“The rose is a fascinating flower… The
rose seeks out those which aren't itself; It hates itself, for it
pricks. However, the rose knows that it cannot find solace nor
connection within anything other than its own kind; Thorns are meant
to intertwine; It is ordained. Still, it cries.
Such are humans, who crave others who
promise to embrace those thorns with the flesh of their hearts, fully
accommodating them. They cannot find peace nor love within other
thems. The lonely rose cries. It yearns for acceptance, for it cannot
accept itself. But the rose hurts, and all life must recoil.
Such is their nature.
Such is the rose.
Such is ordinance.”
- ???
Vince
is able to slowly open the
front door of
his house. It’s usually locked by his mother, who leaves at
around 2:00 PM. Did
she forget to close it? It
wouldn’t be the first time; caffeine
affects her memory as much as his mental
state affects his. Could she
have come home early? No, she
works at a tree farm that
both requires over-time and
is fairly far away. She
definitely forgot. Thoughts
of her decaying mental
well-being seep into his
mind, along with the events
of the evening. The pain of
hunger still lingers within his stomach, but
he’s ignored it before. He
steps in, taking off his backpack, his shoulders thanking him as it
hits lands on the ground next to the door with a ”.
‘Rosa…’
he thinks, closing the door behind him. ‘I
hope she got home safe. I should text her.’
Too
lost in thought, he fails
to notice the pitch-black
darkness of the house until it’s too late. The
door has already been
shut behind him, and disorientation kicks in. Taking
out his phone
, he presses the power button.
But
it doesn’t turn on.
“You
died on me?” he asks, remembering the phone’s charge.
Left
with no choice, he fishes around for the light switch, his footsteps
echoing throughout the home as
he carefully shimmies around the wall, patting it with
his hands. Luckily, he finds
it fairly quickly.
...Darkness
ever still.
He
remains static as well, letting the truth of the matter set into his
ever-growing anxiety. The breaker. He needs to find it somehow. His
heart begins to race as he slowly steps through the darkness, making
his way from the hallway to the basement’s door, thanking God along
the way for not letting him stub his toe on something hard. He feels
the cold doorknob in his hand and hesitates. The basement. That’s
where the breaker is. Though it doesn’t happen too often, his house
does lose power here and there, so he’s used to his mom going down
to the basement and flipping the main circuit breaker on and off. Now
it’s his job to do just that.
But
the silence stops him, it advises him to not proceed further.
Sweat
begins to gather at his cold hands as he turns the knob, forcing his
body to open the door. His mind briefly suggests the appearance of a
dark figure lunging at him as the door fully gives way to the even
deeper darkness of the underground area. He takes a step back
instinctively, but he eventually manages to fight through the anxiety
and plunge into the basement. His foot meets the wooden staircase’s
first step, a loud creak reverberating throughout the abyss like a
small groan.
He
takes another step inside of the basement. Then another. Then
another, each time feeling as if the darkness and silence would
retaliate and devour him fully. Finally feeling the concrete floor
under his red snow boots, he starts patting the cold, textured walls
until he reaches the corner of the basement, where he remembers the
breaker is. Not wanting to haphazardly feel around for it with his
fingers out of fear of electrocution, he decides that where he’s
facing currently must be where the breaker is. Only thing to do now
is reach out his hand carefully.
Slowly.
Methodically…
…
But
something reaches back.
Ashy,
ice-cold hands intertwine their fingers with his.
Vince
lets out a scream, dropping his phone as he falls back on his bottom.
The
lights flicker back on. The basement’s do not, but the illumination
from the living room casts into it, providing Vince with the
confirmation that nothing but the breaker lies in front of him.
He
grabs his phone and springs back on to his feet; his legs almost
succumb to his weight. He checks his phone for cracks and, when he
doesn’t see any, he breaths a sigh of relief. Vince’s ears pick
up on something. Heavy yet thin footsteps are approaching the
basement door. Slowly inching towards the staircase, he peaks his
head around the corner.
His
eyes meet… a something.
At
the top of the staircase is that ‘something’—inhuman. Something
with white, thick fur and razor-sharp gritted teeth. Its pupils glow
a soft white as they gaze down at him with uncertain intent; reverse
floodlights, observing, rather than projecting. Still, he feels
caught under them—vulnerable.
Until
he recognizes the caster, and the paracosm melts.
“Trigger!”
Vince says, racing up the staircase towards his dog. “Where were
you when I arrived?!”
Trigger
hides his teeth once he recognizes Vince. He allows him to give him a
big hug and pet his soft fur. Vince kisses and nuzzles his head, the
presence of his dog washing away all the fear in his heart. But
Trigger pushes away, lazily walking back to his bed.
