubt. I glance at his face, see the blatant pain. And more. He wants to keep his father’s name clean. Doug called Cole’s father a dirty cop. I sense those words hurt Cole deeply. And I’ve added to it by saying his father killed my parents. But I can’t deny what I saw.

  Cole nods, grinds his teeth, tenses his jaw. The letters are all in a pile and he picks them up, places them back in the bag and hands it to me. “We still need to practice later. See you around five?”

  He doesn’t want to eat with me anymore. My mouth opens like that of a gasping fish. I watch him walk away and think about shouting at him to stop. I wish I could say something, anything to make him stay. Go back to kissing. Having him sing to me. But I can’t find the words.

  “Don’t leave,” I finally eke out, but it’s too late. He’s already gone.

  29

  Turned On Its Head

  Rosie

  I walk slowly back to my room. Gina isn’t around and I breathe a sigh of relief. Not because I don’t want to see her. Quite the opposite. I really do. And I’m worried about her. But I need to think, spend some time alone with my thoughts. Also, I need to get my butt in gear. I’ve missed a lot of classes.

  Before anything else I stuff the letters in the bottom of my garnet bag. It holds my piano recital dress, which is a black cocktail sheath. The material is silk shantung and it’s sleeveless. A dress for all occasions. My aunt spent a lot of money, and I love it. I’ll wear it to the Winter Gala in a few months. Until then it’ll remain in the bag, unused. The letters will be safe there.

  I quickly shower and change into jeans and a white t-shirt. Throw on a coat, grab my books, and head to Witchy Spears’ office. I need to discuss my late assignments and hopefully get an extension. After I speak with her, I’m going to speak with my Biology, Math, and Government teachers. There’s a long weekend coming up, and I’m hoping I’ll be able to catch up on all my work then.

  Outside the sky is thick gray, heavy with promised moisture. It smells like snow. The hint of white flakes swirling in the air, covering everything with a chilly touch, adds a little jump to my step. I’ve always loved the powdery white stuff. Clumping it into balls and building snowmen. My aunt and uncle have snowmobiles, and since my uncle is the owner of Sugar River’s country club, we take the snowmobiles to the golf course and cruise around for hours. Across acres of open space. My aunt’s favorite pastime is to chase my uncle and me around the course. It’s the one time when I really see her let loose. She’s like a whole other person behind the wheel of her snowmobile. Her helmet even says Wild Child along the sides.

  I wrap my arms around my light pink jacket. I’ll need to bring my winter coats, boots, hats, and gloves back after break. What I have on now won’t be enough soon. Possibly even after today. Because once the snow settles on the wintery Wyoming ground, it’ll stay until late spring.

  Ms. Spears’ office is in the Mikesell Building. I’m about to knock on her door when a student bursts out. His face is flushed, and he looks like he wants to punch someone. I step back, flustered. He blows past me. “Good luck. You’re gonna need it with that witch,” he says, his voice a steely whisper.

  I blink several times, shocked. But I know he’s right. Since the first day of class she’s made it clear she won’t take any slackers.

  I peek inside. Ms. Spears is at her desk. Her laptop is open. I knock. She doesn’t look, but says, “Miss Hansen. I wondered when you’d show up. Come in.” A cheery smile breaks over her face. It’s too happy. Too sweet. Like thick syrup over pancakes. “Close the door.”

  I do. Sick foreboding fills my gut.

  “Sit.” She indicates a chair. When I’m situated, she says, “I haven’t seen you in class. What’s going on?” She leans her arms against her desk, waiting expectantly.

  I clear my throat and cross my feet at the ankles. “I was sick,” I respond quietly, looking down, hoping that’s enough, but knowing it isn’t.

  She doesn’t respond, and I wonder what she’s thinking. I glance up, and she’s staring, her eyes hooded with interest.

  “I’m not an idiot. You’re on scholarship, which means you know how to work, to study.” She sighs, leans back in her chair. “But I also remember what it’s like to be a freshman in college. It’s like the world is turned on its head. Everything is shiny and new. At least at first. Soon enough, you’ll get that college is cutthroat. Succeeding here will g
ive you a much better chance to succeed in life.” She glances at her computer. Taps some keys. “You have three assignments due immediately. I’ll give you through the break to get them finished and turned in. But you better wow me, and I mean make them spectacular.” She leans forward, her eyebrow raised. “When you think it’s perfect, that’s when you know you’ve begun.” She nods and leans back, finished. “You may go.” She waves one manicured hand at the door.

