by Riley Jean
“You don’t have to change the stars, Rosie, you just have love me back.”
God only knows how much I wanted to, but I couldn’t trust myself. What did I know of love? Nothing but an endless cycle of heartache. These last twenty-four hours served as proof of just how mucked up my heart was. “I can’t keep hurting you.”
Turning away from me, Vance exhaled a shaky breath and rubbed a hand over his face. It broke my heart to see the anguish I was causing him, but only made me feel more resolved in this decision. If I didn’t leave now, he would keep trying to fix me. Even if some part of me wanted to let him try, I knew I’d inevitably find some way to push him away again. I had to leave him before I made things any worse than I already had.
I opened the door to exit the truck.
“Wait,” he reached out and grabbed my arm. When I turned to look at him, without permission or apology, he pulled me in for one last earth-shattering kiss.
I didn’t stop him because I wanted this, too. I needed his kiss to be the last on my lips. I touched his face, savoring those last precious moments… his passion, his warmth, his taste. I gave in to the comfort of his words and the safety of his embrace, one final time.
I did love this man, in my own messed up way. This man who broke through every wall that I built around my heart. This man who made me feel more love than I ever thought possible, even amidst the most chaotic year of my life. This man that I could have easily fallen head over heels for… if only things had been different.
But loving someone just because I wanted to be fixed was selfish. I needed to fix myself first, not become dependent on another white knight. And I couldn’t live with using Vance any more than I already had. He deserved my whole heart, and after it had been broken three times, I didn’t have anything left to give.
Except this kiss.
Moving my mouth against his, I deepened the kiss, and he groaned, pulling me closer. His hands took care to memorize every inch of me before we separated for good. I gripped him just as tenderly, selfishly succumbing to his heat one final time. After all the ups and downs we’d shared together, this moment was by far the most emotional. And I let myself feel every undiluted second of it.
Never had I been held so desperately. Never had I been so consumed. This kiss was everything; every emotion, every sensation. We both gave to each other and took what we needed. I knew I might never again experience anything this powerful, so I savored it with everything I had.
It was as if time stopped in his truck. There was no tomorrow, no Texas, no walls. And just for a moment, I pretended we could both have everything we wanted.
When I tasted the salt of my own streaming tears, I knew that if I didn’t force us to stop, we never would. Reluctantly I pulled out of his grasp and whimpered goodbye against his mouth, then opened the door of his truck, and jumped.
Chapter 44
Lone Star State
“Remembering Sunday” by All Time Low
There were a few things about Dallas that might have been deal breakers, had I been aware of them before moving here.
One… gigantic spiders.
Seriously. I thought I hated spiders before. Let me tell you, they aren’t lying when they say everything’s bigger in Texas. These ones have muscles. And brains. And they employ both to plot their attacks.
Two… humidity.
My hair in Texas looked like volume mousse on crack. It’s true what they say: Californians have no idea what real rain is. Of course now that I was actually willing to do my hair and makeup each morning, there was no way to avoid the ragamuffin look by the end of the day. Figured.
Besides all that, there were actually great parts about living in Texas, too.
Anonymity, for instance. And those southern starry nights…
Not gonna lie—at first, the thought of having a roommate made me anxious. I was skeptical how someone as introverted (bordering on antisocial) as me would cope with having a forced live-in companion. The only other time I’d shared a room was with Lexi. And even that was easy living compared to some of the other roommate horror stories I’d heard.
In the three weeks before we moved in, we exchanged plenty of emails. They began with the basics. Her name was Claire, she was a native Texan and a fellow business major. The length of our messages grew with every reply until we were basically exchanging novels. It was easier for me to get to know someone that way—writing—where I had total control over my words. And the girl seemed fairly nice in black and white.
Wasn’t sure what to expect in person.
On the day of my arrival, I walked into the dorm to find Claire sitting cross-legged on the couch, playing an acoustic guitar. Her hair was piled high in a messy bun, her feet were bare, and her long skirt pooled around her. Funny how everything could be so new, yet based on our emails, not altogether unpredictable.
She smiled, warm and welcoming, and paused her song long enough to greet me with a howdy and a hug. We talked a little, but I think she picked up on the fact that I was nervous. She let me have a look around and went back to her music.
The space was small but had a good layout. Claire’s style was easily distinguishable: eclectic. Nothing matched but somehow it all fit together. I admired a few of her pieces—a patchwork quilt, a rustic cross carved with a Bible verse. A framed painting with abstract shapes and colors leaned against a wall.
“I just love that ol’ thing,” she called out.
I turned and found her grinning at the painting while strumming softly. “I was fixin’ to hang that there, if that’s alright. Makes me happy just lookin’ at it. It’s like a colorful dance.”
I stared at the painting again until I began to see what she saw. The shapes and colors weren’t just randomly abstract. She was right, there was something joyful about it.
“It’s lovely,” I said.
