His Wild Blue Rose

by A. J. Downey

  “I will, you too, um, have a good shift, I guess. Be careful.”

  He gave me a reckless grin and a nod, and disappeared from the doorway while I silently derided myself. Be careful? Like you’re his mom? Get over yourself, Lys, he probably thinks you’re a total dork.

  I’d meant to say it to be nice but – oh, god, how embarrassing. I just needed to keep my mouth shut. I sighed, and went back to folding and putting things away. I really just wanted a hot shower and to go to bed.

  5

  Golden…

  At the end of a long shift, I returned to an apartment that didn’t look a damn bit different from the way it’d always been. Not a single thing of hers was anywhere to be seen. The door to the spare room – her room, now ‒ was closed, and I kind of liked that it was working out this way initially. Of course, it was only the first night, but still…

  Maybe we wouldn’t even really see each other that much. Maybe having a chick for a roommate wasn’t going to be such a pain in the ass after all. Though I had to admit, the temptation to flirt with her somewhat-airheaded friend had been a strong one. That bitch had legs for days.

  I went into my room and shut the door, beat one off in the shower, and threw on some comfortable sweats before I went out into the living room to catch up on a couple of my shows. I eased back into my couch and switched on the TV, lowering the volume by half or so. I listened for a minute, but when I didn’t hear anything, I felt the tension ease out of my shoulders.

  I put on some sports review and just kind of vegged for a while. I didn’t get many evenings alone and it was nice to just chill.

  She came out, rubbing her eyes, about twenty minutes later, and headed for the kitchen. I watched her drift around the island on the other side of the dining table and open a few cupboards. She pulled down a glass and I said, “You could have just asked.”

  She damn near jumped out of her over-sized nightshirt, that looked like it could have been one of her ex-husband’s old business shirts, and let out a little yip of surprise. I raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like I was hiding, out here in plain sight with the TV on. What the fuck?

  “Sorry, I thought you were asleep,” she said. I shook my head and she drew a glass of water from the tap.

  “Y’okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good, I’m good.” She laughed nervously and swallowed some more water, leaning back against the counter.

  “Awfully jumpy, aren’t you?”

  “Mm, bad dream. Can’t seem to shake it.”

  “Huh, what do you usually do for that?”

  She looked self-conscious and said, “Better living through chemistry, to be honest.”

  “What, like weed?” I scowled.

  “No.” She shifted uncomfortably. “The doctor gave me a prescription…”

  “Say no more.” I held up my hands. “Ain’t none of my business.”

  She cleared her throat and said, “Thanks. Anyway, goodnight.”

  “Night.”

  She padded barefoot back up the hallway and her door closed softly behind her. She’d looked way more shook than anybody should be, that I was awake and not asleep, like I’d caught her in the act or something. It was nagging at me when I went to bed myself sometime later and I decided that I would need to run her name through the system at work. After all, the background check which I’d run for a criminal record and her financials had come up clean and her credit was good, but they didn’t tend to turn out a name when a person was a victim of something.

  It wasn’t any of my business if she was just trying to put her life back together. I had to admit, though, my curiosity was piqued as to what her deal was, now.

  I turned in, and she was gone by the time I got up and wasn’t back by the time I left for work. That suited me just fine.

  I promised myself I would run her name, but shit got busy, like it was the full moon, or something, more psych calls than you could shake a stick at. I’d forgotten about it completely, and when I got home, she was once again nowhere to be seen, locked up tight behind her bedroom door.

  I was too wired to sleep, so I showered, grabbed a change of clothes, and leathered-up for a ride.

  I left back out of the apartment and hauled ass over to the garage where my bike was parked, and rode to the 10-13 to blow off some steam. It was my Friday night, so why the fuck not?

  6

  Alyssa…

  I wasn’t sure what woke me up at first, but then I heard it again. Drunken laughter out in the living room was followed by some really loud shushing. I rolled my eyes and clicked on the little Himalayan salt lamp I had on the small bedside table closest to the bedroom door.