  I’m in shock. Aside from her little speech, I feel like I got off easy. “Th-thank you, Ms. Spears.”

  I go over to the door.

  “I know what’s going on between you and Mr. Morrison. I hear things.” Mrs. Spears pulls open her top drawer and takes out a tube of lipstick.

  My heart is beating fast. Is she saying what I think she is? How can she know what’s going on? That’s private. I’m about to open the door, when she drops the bomb.

  “He’s quite remarkable behind closed doors. Knows how to make a woman feel like there’s no one else in the world. But, like his dad, he isn’t good for much else. Be careful.”

  I gasp and turn to her. “What?” It’s all I can get out.

  Her arms are crossed, and she has a smirk plastered on her pouty red lips. A wicked gleam in her eyes. “If you repeat what I’ve told you, I’ll deny it and fail you immediately. No amount of pretty piano playing will let you keep your scholarship.” She stands and pats my shoulder. Her features turn melancholy. “I’m telling you this for your own good. Don’t trust Cole Morrison.” Her words are like snake bites. They twist and writhe inside my brain, puncture my heart.

  “How can you say that? He’s your TA.” I blurt, too shocked to say more.

  “I didn’t have a choice in the matter,” she says, turning her back on me.

  I pull open the door and am about to run but there’s a man in a suit and sunglasses in my way. He pulls off his glasses and gives me a look, like he knows me.

  “S-Sorry,” I say, trying to step around him.

  He blocks my path. “I wonder how innocent you really are?” He gives me a sinister smile.

  My heart beats faster and fear creeps down my spine. What is he talking about? What is going on? With the picture last night and these two, I feel like I’ve entered another world.

  “Let her pass,” Ms. Spears says.

  The man glances at me over the tops of his sunglasses. “Fine.” He points his first and middle finger at his eyes and then points his first finger at me. “I’m watching you.”

  I want to ask him why, and what is problem is, but the man steps aside and I take the opportunity to run.

  30

  Tattooed To My Brain

  Rosie

  I can’t get my conversation with Ms. Spears’ out of my head. They seem to swell and grow. I’m sick inside. At the idea that Cole slept with that woman. Isn’t that against school policy? And it’s gross, in general. Sure, she could be considered physically attractive, but still. My stomach twists with disgust. As hard as I try, I can’t stop the thoughts of Cole doing with her what he did with me. I run into a bathroom and dry heave. The world spins. I need to eat. And then there’s the guy blocking her door. He was scary. What was that about? He looked like a bodyguard. Why did she need protection?

  After brushing my teeth, I make my way to the cafeteria. Tap in my code and grab a turkey sandwich. It’s an odd time of day, so the room is relatively empty, less than a dozen students. I sit at my little table, the one I’ve sort of claimed as my own, and stare out the window at the gray sky, and the stark landscape. The clock on my phone tells me it’s midday. I text Cole.

  Can’t make it tonight.

  Immediately he texts me back.

  Why? We need to practice.

  I stare at the words. He’s right. It’s important we practice. The president of the college will be at the Winter Gala, as will all of the other department heads. If we don’t play beautifully, they won’t renew my scholarship. But I can’t see him. Not right now. I need some time to process all that’s been going on and I can’t stop thinking about Cole and Witchy Spears kissing.

  Sorry. Way behind on schoolwork. Still need to speak with three more professors. Tomorrow.

  Fine.

  I finish my sandwich and chug an entire glass of orange juice. Then go back to the room. Gina still isn’t here.

  My room is cozy. I’ve even come to appreciate Gina’s music. I should probably do laundry though. I could wait through the week and take them with me to my aunt and uncle’s over the break. I’m know they wouldn’t mind. My aunt was even grudgingly happy when she found out I had a phone. Of course, I didn’t tell her who gave it to me. Gina’s clothes need to be washed as well. I wonder what she’s doing for the break? Maybe she’d want to come with me.

  I text Gina.

  You okay?

  I wait several minutes, and then text again.

  Gina?