There wasn’t much for me to unpack, barely a couple suitcases and a box of things I’d mailed here ahead of time. I was just dressing my bed when something about Claire’s singing made me pause.
At first it sounded like a love song, but then I realized it was something very different. It touched me, somehow, its melody smooth but powerful. The words filling me with strength and yet a sense of yearning…
I recognized I was staring about the same time she did.
“Does this bother you?” she asked politely, strumming along.
“No,” I answered truthfully. “I like it.”
She smiled and continued to play.
* * *
We had normal roommate differences. She liked to keep the window open, though I got cold easily. I was a night owl, though she liked to go to bed early. That sort of thing. Nothing that a little compromise and minor adjustments couldn’t fix. At least we were both conscientious to try to be good roommates.
Unlike me, Claire had a car on campus. Its old age and slightly peeling paint reminded me of my old Honda. She offered me rides whenever I needed them, even invited me along with her friends. She went out a lot, and sometimes had people over. Plus, she had a boyfriend. Anthony.
Anthony was a senior, finishing his last classes and getting ready to graduate. Nice guy, from what I could tell. He had a genuineness about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He looked me in the eye when we talked, and spoke respectfully. He had a tender, nurturing way with Claire that anyone could see just by watching them interact. Even at opposite ends of the room, they were always fully aware of each other. Connected.
Even though seeing them together made me smile, in some ways, that was the hardest part. The feelings it invoked…
Not that I wasn’t completely fine…
In any case… back to Texas.
* * *
I was growing acclimated with my new home. Each day it felt like waking up from a dream. The city was beautiful, as was the Rockwall University campus. Everything was brick and green. Not new but well-preserved. Charming, even. Picturesque.
I liked my classes. It was goo
d to have structure again. Schedules and numbers were so much easier to grasp, compared to other aspects in life.
This was the first time I’d ever really been out on my own. I’d gone to school in the same district from first grade through graduation. Even when I moved to the beach, the general area and even a few students were already familiar to me. Plus, the comfort of home was always a short drive away.
Not in Texas.
I’d always considered myself an independent person. But coming from someone who’d never truly been alone (and who barely had gaps between my string of boyfriends), that didn’t mean much.
I needed to figure everything out by myself. The local emergency stations, grocery stores, doctors, dentist, library. I even had to re-register to vote.
I came here knowing no one. My natural inclination was to stay inside my safe little box, so I had to be very intentional about meeting people. It took effort to speak up and get involved.
It was also the first time I’d ever been the new girl in town. I liked that part—no need to compensate for past rumors or reputations. Here, I had the opportunity to reinvent myself.
The question was, who did I want to be?
Well, happy of course. I didn’t move all the way here just to be miserable in a new state. So I defaulted to the one piece of advice that had gotten me through plenty of tough times in the past:
Fake it til you make it.
* * *
One night, when I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, Claire’s song filtered in.
Her music wasn’t like anything I typically listened to. It didn’t even have a particular genre. Sometimes it was fast, sometimes slow. Even so, it always had a way of moving me, literally.
This one had a particularly heavy beat that I couldn’t help but tap my foot along to. It sounded like she was even slapping the guitar face between measures, keeping tempo. Before I knew it, my hips started to bounce of their own accord. The words were too invigorating and the music was so moving, I couldn’t help but get caught up in it. I was full-on rocking out when suddenly there came a loud bang quickly followed by a sharp pain.
“Ouch!”
The guitar paused. Seconds later came her knock. “What’s with all the ruckus?” She sounded more amused than concerned.
I opened the door, nursing my jaw, fairly certain I’d just given myself a fat lip. “Note to self: dance, or brush teeth. Do not attempt both together.”
Her smile was wide. She laughed and I laughed with her. Did that really just happen?
“You got grit, Scarlett Rossi,” she said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, “I reckon we’re gonna be good friends.”
* * *
And we were. Good friends, that is.
Of course, no one could replace the best friend that I’d left behind… but I felt lucky in the roommate department. Claire was funny and sweet and she lived and breathed music. We studied together, using her strengths in science and mine in math. She didn’t have expensive things but she smiled all the time. She had an inner joy, and saw beauty in the simplest of things. She was kind to me, and always thought to include me along so I never felt left out.
“You comin’?” Claire said one morning, pulling on her boots.
“Where?”
“Where?” She looked at me like I had spouted antlers. “To church, silly! It is Sunday, ain’t it?”
“Oh. Right.” I was running out of excuses to put this off. “Sorry Claire, I have this huge project due this week, and I haven’t started, and—Maybe next time?”
She smiled kindly and walked towards me, wrapping a scarf around her neck. “Tell ya what. No more ‘maybe next time.’ I won’t ask anymore, but it’s an open invitation. You tell me if and when you wanna come along, and I’ll give you a ride. Ya hear?”
I laughed, embarrassed. “I hear.”
“Good luck on that project, Scarlett. I’ll be back in a few hours!”
That was another thing I liked about Claire. I moved at my own pace, and she never pushed. She just let me be, and for the moment, that was exactly what I wanted.
