The Blue Rose

16. Serena

SIXTEEN

SERENA

T urning over with the intention to spoon Aster, I’m jolted awake when I pat the space around me and find him gone. Where did he go?

Slowly, I sit up, rubbing my eyes and hoarsely calling out his name. Silence greets me. I clear my throat and try again, but still nothing. Just silence. I get out of bed and start walking around the house looking for him, coming up empty.

Surely, he wouldn’t leave in the middle of the night, without letting me know. After the night we had, the blood we spilled, the secrets we shared, he wouldn’t just leave. He promised me he wouldn’t ghost me again. He’d be stupid to do that to me a second time, especially since I know one of his secrets. He has other secrets, I know with the mask he tries to put on, but slowly both of our masks are slipping for each other.

I wouldn’t dare dream of ever revealing his identity to anyone, but a woman's scorn can make even the most sane, conduct vengeful acts.

Going back to my room, I grab my phone, expecting to see a text from him, saying where he went. He’s always been good about letting me know when something’s come up, I’m sure today is no different. My heart falls, seeing it’s a text from Jessica instead.

Jessica

Hey babe, I forgot I had previous plans today, so I can’t help out at the market, Sorry. Promise I’ll make it up to you

Scratching my head, confused, I purse my lips, looking up, thinking about what she means.

Fuck

I go to the calendar on my phone and sure as shit in bold it says ‘Flea Market Day.’ Looking at the time, I let out a breath of relief. I still have two hours until I have to set up, and three before it opens.

Pissed she backed out, after she promised me she would be there to help, I just ignore the message. I love Jessica, but she is the biggest flake I know, and it drives me crazy. She has always been on her own time, but since my mom passed away, she only really shows up when I’m in a spiral. If I’m not on the verge of a mental breakdown, it’s just crickets from her.

Chewing my lip, my fingers hover over the screen, I open my messages, and send a text to Aster before I lose my nerve.

Serena

I had fun last night.

I place my phone back on the nightstand, and start to get ready for a busy day ahead.

I sit in the long line of cars waiting to take their place, ready to park and unload what I have brought to sell. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I look down and grab my phone. The message I sent earlier to Aster was read over an hour ago, but no response.

My stomach bottoms out, my mouth forming a frown from being left on read. Waking up to him gone is one thing, being left on read is another. My insecurities from the first time come to the forefront. I bring my hands to my mouth and start mindlessly chewing my nails to the bed. His reasoning for making me feel unimportant, again, better be a damn good one.

Thinking better of myself, I type out another quick message, hoping this time I’ll get an answer.

Serena

Hey, I’ll be at the flea market today, selling my paintings, it’s on first street at 10am. This isn’t an invitation, although if you want to come, you can. I’m letting you know, so if you try to contact me and I don’t answer, that’s why.

It’s been five years since I’ve done one of these. I used to do them every Sunday when my mom was still alive, before she got really bad. She would come with me, so excited to be a part of something that meant so much to me. Little did she know, her being there is what made it so special. Jessica always said she would come, but never did. The things in her life were more important than me. Tears fill my eyes as I walk through the center to find my assigned spot. My mom was my biggest fan. She was my inspiration for my art. She was the one who would push me to sell it. I was always hesitant, convinced they weren’t good enough, but when all but a couple paintings would sell, she would just sit there beaming, looking so proud and honored to have been a part of everything. I couldn’t help but smile as well, her joy and confidence contagious.

After she passed, I stopped. I stopped painting. I stopped coming to the market. I stopped living. I just couldn’t find myself wanting to do anything. I couldn’t force myself to do the things I knew I needed to, especially the one thing I looked forward to most with her. I am so upset that Jessica canceled on me. We made these plans so long ago. She knew how hard it was for me to come back here, for me to even start painting again. Sometimes, she’s so selfish, but she’s the only one I got, so I cut her some slack. She has a life outside of me.

After everything is unloaded and set up just right, I snap a couple pictures to post on my Instagram, for my followers to see, and have a chance to come out to purchase. I didn’t do a good job of promoting the market, too caught up in a certain someone who makes me see stars.

