Love Hurts: The Killing of Rose

by Holly Hood

  He hoped that maybe Sam was right in wanting to be with Delaney. That maybe all humans weren’t sad pathetic waste of skin that were self-seeking on their best days. Sadly she only proved what he knew all along. Now he had his answer.

  Delaney would never love Sam for who he really was.

  Barely there

  Sam ran his hands across his face vigorously, the hot steam from the shower filling up his bathroom as he struggled to control himself. He was fighting the urge. The hunger that sat in the pit of his stomach at all times, day in and day out.

  He dropped his head, his hands pressed against the smooth granite of his shower wall. He wished the scorching hotness of the water was enough to knock some sense into him.

  He was having a hard time controlling the need, a hard time telling himself that he could function without it.

  “Vance,” Delaney called, drifting into the white clouds of fog. She held her breath, waiting for him to say something. But all was silent. The humidity clung to her skin, making her warm and a bit uncomfortable. She stared at the ghostly silhouette behind the misty glass. “Vance.”

  Still no answer. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Sam.”

  Sam immediately stood upright. “What?” He didn’t realize he answered so quickly to the incorrect name. The name she never called him. But Delaney did and this made her feel a bit strange. Why was it that Sam felt the need to call himself something different when it came to her? She wondered if he was hiding something.

  “I’m home. I wanted to see what you wanted to do for dinner. I thought maybe you wanted to go to my parent’s house with me.” She drug the toe of her black shoe against the floor, feeling a bit hesitant about asking him to visit her parents with her. She knew it made Sam uncomfortable. The painful silence was enough of an answer for her. He didn’t want to go. She turned away, running her fingertips against the mirror, revealing her sad expression.

  Sam turned the water off. Gingerly rubbing at his temples before he finally stepped out into the cold air. He toweled himself, watching Delaney’s expression in the mirror. “What’s the matter?”

  Delaney curled her fingers in angst against the sink’s countertop. “I called you Sam and you answered. But when I said Vance you never said a thing.” She didn’t see the point in hiding her feelings anymore with him.

  Sam stood behind her exposed. The towel at his feet. He didn’t have it in him to fight. Nor did he want to because that meant Rose could be mixed up in their drama and only make matters worse. He lifted his pants from the sink, his bare skin brushing against Delaney. “I’m sorry baby, I’m just wore out.”

  Delany closed her eyes in pain, trying to hold it together. He had nothing to be worn out from. He didn’t work long shifts at an overly exhausting job. In fact, she wasn’t that certain of what he did do—seeing she had a life that consumed her—while he busily frequented bars and his brother’s apartment.

  “Maybe I should just start calling you Sam.” She spun around, watching him disappear underneath his t-shirt. “Would that be better?”

  Sam searched her eyes for the reason behind this newest problem. It had Frankie written all over it. “Who did you talk to today?” He stepped forward reaching out for her arm, but she pulled away.

  “Why does that matter? I asked you a question. Do you want me to call you Sam?”

  “You can call me whatever you want to call me. Who did you talk to today?” Sam waited. His blue eyes staying pinned on hers. She refused to blink or show him how upset she was.

  Sam reached out for her. And was stunned when she didn’t hand herself over to him. He crossed his arms, growing agitated. “What did Frankie say now?”

  “It’s not about Frankie. It’s about this elephant in the room. I feel like there is always something I don’t know whenever I talk to that pompous ass you call your brother. What am I missing?”

  Sam raised an eyebrow dumbfounded. Delaney was never one to be so agitated and outright offensive. Frankie had to of hit a nerve. Sam moved in, forcing her to accept his touch, which she quickly melted under. He kissed her lips, running his fingers along her jaw line. The contact soothed both of them.

  Delaney broke free. “I just don’t understand why he likes to torture me. Am I doing something wrong?”

  Sam shook his head, ending her questions with another dominant kiss, one that had his entire body tingling with relief, and his heart pumping out of his chest. He pressed himself against Delaney’s tiny frame, wanting all of her.

  “I got to go,” Delaney said, pulling away. She moved around his body, taking off out of the bathroom. Sam stared down at his pants, feeling the after effects of toying with someone he couldn’t have. He adjusted himself, and after giving her a few minutes, finally took off out the door himself once Delaney was gone.

  ***

  Frankie bent over the pool table taking a final shot, sinking the remaining balls in the pockets. The husky man playing against him grumbled, tossing down a flurry of cash on the table. He walked away bitter that he just lost his entire paycheck. Frankie drained what was left of his beer and took a seat at the bar. He had spent his entire day—besides the morning when he confronted Delaney—in the bar. And that was where he was happiest.

  “Another beer, beautiful?” The older bartender asked. She gave the counter a close swipe with her bar towel before setting a fresh beer down in front of Frankie.