  Ten minutes pass, and she still hasn’t responded. I can’t help but be concerned. Especially after the way she acted earlier. To distract myself, I go to my closet and unzip the garment bag. I take out a letter. Zip up the bag and flop down on my bed.

  The letter’s dated June 13th, 2011.

  Dear Rosie,

  I graduated. It’s official. I’m no longer in high school. It feels weird. Like now I’m an adult or something. I wish I could see you, talk to you, but I have a feeling you won’t even read this.

  It’s killing me not to be able to talk to you. I don’t understand why you won’t respond to at least one letter. One! What did I do that was so wrong?

  My father died. He’s dead! Killed in the line of duty. Shot in the head. A couple of guys at the precinct told me his death was like an execution. There was an investigation, but nothing was discovered.

  Death benefits for the Chief of Police’s offspring, yours truly, aren’t bad. I receive a monthly stipend from the state. They are also paying for college. It’s appreciated, helps a lot, but doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone.

  And I hear things. From kids at school. Another reason I’m so happy to be graduated. If I never see the inside of BELLAM HIGH SCHOOL again, it’ll be too soon.

  The rumors say my dad was crooked. Into drugs. Shady dealings with the local mafia. One girl he arrested multiple times for stealing even told me he approached her to sell drugs at the school. He told her either she sold the drugs or went to juvie. As soon as he died, she quit. I don’t know what to believe. I can’t imagine him doing the things I’ve heard, but I also know he could be a complete jerk.

  He wasn’t around a lot. And when he was… well, you know. He could be difficult. Still, not a drug trafficking murderer.

  My dad tossed around the football with me once in a while. Let me try beer. Laughed at random TV shows I liked to watch.

  If that’s why you won’t talk to me, I wanted you to know. He’s gone. And I’m sorry.

  What are you doing this summer?

  I’m going to Mexico with my aunt and uncle and my cousin. We’ll be there at least a month. My cousin says his dad has business there, but that he and I will get to hang at the beach every day. I’m going to learn how to surf and hopefully not get eaten by a shark.

  If I stop sending letters, you’ll know why.

  Rosie. Rosie. Rosie. I have all of these feelings inside. For you. I’m not sure if it’s because you won’t talk to me and I’m making stuff up in my head. Or if I’ve felt this way since before you left but didn’t recognize it.

  Remember when you and I made the pact to be each other’s first? I kept that promise for a long, long time. But it happened. An alcohol buzz can make a person’s needs change. And I’ve been drinking a lot. Had more than my fair share. That’s for sure.

  Forgive me for that too. And if you don’t read this letter, then I guess it doesn’t matter.

  Cole.

  I read the letter several times. So many, many times until it feels like it’s been tattooed to my heart. I’m devastated for him. That he ha
d to go through so much. A part of me wishes I could go back in time and help ease his suffering. But I’m not sure how things would’ve played out had I stayed. I might’ve hated him after a while. Seeing him play football with his dad in the yard, knowing my parents were buried in the cemetery, and wouldn’t ever play again. I don’t know that we could’ve remained friends. I’m not sure I could’ve looked at him, day in and day out. Watching his father walking around as though he’d done nothing wrong. Living.

  In a lot of ways, it was better I didn’t see Chief Morrison. His absence made life if not bearable, then at least manageable.

  I fold the letter, and put it back in the envelope, then stick it in the garment bag and pull out another. I cut open the envelope, and am about to pull out the letter when Gina walks in.

  She looks haggard. Her makeup is smeared, and her clothes are a mess.

  “Hi,” I say, edging off the bed.

  She barely acknowledges me.

  “Gina?” I say her name like a question. “What’s going on?”

  She seems tired, and I’m a little bummed. I want to talk to her about Cole. A lot has happened. But she pulls her pillow over her head. I sigh. Pick up my books, pull on my jacket. “If you feel up to it, I’ll be at the library. Come by.”

  * * *

  I think about talking to my teachers before heading to the library, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ll talk to them tomorrow after classes. A strange feeling of gratitude fills me and offer a quick prayer to God of thanks. Since my parents died, I like to think there’s a God and a heaven and that my parents are there, watching over me. Whenever I get a feeling like that, I take a moment to pray. Hopefully it does some good.