“Hey!”
Vince says on his knees, reaching out for him. “Come back!”
“Vince?”
his mom asks, placing her work bag next to the main door. “Why are
you on the floor?”
Vince
freezes for a second.
…
He
picks himself up, hanging on to the wall next to him to prevent the
ensuing wave of lightheadedness from pulling him back down. His mom
races over, steadying him.
“Hey,
you okay?” she asks worriedly. “What happened?”
“Nothing,”
he says, steadying himself. “Circuit went out again.”
“That
doesn’t explain why you were on the ground,” she says with a
sigh. “And where’s your sweater?”
Vince
snaps a look down at his exposed torso. He forgot to zip up his coat.
“Oh,
I uh…” his brain scans for a lie. “Gave it to Rosa.”
An
unfortunate moment for his honest upbringing to shine.
“What?!”
his mom asks loudly. “That bad habit?! You gave it to her?! Why?!”
“Sorry!
I had no other choice!”
“What’s
that supposed to mean?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘NO OTHER CHOICE’?!”
“Mom,
calm down!” Vince pleads, gesturing with his hands. “She injured
her leg and needed something to stop the bleed—” Vince covers his
mouth shut with a loud “
“SHE
WHAT?! YOU DID WHAT?! YOU…!” She can’t form proper words. “OH
MY GOD! I NEED COFFEE RIGHT NOW!”
Vince’s
heart races. This is a first for her. Not sure what to feel other
than guilt and stress, he hangs his head low, leaning against the
corner.
“That
was a memento! memento! For both of us! Now it’s got
blood and god-knows what else on it! Why would you do that?! I
thought you were like him! I you better!”
“Mom,
please! You don’t understand!” he pleads once more, walking
towards her. “I… She would’ve bled out! It dug into her shin
all the way to the—”
“THEN
SHE SHOULD’VE CALLED AN AMBULANCE! BUT NO, INSTEAD, SHE HAS
YOU PATCH HER UP WITH HIS SWEATER AS IF IT WERE SOME BANDAGE!”
“It
was my idea!” Vince blurts out, gritting his teeth. “I… Don’t
blame her! Please!”
She
quickly gets the coffee grounds and hastily pours them into the
coffee machine, spilling a pile next to it on the counter. Her hands
shake as she fills up the carafe with water, not bothering to look at
how little or how much liquid she’s filling it with. Pouring the
water into the machine, she switches it on, placing her hands on the
counter as she watches it start up.
Tears
collect in her eyes, their birthing in sync with the machine’s
brewing and . Vince falls
silent, a look of remorse and sorrow forming on his face.
“Don’t
you miss him?” she asks with shaky breath. “Did he mean nothing
to you?”
“Mom…I…know
you miss him, but—”
“I
asked if miss him!” she cries out, snapping a look at
him. “Do ”
Vince
doesn’t answer, clutching his coat with a hand. he miss
him? Should he be missing him? He can’t feel his absence. He
doesn’t have a hole in his heart where there maybe should be.
‘Should there even be one there?’ he wonders.
“Mom…I
never got to meet him properly...”
“Yes
you did! He held you in his arms and…” she squeezes her eyes
shut, the stream of somber memories flowing down her cheeks. “He…was
the best man we ever knew… He gave our lives meaning… Provided
for us… Made time for us even when there was none… He fought for
justice and truth… Don’t you remember?” she looks at him with
waterlogged, tremulous eyes.
“How
special he was?”
Vince
clutches his coat harder. “Mom…I
was a year old before he—”
Vince’s
phone rings. He takes it out, looking down at the caller ID.
ROSA
‘But
how?!’ he thinks. ‘It was dead!’
He
hangs
up instantly.
“Dinner’s
in the microwave…” she says with
overtones of exhaustion,
watching
the black liquid build up in
the carafe. “I
made your favorite…chicken
and dumplings…”
Vince
walks over to the microwave, opening
it and grabbing the plate. The
meal’s
cold,
and
though
it looks enticing,
he
closes the microwave door, storing the plate in the fridge.
“I’ll
eat later…I
already ate some
Rangoons
at
the Service.”
“But
I made them gluten-free for you…”
Vince
hangs
his head low.
...
He
opens the fridge once more, grabbing
the plate.
“Okay,
mom,” he says softly.
Vince
lies
in
his bed, curled
up in the fetal position as
he clutches his stomach. His body is shaking violently
from the pain. His
teeth are gritted
like a hydraulic
press
as sweat
gathers
on
the
white
sheets.