  “Thanks, Shirley,” Frankie said, giving the coy lady a grin. She was old enough to be his grandmother. But it never mattered their age. Woman wanted him regardless. But Shirley and him had an understanding, Frankie knew to leave her alone. Besides that, he had standards and old wasn’t one of them.

  “Look who’s out getting drunk,” Dylan teased, coming up from behind Frankie. Shirley shot Frankie an amused grin. She knew he had a fan. She also knew Frankie admired her.

  “College let you out already?” he asked, tapping the counter to notify Shirley to order the usual.

  “It’s past eight. How long have you been in here today?” She smiled courteously at Shirley, accepting the Jack Daniels. But instead of drinking it, she just cupped it with her hands watching Frankie’s image in the mirror that lined the bar in front of them.

  “The most part, why? Did I miss some earth shattering event?” he asked. He had nothing better to do with his time then get drunk or chase woman.

  Frankie spun around in his chair until he was face to face with Dylan. He jerked her chair closer. It didn’t take more than his dazzling smile to reel her straight to his lips. She leaned into him, accepting his perfect lips that always left her heart racing and her body aching for more.

  Frankie felt an irritating tap on his shoulder mid kiss. He slid his fingers from Dylan’s hair, opening his eyes to the blur of Sam’s fist, the collision enough to knock him off of his stool. Dylan screamed, jumping down from the bar.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, trying to help Frankie up from the floor. She grabbed his arm, dropping down beside him to make sure he was alright.

  The bar buzzed with gossip of why the scuffle was taking place. Most were convinced it was over the girl Frankie was feasting on all the way up until the fatal blow.

  Frankie got up, pressing his palm vehemently into his jaw. He jerked his jaw back and forth and then surveyed his hand for any traces of blood. He would get to Sam next. First, he wanted to be sure he wasn’t bleeding.

  “That’s for talking to Delaney again without my permission,” Sam explained, shaking his hand. His brother’s face was a lot harder then he remembered.

  “I wasn’t aware I had to have your permission to talk to another person. I’ll make a note of it next time,” Frankie said, shaking his head at his brother’s erratic behavior. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”

  Dylan stared at the two of them to confused to step in.

  “Don’t worry about my food. Stay the hell away from her. I don’t need you prying in my business.”

  Frankie
scratched his head. “I think you do. In fact, you came to my house last night asking for just that. So sue me if I was trying to see this from all angles before I went and did your dirty work for you.”

  Sam shot Frankie a warning glare. They were in a public place. He didn’t want the public in on their little secret.

  “If all of this is so easy does that mean you came clean with Dylan?” Sam asked, turning his attention to Dylan who was now perched on the barstool completely baffled by all the testosterone soaring around her.

  Frankie sighed. “Just go home.”

  Sam smirked. “That means no. Let me make something clear to you. You stay far away from Delaney or the next time won’t be so pretty.”

  Frankie couldn’t back down. It wasn’t in him. “There might not be a next time. With Rose hanging around, tonight might be your last.” Frankie went for his beer but was clipped on the chin by another swift sail of his brother’s fist, his beer tipping but not spilling.

  Sam was already out the door before Frankie could even the score. He set his beer down, letting out an irritated grumble. Dylan touched his face, recoiling as soon as she saw the veins protruding from his neck in rage.

  “What was all that about?” She put her hand on her hip, waiting for an answer. “Why would your brother tell you to leave his girlfriend alone?”

  Frankie was not in the mood for this. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the bar stool, Dylan riding his heels all the way to the door. “Are you going to answer me?”

  “Nope,” he snapped.

  “Why not?” she asked, chasing behind Frankie as he headed for his car, he didn’t have the fortitude to answer any questions from anyone. He was livid.

  “Because I don’t have to provide you with an answer to anything that I do.”

  Dylan stopped walking, standing at the end of the sidewalk. She watched Frankie unlock his car. Before he climbed him he shot her a look. “Like I told you before, don’t waste your time on someone like me.”

  Dylan felt her ego crumble into a million pieces as Frankie pulled out of the driveway, tires squealing. Maybe she was the stupid girl Frankie always said she wasn’t. But she couldn’t forget about him. Ever since the day she met him she was hooked, completely mesmerized by his dismal attitude toward the world. He was more than a bad boy. He was bordering on evil. And the more bad that oozed out of Frankie, the more she was drawn to him. He was like a sick form of torture that she secretly had to have.

  Visitors

  Greta was four years old when she knew she wanted to marry a prince. Four years old when she knew the life written in storybooks was the one that she wanted. She admired fairytale princesses. And she really believed that her life was destined to turn out that way.

  But her life didn’t. Instead, she met a man who was anything but a fairytale. He was the nightmare. He was the witch in the woods with the venom. And his toxins penetrated her. They slipped right through the exterior evading her skin. And she never was the same again.