* * *
Weeks passed. Eventually I reached a point where I believed myself to be strong enough to handle it all. I had my routine down. My ducks in a row. I didn’t need any man, or alcohol, or that taunting little leather book clad in musical notes. I was doing just fine on my own. Living here and making it by myself had proven that.
After all, if I was right about leaving—if being here had truly helped me move on—the past shouldn’t have a hold on me anymore. It couldn’t affect me the way it used to. Right?
I made the right choice. I refused to let myself consider the alternative.
I should’ve known—pride always comes before a fall.
* * *
It happened when I had lived in Texas for a little more than a month.
To say I’d been dreading its arrival would be a gross understatement. Thank goodness my last class for the day was canceled. Already fragile from a day of unavoidable triggers, I headed home early, the comfort of my empty dorm room calling.
I’m fine, I told myself. Just a day like any other. Nothing a novel and a little hot cocoa can’t fix.
A sense of foreboding hit me the moment I walked in the door, preceded by a familiar aroma. My eyes quickly scanned the small room until they located the source… a tragically breathtaking display sitting right on my desk.
I froze. I called out Claire’s name. Silence. Of course she was out with Anthony tonight.
Slowly, carefully, I made my way over to the arrangement, unsure of how to react. What did it mean? I hadn’t even known these existed.
I brushed my fingers through the velvety petals and inhaled their perfume. Still sweet, despite their gloomy shade.
A dozen roses.
In a vase of glass.
One of them red.
Eleven of them black.
My name caught my attention. I read the note underneath. Then the little card slipped through my trembling fingertips.
Why had he sent these to me?
Today, of all days? Could he be really be that cruel?
I whipped out my phone, tears of hurt and anger already building in my eyes. I promised not to call. I promised it would be a clean break.
But this… this was messed up.
He answered right away. “Well, this ought to be good.”
“Cole—”
“I’m flattered, really, that you felt the need to call. Today.”
“Cole—”
“I mean, it is the day we celebrate love and all but dude. Isn’t this a little obvious? What am I supposed to tell my girlfriend?”
“Why did he send me roses, Cole?”
“What? Who?”
“You know who. They were just delivered to my dorm. Why would he send me these?”
“Roses, you say? Well, I can venture a guess…”
I swallowed thickly. “Does he really hate me that much?”
“Uh… I’m not following.”
“He sent me black roses, Cole. On Valentine’s Day. What’s that supposed to mean?”
I wasn’t sure what Cole knew about my story or the significance of this particular calendar date. In all fairness, I couldn’t expect or assume Vance’s discretion on the subject. Not after I had left him. He owed me nothing.
“That doesn’t sound like Vance… You sure they’re from him?”
“The card says, ‘Scarlett, Because I didn’t want you to be alone today. I miss you. And I’m sorry.’ There’s no name. But it had to be him, Cole. He’s the only one who’s ever given me roses. Who else would have sent me these?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
I took a deep breath, in and out. “If you think this is easy on me, you’re out of your mind. I’m sorry that I hurt him. I’m trying my damnedest to leave him alone now. But if you won’t help me, I’ll call him myself.”
He sighed. “Okay. Hold up. I can hack into his email. If he or
dered flowers, the receipt will be in there. My cousin owns this flower delivery place. He always went there for Evelyn.”
I waited on the line, my heart pounding away, as Cole logged into Vance’s email. It felt all kinds of wrong. But I couldn’t help myself. My emotional limits were already at capacity today. Receiving these flowers from Vance was hurtful, but it spoke of his pain, too. Plus, if he reached out, didn’t I at least owe him a response?
“Acceptance? …Ahhh shit!”
I tensed at his sudden expletive. “What? What do you see?”
“Uh… nothing. I gotta go.”
“What the hell, Cole!”
“Uh… Sorry dude, no receipt here. The flowers must be from someone else.”
A tingle slithered up my spine. “You’re lying. This isn’t fucking funny. Stop messing with me and tell me what the hell you see!”
“I’m not lying! Haven’t you figured out by now that Vance would never do something to hurt you like that? You’re the one who left, Scar, so no offense but he’s none of your damned business anymore. What was the one thing I asked you to do? Let him go.”
“Cole!”
The line when dead.
And I was struck with wondering how silence could be so excruciatingly loud.
I stared at those roses, absorbing their darkness, speculating what their color meant. Sorrow? Hatred? Goodbye?
And the single red rose…
It taunted me. Haunted me.
Accused me.
Of betrayal.
I hadn’t escaped. He found me here.
But if not Vance, “Then who…?”
I lied to Cole. There was one other person who had given me roses… One year ago today.
Not possible. It couldn’t be.
Everything around me grew hazy. Muted. Everything except that one rose. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Whoever sent me this bouquet knew about that night. These flowers represented each and every dark emotion I’d been drowning in for the last twelve months. Whether they were meant to hurt me, or scare me, it worked.