Even
though he made sure to avoid the dumplings—despite
them being gluten-free—the
chicken and
broth…his body rejects it.
‘Why?!’
he thinks desperately.
‘I
did
what you asked for! Just
the meat! Why
are you acting up now?! Am
I really going to need to take them...?!’
Though
he’d rather not due to the immense nausea that it causes him, the
suffering
might quickly
prove too much.
He
thinks about what’s worse: the nausea
or the pain. Pure
discomfort or pure agony? He’s
surprised he can even debate
this—let alone think at
the moment.
But
if he
think, he
can act.
Impulsively
getting up, he
hobbles
into the bathroom, flipping the light switch on and opening the
medicine cabinet behind the
mirror. Reaching
out his hand for the hunger suppressors, he
finds that very hunger quickly diminishes and goes away seconds
before his
fingers make
contact with the bottle.
‘Thank
God,’ he thinks, closing the mirror. ‘I
won’t have to choose either…’
He
notes his bangs gather to the left side again. His
hangs pry them open, letting them sit comfortably over
both eyes.
After
a quick, hot shower and
a change of clothes, he
lays
in his
bed,
staring
at the ceiling for
a while.
…
“While”
quickly turns into “minute”, then
almost “hour”. He’s
afraid to move. Afraid to aggravate it
further.
His
phone gets a notification. He
takes it from the nightstand where it was charging, taking
a look.
It’s from Rosa.
“If
you don’t wanna talk just say so.”
“Rosa!”
he blurts out loud.
His
fingers type as fast as they can.
“No!
Sorry, I was in the middle of something. Why were you calling?”
“Can’t
just call and talk?”
“I
mean…you never really do. We
just talk in person.”
“I
washed your stupid sweater
for you.”
“You
did…?”
“Yeah.
And no, I didn’t use
bleach.”
“Thank
you. :)”
“T_T”
“But
don’t call it stupid. T_T.”
“That
the thanks I get for washing it for you?”
“Want
a kiss, then?”
“Fuck off. I’m going to bed.”
“But
it’s super early!”
“Uh
no it’s not dumbass. Your
clock broken?”
He
looks at the time. 10:00
PM
“What?!
It’s that late already?!”
“Yeah.
going
to sleep. I’ll give you the
sweater back tomorrow.”
“Wait,
how’s your leg?”
“Why
do you care?”
“I
care deeply!”
“Gross.
but
fine, it’s fine.”
“What’s ‘fine’?”
“GO TO SLEEP”
“WHAT’S ‘FINE’?!”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
She doesn’t reply. But she’s right, he
thinks. He should go to sleep. Earlier than usual, but he’s feeling
more drained than usual.
He switches his room’s light off as he
pulls the blanket over himself. Surprisingly, the hunger hasn’t
come back. He takes his earbuds from his nightstand, putting them on
as she queues up a song on his phone to fall asleep to:
“Grouper – Poison Tree”
With comfort washing over him for
once in a long while, his eyes slowly close, the faint moonlight’s
illumination dissipating as they do. His mind flickers meaningless
thoughts and memories as his body grows heavier and heavier…
Until
eventually…
Vince
is in an
unknown gray concrete room.
It’s fairly unlit, save
for the light bulb hanging
from the ceiling. As
it sways, it spreads a
soft purple light
that illuminates just enough
to make out the three
chairs in front of him.
In those
three chairs are three individuals,
their
hands and feet tied by
what looks like black rose stems
or roots that come
from the ground. One man, a
woman and a girl. The girl,
with tears
covering her face, is clenching
her teeth and trying violently to break
free. The woman is crying out
for help, a look of
unbridled despair ingrained
on her face as she cries out.
“HELP!
HELP US! PLEASE! WHY?! WHY WOULD
YOU DO THIS?!”
Vince
can’t fully make out sounds;
his hearing is dulled.
It
sounds to him like the man is
reasoning with
something. A
look of sheer
disappointment and contempt
fills the man’s
face. Vince
tries to spring into action, but he feels something sharp pierce his
flesh and restrain him like a
python. He
glances down, seeing that he’s on
the concrete
ground, naked, his knees bloody, and behind him, grappling
his arms, are the same black, thorny
strings.
The pain is
immense, coursing from his arms to his entire body like
a poison. He
feels the concrete dig further into his knees as
he struggles. But an even
deeper, more hellish pain introduces
itself. . Worse
than before. Far worse. He
lets out an agonized
scream, dropping his head down, giving up the struggle. Once
he does, the pain stops. Vince
slowly looks back up, facing
the three individuals in front of him, his blood-soaked
hair partially covering his eye.
If only he could make out
their faces...but they’re obscured by
shadow.