  A thud, more giggling, and stupid laughter. I swung my legs over and stood, went to my door and opened it.

  “Oh, my god! Who is she? Your sister?”

  “Nah, roommate, sorry not sorry, Lys.” Golden half-slurred, and pushed open his bedroom door.

  “It’s fine,” I murmured lamely, not sure what else to say.

  “Sorry!” his date chirped, and she, at least, seemed more apologetic. He gave her a shove through his bedroom door and shut it soundly behind him. I let out a little frustrated sigh and hoped that this wouldn’t be a regular thing, before I closed my door. More thumping and drunk laughing emanated from behind his closed door just as I shut mine.

  I went back to bed and turned out the light, staring up at the darkened ceiling and the lines of light cast by the blinds over the window. The rhythmic thumping and porn-star moaning started up a few minutes later. I rolled my eyes, rolled onto my side, and clapped a pillow over my head.

  I had to work in the morning!

  I gritted my teeth. The louder they got, the more my resentment set in. I eventually fell back to sleep despite the noise, but it was a fitful one full of nightmares and flashbacks. I hated it and I was just on the edge of hating him.

  I woke up to blessed silence, but still got up a full hour before my alarm was set to go off. I tried a hot shower to fully wake up, but only caffeine was going to cure this hot mess. If there really was any cure. I went to the kitchen and used his coffee. Petty? Sure, but I felt like he owed me at least that much.

  While it brewed, I went in and got ready for the day, getting dressed, then turning on my laptop on the desk and scrolling through open invoices. I sent a few reminders for the ones creeping up on their due date and snippier ones for the two that were past due. I sat back with a gusty sigh; it was a mix of feeling accomplished for the small tasks that were done, and frustrated for the veritable mountain of the rest that still lay ahead of me.

  I knew there were growing pains to every living situation, but this was only day three. I worried that I’d made a terrible mistake, but it was too late now; I was here and I would be stuck here for at least several more months while the divorce proceedings dragged on, thanks to Raymond.

  At least we weren’t in a state where it was pretty much legal for a husband to force his wife to stay married to him.

  I went back out to the kitchen and doctored a travel mug of coffee for myself and, my purse slung over my shoulder, my keys in hand, left to deal with work.

  “Um, Lyssa?”

  “What is it, Avery?” I asked my shop-girl. She had been the one to text me the photos of my husband with the other woman. I still didn’t know who that other woman was, but I wished her the best of luck with him. At this point, I wouldn’t wish Raymond on my worst enemy.

  “I think your husband just placed an order,” she said, and looked like she was about to cry. She felt so guilty about what happened between me and Ray and it seemed like nothing I could say or do would convince her that it wasn’t her fault.

  It was his. Squarely his… and maybe a little bit of my fault too, but not for what he did to me. No one deserved that.

  Then why are you covering for him? I probably asked myself the same question a thousand times a day at this point. I wasn’t covering for him over the beating. The rape? I don’t know what possessed me
to keep that part a secret. Shame? Guilt? The fact he cried and kept apologizing while he did it? I just don’t know, but I’d lied when they’d asked me at the hospital if it went beyond just the hitting. I swallowed hard and held out my hand.

  “Let me see,” I murmured. She brought over the invoice and I frowned, asking, “What makes you think this is him?”

  She had the grace to look embarrassed and said, “It was a man who placed the order, and he insisted that the owner deliver it, personally.”

  “Okay, that’s unusual,” I agreed. I sighed indecisively and finally said, “Have Jeremy run the order per usual. I’ll deal with any fallout if and when it happens.”

  “Okay,” she said, and looked as skeptical as I felt about the whole thing.

  “Thanks, Avery.”

  She nodded and disappeared from the chiller, out through the plastic curtain into the rest of the store. I continued making the arrangement of roses I’d been working on and just wished for the day to be over already.