Once I am satisfied, everything is perfect, I sit down in the chair and wait for the market to open, my legs bouncing with nervous energy. The other vendors, those who have helpers, get the chance to walk around and get first choice, before the crowd starts to come through. I used to do that. My mom would watch, and we would take turns walking around. There’s something special about wandering around the market before it’s open. Something no one else gets to experience. It’s hard to explain.

Not today though. Today I’m all by myself.

Scrolling mindlessly through TikTok while I wait for the market to open, my thoughts are interrupted when someone clearing their throat stands in front of my tent, to gain my attention.

I look up and see the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on. If I swung that way, I’d let her step on me, and say ‘thank you,’ with a smile. I can tell she’s taller than me, without even needing to stand up. Her white blonde hair, that looks like Elsa’s from Frozen , curls that falls over her breast, and down her back. I find myself swallowing, as my eyes travel down and up her body. She’s wearing black leather pants, I know if she turned around they’d make her ass look amazing. She’s wearing a black crop top, her flat stomach drawing my eyes to it, I squint my eyes and see a red jewel pierced on her belly button.

When I finally tear my eyes away from her body, I look at her face and the smirk playing on her lips, with her golden brown eyes, has me squirming in my seat. Am I getting turned on by this woman? I stand up to ask her if she needs any help, but when her eyes travel down my body, and she steps closer, making me step back, the words lodge in my throat. Yep, totally getting turned on by her.

I swallow past the lump, “Can I help you with something?”

She tilts her head as if she didn’t understand my question. She reaches up and grabs a piece of my hair, lifting it to inspect it. “I like your hair, it's the color of a raven.” I look at where she’s looking, and she drops my hair, walking over to look at the paintings, as if she never touched me. I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

She skims her perfectly manicured fingers across a painting of a flock of ravens, titled ‘Unkindness’. “Like this,” she says. “Did you know ravens are associated with death and illness? They also never forget a pretty face.” She walks back over to me, brushes her hand across my cheek. “If I were a raven, I’d never forget your face.”

Is she flirting with me? I touch the spot she just touched, and stare in awe at how hypnotic she is. Here I am letting this goddess touch me, and instead of telling her to back off, or to keep her hands to herself, I stand frozen letting her do what she wants.

Walking back over to the paintings, she pulls the one I painted of a lone fox, with a bloody mouth and paws, sitting in the forest, an assortment of colors in the sky. “I’ll take this one.”

We walk over to the podium I have set up, she hands me her card, and I swipe it. “Thanks.” She says and walks away with the painting tucked under her arm.

My brain starts working again, and I yell after her, “I forgot to wrap your painting!”

She turns her head, her pearly whites showing as a smile crests her face, “No need. I’m sure I’ll see you again.” With those parting words, I watch her walk away and stand in a daze.

What does seeing me again have to do with protecting her painting?

I see two friendly faces of the elderly couple Mr. and Mrs. Fredericks walking over to my table, breaking the spell I was put under.

What was that?

The Fredricks have been married for forty-seven years. They own Fredericks Flowers and come to the market every Sunday to sell their gorgeous bouquets. The last time I saw them was at my mother’s funeral, they made a beautiful wreath to put over her grave. It was full of big and bright red roses, her favorite.

“Serena!” Mrs. Fredericks says gleefully with outstretched arms. I embrace her, and then her husband, the smile on my face feeling less forced than I expected.

“How are you, my dear? It’s been, what?” She looks at her husband for an answer she can’t seem to find.

“Five years,” he says without missing a beat.

She looks back at me and grabs my hands, making me wince. “Five years, oh my, has it really been that long?”

I squeeze her hands, tears pricking at the edge of my eyes. “It has.”

Her eyebrows raise to her hairline when she looks down at my hands, “Good heavens, what happened?” She asks, concern coating her voice.

I pull my hands away, the memory of last night coming to play like a movie in my mind. I rub at the cut, a small smile playing on my lips. I look up, meeting her worried eyes, “I accidentally cut it while cooking last night, trying to filet fish.”

Her brows pinch together accusingly, “Be more careful. I’m glad you’re okay.” I nod in response.