The man follows
something in the darkness with his head
as he tries reasoning further, but whatever is in the darkness
doesn’t reply. The follows
it until he
stops his gaze
stops at Vince.
It’s
behind him.
A
hand gently places itself on Vince’s left shoulder.
He
feels it lean down and whisper something in his ear.
“Make
them happy,” a soft, familiar
voice says.
A
terrified gasp, a hand
clutching his heart. It’s
his own. Vince awakens, his
chest beating fast, his breath shaky as
he pants. As his breathing
steadies and his mind relaxes, he reaches
over to and grabs his phone, looking at the time.
4:44 AM
He
wipes the sweat off his face with a hand, taking a deep, lengthy
breath.
“I
guess we’re waking
up early today…”
The wind slithers under Vince’s black
scarf and enters his coat, chilling his bare torso. He takes out his
phone and looks at the time. 2:45 PM. His mother left
forty-five minutes ago, yet Rosa still hasn’t shown up. Did she
forget? Or did forget what their meeting time was?
“Got your sweater—”
“AAAH!” he screams, taking an
instinctive swing at her.
She narrowly avoids it before kicking him
away.
“What the hell?!” she yells, gripping
the sweater.
“Rosa! Oh… Don’t sneak up on me like
that!”
“Jumpy, huh? I told you I’d be here at
exactly two forty-five PM. Don’t tell me your dumbass forgot
again?”
“Didn’t get much sleep last night,”
he says, noticing the folded sweater in her hand. “Thanks, Rosa.
Really…”
“Can it,” she says, throwing the
sweater at him before he catches it. “Put it on before you become
an icicle.”
Vince holds it close to his chest, feeling
the soft wool and...warmth? She must’ve washed it once more before
coming to meet him, he reasons. Smiling softly, he looks down at the
ashy-textured, deep-gray sweater.
“You ready, or not?” she asks, a hand
on her hip.
Vince doesn’t respond. His eyes are wide
in amazement and confusion.
“What? What are you looking at?” she
asks, glancing down at her leg.
“It’s...gone. How? What did you do?”
“Beats me, man. You were the one to patch
me up…” she says with a slight blush, scratching her nose.
Vince still can’t believe it. He can’t
even see where the wound once was. No scar, no dark spot… It
just…‘he thinks. He shakes his head slightly,
putting on the sweater after taking off his coat. Putting the coat
back on and leaving it open, he takes off his black scarf, offering
it to Rosa.
“You never come prepared for temps,” he
says. “You should wear this.”
She leans in, eyeing him sharply. “I’m
no pussy. I don’t feel a thing.”
Though she says it with surprising
authenticity, Vince notes the raised hairs on her neck as they
respond to the light snow descending from the sky. He sighs, wrapping
the scarf around his neck once more.
“Rosa…”
“We gonna go or what?!” she asks,
tapping her foot impatiently.
“Right,” he says, limping to the
garage.
“What’s wrong with your noodle legs?”
she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Gonna fall?”
“They’re just sore from yesterday,”
he says with a weak smile. “That’s why we’re taking Rosie.”
“I HAND-WASH YOUR SWEATER AND THIS IS THE
THANKS I GET?! I’M NOT RIDING ON THAT THING!”
Vince blushes as he grips the cold,
metallic garage door handle. ‘She hand-washed it?’
“It’ll be faster,” he says, his mood
more chipper at the thought of riding his bike. “Plus, I asked Del
to keep your root beers cold for you before I left the Service.”
Rosa covers her face with her hands,
letting out an
“I also want to stop by a Realtor
office, if possible, before going back to that house,” he says,
opening the door, stepping into the poorly lit garage. “Finlay
might know where I can find one.”
“Why the need to verify anything?!
What’s there to verify? That it’s a run-down shit-hole? Let’s
just go!”
“Finlay
is a very tight-lipped
man,” he says, flipping the light switch
on. “He wouldn't tell me why the place was abandoned.
He was very quick to dismiss
my question.”
“So?
Guy doesn’t
talk. I respect that.”
“I
just want to make sure we’re not stepping into anything dangerous.”
They
both stop in
the center of the fairly small garage. The
sole, swaying lightbulb
overhead being the only source of light in
the mostly concrete room. Vince’s
anxiety grows for some reason,
the swaying light and
concrete walls make him
feel uneasy. But
he can’t put a finger on
why.
“Let’s
find the bike and get
outta here,” he says
with audible anxiety.
“I think it’s under an
old tarp in the corner.”
Rosa
notices but
says nothing. Following
Vince to the corner of the garage,
she sees
where a
bunch of boxes and random,
miscellaneous items are
oddly positioned, almost
as if to hide something. Jackpot,
Vince thinks.