  Time dragged on, the minute hand seemingly carrying an extra burden as it made its way around the clock. Finally, Avery reappeared and said goodnight. I went out and locked up behind her and sagged against the counter once the lights were all out. I was a bone-weary I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Part of it was a deep mental exhaustion, worrying and wondering over the mystery order. Jeremy had run it, said that he’d delivered the flowers to reception at a dentist’s office without incident and that was that.

  I didn’t know what to make of it, to be honest, and I really tried to shove it aside and not think about it anymore.

  Instead, I went into the cooler and finished up the boutonnieres for a wedding service the next day and tidied up before leaving myself. I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten and it was dark by the time I slipped out the front door.

  “Lys, can we talk?”

  I froze.

  “No, Raymond, I don’t want to. There’s an order of protection in place. Please leave before I scream.”

  I turned around and he stood not far from me. I cringed back into the door, and he looked defeated.

  “Don’t do that, I would never hurt you like that again, you have to know that.”

  I did know that, I think… but I wasn’t about to put it to the test.

  “Just go away, please?”

  “Fine, but I really think we should talk; there’s something I want to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “Come have dinner with me,” he said, and I shook my head.

  “No, Raymond. I’m calling the police, you shouldn’t be here, and honestly, I could care less about what you have to say.” I pulled out my phone.

  “No, it’s fine! I’m leaving. Just, Lys… I’m really sorry.”

  My soon-to-be ex-husband put out his hands and stepped back towards his car at the curb. I huddled in on myself, scared, and waited for him to drive away. I suddenly couldn’t wait to be home. I didn’t know what he was playing at, why it was so important that I deliver the flowers myself, but I also didn’t care.

  The whole way back to the apartment I kept shivering despite the warm evening and couldn’t help but look over my shoulder, wondering if he was watching, scared that he was somehow pacing me in the slow-moving traffic.

  I should have called the police, asked for help, but then again… I lived with the police, now. I stepped into the lobby of the building the apartment was in and hurried to the elevator. I felt like maybe, if I moved fast enough, I could leave all of it out in the street behind me. I mean, I’d only been living with the police for three days. The last thing I wanted to do was tell my roommate, who I barely knew, all my dirty laundry.

  If I told Golden now, or asked for help, he probably wouldn’t hesitate to hand me back my money and tell me to go. I can’t say I would blame him; it’s probably what I would do if it were me in his stead. I got off of the elevator and quickly hurried up the hall to the door. I keyed myself in, my chest still heaving with panic, and shut the door firmly behind me, leaning on it heavily and turning the locks, trying to tamp down the rising flood of emotions that felt just awful, piled up on top of each other like they were.

  “Where’s the fire at?” he drawled from the couch and I jumped and let out a yip. I clapped my hands over my mouth to stifle the noise and turned. He sat stoically and raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Okay, what’s going on?” he asked when I didn’t volunteer any information.

  “Nothing!” I lied, knowing full well I was bad at it, so I quickly tried to make something up. “Just a creepy homeless guy out on the sidewalk. Scared me half to death.”

  He eyed me carefully and nodded, saying, “That I can believe. You’re jumpy as hell.”

  A hysterical little bubble of laughter escaped me and I put my hand back over my mouth to stifle it. I nodded rapidly, my eyes beginning to swim, and forced a smile.

  “I think I’m just tired,” I said.

  “Yeah, about that, I tend to bring home a lot of dates. I’ll, uh, try to keep it down next time.”

  I nodded rapidly and said, “Thank you,” then beat a hasty retreat to my bedroom and closed the door. I immediately kicked off my shoes and sat down at my computer to type a lengthy email delineating the exchange with Raymond, sending it to my lawyer. I felt better for it. If anything, she would know what to do about it. Maybe she would know who to call or what to say to make him stop.

  Yeah right, I thought savagely. Like a piece of paper is going to make him do anything.