She looks at me with sad, knowing eyes. Eyes that hold a lifetime of stories, ones she has told me and Mom many times over. She has lived a long fulfilling life. A pang of jealousy washes over me, that she is here, and my mother is not, but it’s gone just as fast when I look into her blue wrinkled eyes.

“We’re glad you’re back, dear. Aren’t we, Jerry?” She nudges him, he finally looks at me with pitiful eyes, eyes he knows I don’t like to see.

“We have. We’ve missed your energy here.”

We stare at one another for a while, unsure of what to say, until we hear Mrs. Fredericks squeal. We both jump and look. She stands holding a new piece I just finished a few weeks ago.

It’s an autumn day, with the sun just setting painted in the background. There’s a silhouette of a couple kissing next to a motorcycle. Leaves the color of fire and passion drift down from a tree falling over and around them.

She stands staring, captivated at the sight, a single tear falling from her eye. “Oh, Jerry, doesn’t this take you back?”

He walks over to her, putting his arm around her, and looks down at the painting. You can see he, too, is getting lost in a shared memory, the two of them seeming to turn back time right in front of me. Looking up, he whispers, “How much?”

Smiling at the sight of them, I shake my head as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. I grab his hands gently pushing him away. He persists and tries to hand me a hundred-dollar bill. I close his hand around the bill, and say, “I’ll take the story over this, whenever you have a chance, that is worth more than money to me.”

He smiles, nodding his head with understanding, and puts the money back in his pocket. Looking at his wife, he pulls her close, and says. “I like the way you tell the story more, Alice.”

Grabbing her hands, I squeeze them quickly before I sit her down in my chair. I walk over to my car and grab the other two I brought out of habit. Coming back, Jerry and I take a seat. With tearful eyes, ghosting her fingers across the painting, Alice begins her story.

“Back in the day, we used to ride as if we’d never have the chance again. We’d leave when the sun set, not returning until it rose again in the morning. We stopped riding fifteen years ago, when Jerry had his hip replaced. I could still ride, but it wasn’t the same without my Jer beside me. So we put up our bikes.” She looks down at the painting, running a hand over the bike. “Oh, how I miss the wind in my hair, the free flying feeling we used to get. We were birds, taking flight, everynight. Together.”

I sit there in silence, letting her tell her story and listening to it as if the words would pull me from the darkness I felt falling for once more. Reliving the memory with her as she spoke her words.

“This painting brings me back to one night in particular. It was autumn in Salem, and the leaves had just changed their colors. The weather, oh, the weather was perfect.” She looks up and stares at the sky and takes us into her memory. “It was close to Halloween, and we all know how it gets here around October, especially with the tourists. The town was littered with people.”

I nod in understanding, cringing as I remember how it is about to become with October approaching.

“Back then, we all did more walking than driving.” She grabs her husband's hand and places it on her lap, his eyes locked on Alice as she fights the smile lifting her cheeks. “After a long day of window shopping, we go home and Jerry says he has a surprise for me.” She looks over to her husband with such loving eyes, the same excitement she’d felt all those years ago still in her voice. “We walk up the driveway, and he tells me to close my eyes, which, of course, I do, but I can’t help myself. I peek as soon as I hear him walk away. Once the garage opened, I gasped and saw a motorcycle, sitting there with a giant red bow on the seat, the same one my daddy used to drive. The same one I’d told Jer about growing up, some of my favorite memories are of helping my daddy fix, and ride that bike until it was well and truly a part of the road. I cried so much at the sight of it, it was a red 1942 Indian Jr Scout.”

I bite my lip, trying to hold my tears at bay. I’d hate to interrupt such a wonderful memory.

She looks over at me, still holding her husband's hand. “You probably don’t know what that is, before your time, but look it up later. It was a classic, for good reason too. Anyways, that night he took me out. I held on, and he drove. We explored Salem all night, as if we were the tourists. We stopped in the middle of nowhere, and there was a tree with leaves falling just like in your painting. We stood under that tree and watched the sun come up, in each other's arms. He kissed me, and that was the beginning of our biker journey together.”

Jerry brings his wife's wrinkled hand to his lips and kisses it. They stare at one another, so much love in their eyes. Love I hope to find one day.

The way their eyes shine while looking at one another, has me thinking of the green eyes that have given me the same look.