His
mom hates the sight of
that bike just as much as Rosa, so he makes sure to hide
it in a new place each time he gets home with it—though
he sometimes forgets where he puts it. But
this isn’t usually a problem, as he rarely uses
the bike.
“Rosa?”
he says,
picking up the items and
boxes and placing them neatly
in the
opposite corner.
“Fine…”
she says with a sigh,
rolling her eyes before helping out.
“Don’t
just throw them around!”
“UGH…
Fiiine,”
she whines,
readjusting
the items she threw.
Once
they're done, they're left with a large, gray tarp covering a large
object. It’s
long, and its wheels are poking out from the bottom. Vince
grips the tarp, and Rosa
looks away, tapping her foot.
“Alright,
Rosie,” Vince
says, lifting the veil.
“Hope you still work.”
Though
she can’t stand looking at it, it
been a while, and curiosity gets the better of her. She
slowly turns her head to face the bike, careful
not to make any sudden movements. She
gazes upon
its
sharp edges and red
visor, its pinkish
redish
body with white stripes, and its
black wheels with white
hubs. Its seat
length is enough to support two; she
shivers at the thought. The
motorcycle also has a
sleek, stainless steel
finish that
makes it shine even in the dimmest of lighting. If
that wasn’t “show-offy
” enough,
as she calls it, there’s
a ceramic rose
flower charm
that hangs from the right handlebar, along
with its key. Yes,
it’s exactly how she remembers it. She
doesn’t even know what she was expecting. Maybe to be less scared
this time around? Her
rising heart throws
that possibility out the window.
“Dude,”
she says, tapping her foot
faster. “Can’t we just call an Uber
or something?”
“I
don’t have much money
after our order…” he
admits embarrassingly.
“But…”
she says,
starting to sound more vulnerable. She
grits her teeth, harnessing anger once more. “Fine!
Fine, then!
But you owe
me more root
beer! Way more! You hear?!”
Vince
chuckles slightly,
scratching
the back of his head. Great,
just what he needs.
More
debt.
…MD
197. Why did he have to
cut through here? Why couldn’t he
just cut through the
local streets? The
cars race past, their
roaring engines and churning wheels sounding
like torture instruments being primed to her. She
grips tightly to Vince, her arms wrapped around him. Her
entire being wishes to not look
at the sedans and trucks,
but her pride won’t
let her. If it weren’t
for the vibrations of the
motor and wheels slightly
bouncing off the ground,
her shaking body would’ve
gone noticed by Vince.
‘Why?’
she thinks. ‘Piece of
shit…you’re
doing this on purpose...’
“You
alright back there?” Vince shouts.
“We’ll take the first
exit to the town center.
It’ll be quick.”
“Shut
up…” Rosa murmurs,
gripping him tighter.
“Ugh,”
Vince wheezes,
feeling his entire
torso being squeezed
enough to stop his breathing somewhat. “Rosa…!
Rosa, I can’t breathe well!”
“…”
“ROSA!”
…The
bike comes to halt at the parking
lot of the Service. The
daylight peaks,
so Vince puts on his sunglasses.
Getting off the bike, he
notices Rosa struggling to get
off, her body shivering.
“Careful,”
he says, offering his hand.
She
quickly smacks it away, getting
off the bike herself.
Feeling the ground once
more, she almost wants to hug
it. Vince slides
the kickstand into place with a foot.
“Come
on, then,” he says, walking to the main
double doors.
“We
better not take long,” she says, wobbling after him.
“Then
don’t take long drinking the root beers,” he
says with a smirk.
“And
you better not spend the
next hour talking!” she
retorts
with a fist.
“Bring-bring,”
The
familiar scent of coffee
and fried food hits them both—Rosa especially. A
part of Vince wishes they could’ve gotten here past 4:00 PM to
receive the special service, but
another part of him recognizes
the risk of venturing into
an abandoned area at
night.
They
both take a seat at the
service counter. Vince
rings the silver bell
that’s
across the counter once.
Rosa spins
around on her stool,
propelling herself by
kicking off of Vince’s. Not
long after waiting, Del
walks out
from the corner of the kitchen
with a stress-filled
disposition.
“Hey,
what can I do for you, V?” Del
asks, rubbing his face.
Vince
notices his
bags. “You
alright?”
“Finlay
asked me to do overtime,”
he says with a sigh. “Couldn’t
exactly say no to him, you know?”
Rosa
lets out a ,
rolling her eyes. Del
notices, giving
her a look with squinted eyes. She
squints back.