  I closed my eyes and tried to get my rapid breathing to return to normal, but finally had to give up. I took one of the Xanax prescribed to me and waited for it to kick in, for the numb feeling to spread out from the middle and the chemically-induced apathy to take hold. Sometimes, like now, it was just better not to feel anything.

  7

  Golden…

  I shook my head at the broad and her bizarre behavior and told myself I needed to look her shit up when I got back to work. Angel must have had his twin voodoo working overtime because my phone lit up, with his ugly mug on the screen, just about two seconds after she shut her door.

  “Yo, what’s up?” I greeted him.

  “Had some downtime, figured I’d call and see how the roomie situation was going.”

  I shifted on the leather of my couch and said, “So far so good.” I dropped my voice. “Chick’s a little weird, jumpy as all get out.”

  “Huh, ‘jumpy’ how?”

  I told him how every time I even remotely caught her by surprise she’d jump and yip. It would actually be kind of adorable ‒ if it weren’t so fucked-up.

  Sometimes, it was like she just got lost so far inside her own head she just didn’t fathom anyone was around or in her space. Which was hilarious, because she wasn’t in her space, she was in my space, but, whatever.

  When it was like that, it had an edge of cute. What wasn’t cute, was when she would cower or cringe, or how her arms went up and covered her chest in an almost-defensive posture, like she was trying to hold herself in and ward something off, all at the same time. Then, it was anything but cute. It was worrisome, bothersome, And it isn’t any of your fucking business, I reminded myself.

  “Sounds like maybe she’s had a rough time of things.”

  “Dunno, it’s none of my business, really.”

  “Well, no, it’s not, but –”

  “No ‘buts’ about it, bro. It’s straight-up none of my business. I’m off from saving the goddamn world when I’m home.”

  Angel sighed on the other end of the line. I loved my twin, but sometimes he just didn’t have a fucking ‘off’ switch. It was one of our biggest bones of contention. He felt the need to be some sort of crusader for every lost cause that came around, whereas I was a live-and-let-live type. People needed help, they knew how to fuckin’ ask, which I told him.

  “Some people don’t know how to ask,” he said unhappily, and I nodded, realized he couldn’t see it, and gave a heav
y, exasperated sigh myself.

  “Can’t save everybody, and the fact they don’t know how to ask is their problem, not mine.”

  Angel grunted noncommittally on the other end of the line. It was the classic signal for I hear what you’re saying, I just don’t agree, so I’m not answering I wasn’t up for beating that dead horse of a debate, so I asked him, “What’re you doing tomorrow night?”

  “Same thing you’re doing. Club meeting.”

  “Cool, I’ll see you there.”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t sound too happy about the fact I was trying to rush him off the line, but tough. I didn’t feel like arguing.

  “See you there, Angel.”

  “See you there, bro. Love you.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  I hung up and restarted the program I’d been watching, settling back and propping my feet on the coffee table.

  Tonight was Friday night, but she didn’t go anywhere. With the way she’d come in here, locking the front door up tight behind her, I wasn’t too surprised about that. I didn’t know if the whole not going out was going to legit be her regular routine yet. It was too soon to tell, but I had my suspicions.

  I shoved them off to the side and didn’t think about it. A few minutes later, she came out of hiding. I listened to her bedroom door open and then the bathroom door shut. A second or two after that, the shower started. I turned up the TV and minded my own business; that was harder than it sounded when the door opened back up and the damp air from the bathroom, permeated by this heady citrus-and-floral scent, crept out into the living room.

  Whatever she used, she had good taste. I liked the smell.

  I expected her to make herself some dinner or something, but nope. She just went back into her bedroom without a word or a sound, and I might as well have been living on my own again. Shit, that honestly worked for me.

  I wrapped it up, still nursing a mild hangover from the night before, and called it an early night. I paused outside my bedroom door and waited, and sure enough, caught the faint, soft sounds of her weeping through her bedroom door. I frowned. Something was definitely up with her, but it wasn’t my job to pry, unless it affected me directly. Which it didn’t. I went to bed, crashed hard, and stayed down for the count.