Alice breaks the stare and looks over at me. “Thank you for letting me relive this day.”

I shake my head, fighting tears as my heart drums in my chest. “No, thank you.”

We all get up, Jerry helping her, peaceful silence settling around us. Absolutely worth so much more than what money could buy.

“Want me to wrap that up for you?”

She hands me the painting with shaking hands. “Would you, dear? Thank you.”

I grab the painting, carefully protecting it with specialty film, and offer to put it in their car. Jerry shakes his head and says he will do it, as they walk away hand in hand, lost in their own world of bikes and fiery bursts of color.

I stare at them as they leave, wondering what life they led to get to here.

I’m startled from my thoughts when I hear a male voice I don’t recognize. “They’re such a beautiful couple.”

“They really are,” I say, turning around annoyed to see who interrupted such a peaceful moment.

Looking up I see a beautiful man, with golden eyes. A smile that reaches the orbs, giving them a spark of life you don’t often see, dimples popping out of each cheek. His hair a deep mahogany with slight curls framing his head. His face is covered in a darker beard, not long, but not stubble either. You can tell he takes his time with it, it is cut to perfection and looks more groomed than a show dog.

“You have beautiful paintings.”

I walk back behind the table, shivers racking through me. “Thank you, if there is anything I can help you with, let me know please.”

He nods his head and begins browsing.

He is good looking, and someone I would go for, the ruggedly handsome look has always been my weakness. He’s attractive, yes, but there is something off about his energy. The longer I look at his eyes when he looks at me, the more crazed they become. I hope he leaves fast. I wish Aster was here.

I wonder where he went this morning. Did he leave last night after I fell asleep? He didn’t even leave me a message, nothing. Did I do something wrong? After the night we shared, I thought we grew closer. Now I’m just sitting here, left on read, wondering what happened.

I jump when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I was saying miss for a while, and when you didn’t hear me, I thought the next thing to do was to tap your shoulder.”

“I’m so sorry, I was in my head. What can I help you with?”

“No problem, I get lost in my head, too.”

My eyes soften, “Really?”

He smiles sweetly at me. “Really.” He stares into my eyes longer than I’m comfortable with, forcing me to look away.

I don’t know why, but another man staring at me with eyes of desire makes me feel guilty. I know Aster and I aren’t together, but he is the only one I want. He is the only one I need . He makes me feel beautiful and wanted; when he isn’t leaving me on read. Last night was like something out of one of my dark romance books, and every minute of it was perfect. Normal people would have been horrified being fucked with a knife, but I’ve never been a normal girl. When I saw him bleeding to bring me pleasure, something inside me cracked, and I found myself wanting to bleed for him too.

He clears his throat and points to one of my paintings. “How much for this one?”

The painting is of a wrinkled hand holding the hand of a young man. The background is a light blue blending into a sky blue with wisps of white clouds all around. It feels surreal and grounded at the same time. It’s one of my favorites in my collection.

Walking over, I turn it over. “This one is sixty.” He’s leaning over my shoulder, trying to see where I’m looking, I point at the price, fighting the shiver from how close he is. “If you want to see any of the prices, you just turn it over, it is at the bottom.”

Putting the painting back where it was, I turn around and bump right into him. Holding my breath, I back away, and move to the side. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I mumble, avoiding his stare.

“No reason to be sorry.”

He smiles down at me, and I feel all the hair on my arms raise. Remembering that feeling, I glance around, looking for the one person who elicits my goosebumps to rise. Looking around and not seeing him, I drop my head and walk over to the other side of my booth and start rearranging my paintings. Doing anything, but talking to my customer. Which is rude, I know, but I have a feeling he has other motivations for being here.

Tapping my shoulder once again, I refrain from rolling my eyes, already knowing who it is. I turn around and see Mr. Touchy holding the painting he was asking about.

“I’d like this one, please.”

“Sounds great.” I force a smile, grabbing the painting from him and begin wrapping it up. He hands me a hundred-dollar bill, and my blood freezes. Without touching him, I say, “It was only sixty, remember.”

He grabs my hand, placing the bill in it “I remember, this is your tip.”

I slowly pull my hand out of his “Thank you.”