“Do
you have the root beers?” Vince
asks quickly to alleviate
the tension.
“Right,”
he says, walking back to
the kitchen. “The beers…”
“Hey,”
Vince says,
his eyes following Rosa
as she spins.
“What’s
your problem?”
“Can’t
stand guys who can’t say no,” she
says frankly.
“Couldn’t
have kept that to yourself?”
he asks,
looking down at the polished counter with
a slight frown.
“I’m
not you,” she says, stopping suddenly, ignoring the vertigo. “I
speak my mind.”
“Gonna
get you in trouble one day.”
He
thinks deeply about what
she said. ‘Can’t
stand people who can’t say ‘no,’ huh?’
“Vince,”
Del’s voice sounds in
front of him, snapping him
out of thought. “Got the
root beers.”
“Oh!”
he replies,
taking the two root beers
from his hands. “Thanks,
Del. Say, where’s
Finlay?”
“Out,”
he says, yawning. “Why?”
“Just
needed to ask him about some spots around town,” he
says, sliding the beers over to Rosa, who
wastes no time in gulping
them down.
“What
do you need Finlay for?” he
asks, patting his chest. “I
know a lot of spots. Hit
me.”
“Great!
That’ll make things
easier, then,”
Vince says with a grin.
“I’m
a Bowie resident, born and bred. What
are you lookin’ for? Cinema?
Bowling ally? Spots
at the top of a hill?”
‘Why
are they all prime date locations?!’
Vince asks himself with an awkward smile.
“I’m
looking for a Realtor,” Vince
says, leaning in.
“Gonna
move out of your mom’s
soon?”
“…Yeah…”
“Gotchu.”
Del takes out a notebook
and pen from his pocket. “There
should be one…”
Rosa
couldn’t care less about their
conversation, she’s too
busy enjoying the
delicious flavor of the root beer, its cold,
refreshing medicinal notes
complementing
every facet
of her mouth.
On
to the next mug, she
thinks, sliding the empty
one to Del. It might not
be Doug root beer, but
it’s got whipped cream
on top. That’s the first
thing she drinks when
taking the next mug.
“Thanks,
Del,” Vince says with a
pleased smile, storing
the torn-off piece of
paper in his pants pocket.
“This will help a lot.”
“No
problem, V,” he says,
tapping the counter.
“You’re
not gonna order anything?”
“No,
I already took some
vitamins this morning,” he
says, getting up. “I’ll
be fine. Seeya, Del.”
“Heh,”
Rosa says, wiping off the
last trace of root beer from her lips. “Vitagummies.
What a baby.”
Del
shoots her a sharp look. “Is
it funny he
can’t eat?”
“Del,
relax, she’s just joking,” Vince says, grabbing Rosa’s arm.
“Come on, Rosa.”
Rosa
breaks free from his grip, leaning in to face Del.
“Got somethin’ to
say?”
“Rosa…!”
Vince tugs on her arm once
more. “Stop! Just
drop it.”
Del
closes his eyes in
annoyance, walking
away. He mumbles some
curses under his breath as
he walks away.
“Huh?!
What’d you say?!” she
shouts.
“Ugh!
Come on!” He
pulls her hard enough to
get her to stand up before marching to the exit. “You’re
always so much trouble…”
Back
at the bike, Vince takes
a deep breath, his eyes
closed as he retracts the kickstand.
“I’m
so much trouble, huh?” she asks, her hands in her hoodie’s
pockets. “Then why’d
you even come along?!”
“What?”
Vince asks, looking at her with
a perplexed expression.
“If
I’m such a nuisance,
then you should’ve just stayed home.”
“Seriously?!”
Vince asks in
disbelief, getting on the
bike. “You really wanna
know why I came with
you?!”
“Yeah!” she says, stomping the ground
with her foot. “Think I can’t handle myself?”
“Because
you’re my friend, that’s
why. I
can’t just let you go
around doing irresponsible
stuff
on your own!”
“And
why not?! It’s
not your problem to worry about other people.”
“ou’re
my friend! Of course
it’s my problem!”
“Yeah,
that’s holdin’ you back.”
“Then
why
did
you wash my sweater?!”
“Because
I felt like it,
duh!” She
shakes her head, rolling
her eyes. “Let’s
just go to the damn
office.”
Vince
hangs his head low, starting up the bike.
The
engine springs
to life.
‘You
just felt like it, huh…?’
...Rosie
comes to a halt.
In
front of them, a small
building surrounded by decorative trees that somehow still have
leaves despite the burning cold. Glass windows, glass door...Vince
hopes Rosa doesn’t end up breaking them somehow, he thinks,
remembering Mr. Yu’s NASA
photo
briefly. A flier is
stamped to the window that reads We’re
hiring!