  Her fanciful idea quickly turned into a delicate menagerie of dark and evil thoughts whenever she was with this man. She lost herself in believing he could be that prince. She held out hope that somehow he would transform right before her eyes. But he never did. And Greta soon came to realize she had no prince—she didn’t even have a knight in shining armor.

  Greta could have survived a million nights of suffering if it weren’t for her kids. And she had three of them. She didn’t want her children turning into an evil person like her husband. And when she finally gathered up the strength she needed, she ran far away with what life and relationships she had left. And there weren’t many. Her children all detested her in their own ways. She believed she turned her only daughter into a victim like herself, and that soon she would repeat the cycle.

  She made a lot of mistakes. Now she was trying to get over them and live what life she had left making peace with her choices.

  “Can I get you anything to drink, ma’am?” The flight attendant asked Greta.

  Greta gently shook her head no. Her soft tresses moving over her eyes and hiding her expression, no one knew she was a mother of three grown children. Or that the relationships she had with them were so screwed up that she barely ever spoke to them at all. She had no one. Mostly because that’s the way it had to be. She had to live a discreet life. And she accepted that.

  Her eyes fluttered before she closed them all together. The outside world disregarded by her. She had an awful fear of flying. But there she was on her way to see Sam, her oldest son.

  Sam paced back and forth in the airport. To say he was tense was an understatement. He hadn’t laid eyes on his mother in a long time. But now he was desperate. The last time he seen his mother he was barely eighteen. So many years had passed and so much had changed he didn’t know what to anticipate.

  He once was her son, the joy in her day. One of the reasons she smiled, and now that no longer existed for her. And he didn’t know what to call their relationship anymore.

  Sam’s stared off into the crowd until they were nothing but a haze, a worthless bunch of people that to him only made everything even more real. He looked to the wall to wall windows, staring out at the approaching lights and the hustle and bustle all around. Sleek silvers, crisp concrete and bustling arrays of people going to and fro, were making their way wherever they needed to be.

  Sam wondered how life was so trouble-free for everyone around him, the man talking bubbly on his cell phone as he thumbed the paper without a care in the world. The woman across from him busily feeding her baby as if that was the only thing that mattered. Or the couple yards away smiling and holding hands making their first journey to Europe. Life just happened for them and they enjoyed it. While Sam was stuck trying to figure out how to just have one.

  She hadn’t changed, his mother. Her svelte frame underneath her tan knee length jacket still brought up nostalgia for Sam, her honey blonde hair, swaying more than bouncing along as she walked, her steps so solid and yet so delicate. She recognized Sam the moment she saw him. Her pale complexion not hiding the soft crimson hues in her cheeks, or how the color grew in enormity the moment she smiled at the sight of Sam. Her fair eyebrows raised, and the soft blues of her eyes caught the light making them glitter like a million diamonds set ablaze.

  “Baby,” she said in a murmur, wrapping her arms around Sam tightly, their height difference a little off even with her high heels on. She squeezed him tight, it had been some time since she had her hands on him and she didn’t want it to end.

  “Hi, Mom,” Sam said from the awkward clutch she had on him. His body stiff as a tree, his nerves rattled. It was a lot to take in. Seeing her warm smile and fleeting blue eyes was a bit overwhelming for him.

  He let her break the hold first. She pulled back really getting a good look at him. She ruffled his hair, taking in every feature of her boy.

  “You look good,” she said, her eyes skidding from his eyes to his smile. That crooked smile that always melted her heart. He had a way as a child to turn it on and make her forget anything that he had done. But she could see in his eyes that he wasn’t quite the same. Something was upsetting him.

  “So do you,” Sam insisted, evoking a kiss on his cheek from his over emotional mother. She smelled of honeysuckle just as she always had. He didn’t see that ever changing.

  “There is a hotel five miles from the airport. I already booked a room. Of course I used an alias,” she started, as they began walking. No luggage for her to pick up, she wasn’t staying any longer than a couple hours. And everything she needed could fit squarely in her purse.

  This wasn’t news to Sam. His mother never stayed anywhere longer then a night. She was still after all these years hiding from his father. Maybe it was a bit silly for a woman to fear a man after so many years. But not their father, it made all the sense in the world. He wasn’t just a man.

  “That gives us time to have some supper and talk a little,” Sam told her. They effortless
ly spoke back and forth about nothing. Leaving all the more personal discussion to the hotel where nobody could listen in.

  “How is Ellie?” Sam said, once his mother buckled her seat belt. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”

  There was a short silence. “One year.” Greta looked at her son, hoping for a response. But he simply glided the car down the expressway acting as cool as a cucumber about her lack of visiting.

  “How is she?”

  Greta bit at the inside of her cheek apprehensively. She hadn’t any kind of answer. She didn’t know how her youngest was. “Oh you know, same old Ellie.” She patted his leg before returning her hands to her lap where she fidgeted with her rings a bit anxious to be inside the hotel already.