“I
think we’re here,” Vince
says, tucking the paper
back into his pants
pocket. “Strange name
though…”
REALLY
REAL REAL ESTATE!
“Damn,”
she says, hopping off the bike, her legs shaky once again. “Talk
about lettin’
your clients know you ain’t scammers.”
“You
coming?”
Vince
asks while
storing the key in his coat’s pocket,
getting
off the bike
and resting
it on the kickstand.
“I’m
stayin’ outside,” she
says, walking
up to the building and leaning on the
wall.
Vince
nods,
stepping
inside.
Once
he’s out
of sight, Rosa quietly
takes out a pack
of cigarettes and
a lighter
from her hoodie’s
pockets, taking
out
a cigarette and lighting it.
She
inhales, letting the stress and anger
of the day melt
away. She
relaxes
her body, looking
up at the sky.
The
Realtor office. Inside,
something unpleasant
greets him.
It’s
all bright-white, calculated, souless and with the faint smell of a
hospital. Where comforting reds and damp lighting would soothe and
mask his presence, here he’s put on stage. On
stage for the highlight of his now growing anxiety.
People.
A lot of them.
The
patrons at the Service he’s used to, but these are strangers—he
doesn’t even recognize their faces. To
make matters worse, some of them are looking at him—and there’s
a kid.
The
cherry on top, he thinks. Kids
hold a special cut
in his heart.
They’re
rude, sometimes
violent, and they don’t
know when to keep things to themselves or shut up. He’ll
have to wait in line, right behind the other three people waiting to
greet the blond woman at the reception desk. In truth, there are no
more than eight people—including the
child—but to him it feels
like an entire stadium’s
worth. No
lovely smell of coffee, no soothing,
electronic
jazz music...just
silence and their presence. He
decides to leave his
sunglasses on to further
conceal himself. That way,
he can make eye contact
without it being uncomfortable. But
he knows that the kids will probably
point it out.
And
they do just that.
“Mom,”
a little blond boy says, tugging on his mom’s sleeve. “He’s
creepy. Is
he going to eat us?”
“Mitch...that’s
rude,” the
mom says, looking up at Vince.
“But…”
he
peers
at Vince, feeling
uneasy.
“You
see that guy with the glasses?” a
man with
raggedy
hair
quietly whispers to his plump
wife.
“We’re
inside. It’s
shady.”
“Yeah,
I see what you mean,” the wife says, eyeing
Vince
up and down. “Should
I call the cops?”
‘Call
the cops?!’ Vince thinks frantically. ‘What did I do?! Just
because I look shady?! No
way…’
The
medication. He remembered to take it. Does
he need a higher dose already?
Their
whispers intensify
around him just
as much as their looks. The
world spins for Vince, their
comments
and thoughts causing
it to spin faster. He’s
at the center of it all, in a dark abyss,
a single light casting down on him as their white
eyes
pierce
the veil,
only focusing on him. He’s
tiny, and their gaze
is
giant;
they’re
like
cosmic
bodies
observing
him intently.
Vince’s
hands
start shaking slightly,
negative
thoughts of
possible future events flooding into his mind. What’s
going to happen to him? What will they do? Why
do
people have to be this way,
judging others and pointing out needless things? Peace
and tranquility—that’s all that he asks for. He
thinks about reaching for his phone and listening
to music, but
if he does, then they’d know he heard them.
Then
they’d ask things like, “why didn’t he say anything,” or
say things like, “Oh, man...that’s embarrassing.” So
he’s stuck. Unable to act, unable to move
from this torturous spot until he
reaches reception. His
hunger starts once more, almost
causing him to keel over. But no—if he does, it’ll make
the little boy think he really is
going
to eat them.
He’s
about to pop, when suddenly—
“Sir,”
the blond woman at the reception desk says. “You’re next.”
“Oh,
sorry,” he says, stiffly
walking over
to the
reception
desk.
“Are
you
sensitive to the
lights?” she
asks warmly.
“Want
me to turn turn down for you?”
“F...for
me? No—no, that’s fine,”
Vince says nervously,
his
shaky
hands
on the desk. “I
just
came
to ask about a specific house, if
that’s okay. It’s
abandoned.” His
heart-rate
begins to ease.
“Sure,”
she says with a smile. “We
can take a look at it.
We also function as a records
office,
so
feel free to dig deep. Do
you have the address?”
“It’s
one-one-one-four
Arodnap
street.
It’s
near
the highschool.”
“Let’s
see…” she
says, typing on the
computer.
Vince
almost
cringes
from the ensuing silence, save for the
clacking
of the computer
keys.
However,
though he’s expecting to hear more whispers and
eyes
addressing him, he
neither hears nor
sees any of that when
he looks
behind him.
“I
found it!”
“Oh!”
he says, looking
back at
her. “That’s
great! Can
I see?”
“Well…”
she
says with an awkward chuckle. “Here’s
the thing…”
She
adjusts the monitor to face Vince. When
his eyes meet the screen, he
sees
the address
at
the top and the information
that he’s after at the bottom. Except…
“It’s...all
blocked?”
“I’m
sorry,”
she says, readjusting
the monitor to face her. “That’s
a first… Are
there any other properties you’d
like to inquire
about?”
“No,
that’s fine,”
he says with
silent
disappointment.
“Thanks
for your help.”
“Wait,”
she says quietly.
“Want
me to, like…I
don’t know...hack it or something?”
“...Hack?”
Vince
squints in confusion and curiosity. “What
do you mean? How
would you…?”
“Not
really ‘hack’, but kinda...pry. Would
hate to see a cute
guy like
you come
out empty-handed,” she says with a soft giggle. “I
could ask my
boss about
it if you want.”
Vince
blushes intensely, scratching
the back of his head.
“Um…well…”
Outside,
Rosa grows more impatient. She’s
used up three cigarettes so far, and still no sign of Vince. A
small vein pops up on
her temple.
Blood
pressure? Maybe. The cigarette’s fault? Definitely not, she
thinks.
‘He’s
probably in there
yappin’
away,’ she
thinks, tapping
the cigarette with
her finger, the
ash falling on
down
to the sidewalk.
“That’s
fine,” Vince says with an awkward chuckle.
“Wouldn’t
want you getting in trouble on my account, hahah...”
“No,
no,”
she says, typing
on her keyboard. “My boss is chill. He’ll
understand. Besides,
it’s my
job to
get you the information you need!”
“I
don’t know…”
“Trust
me, it’ll be quick. Let me try…” She
clacks
away at her keyboard for a couple of seconds, then pauses.
“Huh…”
“Is
something wrong?” Vince asks with
a slight somber
frown.
“The
file is gone. Like,”
she leans
into the monitor. “It
just got...deleted?
Right
before my eyes!”
The
built-in
camera in the top-center of the monitor suddenly flashes a
quiet white.
Neither
notice.
“Well,
how about we put a pin in this for now?” she asks
with a warm smile. “I’ll
talk to my boss about it. Swing
by tomorrow at
around this time. That’s when I’m here!”
“Really...committed
to your job,”
Vince says
faintly.
“Must
be difficult when you get this many clients.
How old are you?”
“Seventeen.
What about you?”
“Seventeen as well.”
“Wow…!
You
look older than you look!” she
says with a chuckle.
Vince
scratches
the back of his head, smiling
weakly.
“Sure,
sure… Thanks
for your help…?”
“Anna.
What’s
yours?”
“Vincent.”
“I’ll
see you tomorrow then, Vincent,” she
says with
a smirk,
writing something down on a
piece of paper with
a pen.
“Don’t
keep me waiting. I’ll
have those
records
served right up…!”
Rosa
watches them through the windows, now
down to her fifth cigarette. Her
foot, once
tapping
on the floor, now settles
down
once it
sees Vince receive a piece of paper from the girl.
She
notes the girl’s
cleaned-up
form, her lush
blond hair, and her
body
language. It’s
all so nonchalant,
endearing
and...charismatic.
Taking
the cigarette from her mouth, holding
and pondering it for a while…
With
a short sigh, she takes
one last big puff, throwing
it on
the ground and
squashing
it with her black
sneaker’s heel.
Vince
blushes even more, a
child-like smile forming on his face. He
nods to her, waving goodbye as he
makes
his way to
the door, the
anxiety becoming nothing more than an ember as
a new fire dethrones
the
previous.
He
looks at
the paper as
he walks, pushing
the doors open with his body.
“Sorry
to
keep you waiting,”
he says, folding
the
note, tucking into his pants pocket.
“Let’s
get
you to that house.”
But
Rosa’s already on the bike. Vince’s
eyes light up as
he
notes
she’s
waiting
for him on the back of the motorcycle,
arms crossed.
“Did
you finally
warm up to Rosie?” he asks jokingly,
taking
out the key and inserting it.
Rosa
doesn’t respond, she
just
nods with
an
uncaring expression, looking
away from him.
“You
alright?”
Vince
asks, the engine roaring
to life once
again.
“You
seem…”
“Couldn’t
be better.”
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