“It's for my mom, I hope this makes her smile. She has been going through it lately.” My brows draw together, but I focus on finishing his purchase. Without responding, he continues. “You see, my brother went missing a couple weeks ago. Mom has a bad feeling something happened to him.” He pauses to look me in the eyes. The dread I feel is unexplainable, but he takes my silence as permission to continue. “I think he’s just gone on one of his excursions, turning off his phone and escaping reality. He does this all the time, but Mom is sure something has happened because he hasn’t been gone this long before.”

“Sorry, to hear that, I’m sure you’re right, and he will be back before you know it.” I hand him his now wrapped painting, “I hope she likes it,” I respond in a half-hearted kind of way.

My smile wavers while he hesitates to take his painting. He’s trying to tell me about his life when I didn’t ask for it. All I can think about is Aster. Why hasn’t he replied? Is he really somewhere watching this interaction? The touchy mama’s boy seems nice, plus he’s cute, in a creepy way, and is relatable. Being as close to his mom as I was to mine.

“She will.” He smiles at himself, like he just made my day or something. Just as he starts to walk away, he turns around and heads back over to me.

Fuck.

I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever he is about to say.

“I know I’d kick myself if I didn’t ask, but do you want to grab coffee sometime?”

There is such hope in his eyes, and after all the touching and bumping he did, I’m not surprised he’s asking me out. Feeling goosebumps rise again, I look around and come up empty again. I think about Aster being somewhere lurking, watching, and my heart thunders in my chest as my core clenches around nothing. These goosebumps are not for nothing, I know he’s somewhere, and after leaving me on read. I feel a little vindictive.

I smile, batting my lashes at Mr. Touchy, reaching over to grab his arm, and I see his Adam's apple bob, and say in the sultriest voice I can muster, “I would love to have coffee with you.”

He’s shocked at my response, probably already gearing himself for rejection. “Wow, really? Based on your body language, I was sure you were going to say no. I mean, I’m glad you didn’t.” He reaches out a hand, a brilliant smile stretching his face. “I’m Bradley, thought you should know the name of the guy who just asked you out.”

Taking his hand in mine, I shake it, saying, “I’m Serena.”

Without releasing my hand, he stays holding it, scratching his thumb along my skin.“The market ends at three. Want to meet up at the coffee shop across the street then?”

I look over his shoulder, at the little coffee shop, then glance back at him. “I would love to.” The words come out as a lie, as I look around once more for my green eyed man. He is not going to be happy about this. Serves him right.

With a huge smile, he finally releases my hand “Great! I’ll see you soon.” He walks away, looking back to wave goodbye. I wave back at him, a stiff smile on my face.

I walk back into the booth, plopping down into my chair and bury my face in my hands. “What did I just agree to?”

“Yes, what did you agree to, little lamb?”

My muscles lock, my entire body frozen as the timbre of a voice I’d recognize anywhere washed over me. I look up and see angry eyes staring back at me.

Double Fuck.

He barrels around the table, bracing his arms on either side of my chair, leaning in close and breathing in my ear. “You’re mine .”

His breath tickles my neck as we hang suspended in the moment, neither of us knowing what to do next. He pushes away, nearly knocking my chair over and strides through the crowd without looking back. It takes me a second to gather my thoughts before I get up racing after him. It’s not like that! Let me explain . Just as I reach him, I see a crowd of people forming at my booth. Groaning, I glance between the crowd and Aster before turning back around and losing sight of Aster completely.

I’ll text him when I get a moment. He needs to let me explain.

The rest of the day goes by in a flash. Apparently, the town was waiting on bated breath for my return to the market. I’m still not sure how I feel about that. Finishing the day, and completely forgetting about my coffee date with Bradley, I’m cleaning up when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, I thought we could walk over to the coffee shop together.”

I turn around, already regretting my vindictive promise, especially after Aster showed up earlier. Debating on canceling, but seeing the excitement in his eyes I regrettably say, “Let me just put the rest of these paintings away, and we can go.”

Closing the trunk of my car, I turn around, and before I can walk over to him, Aster is there between us. I can’t see his face, but every muscle in his body is tight, his fists trembling at his sides as he gets in Bradley’s face. He stands towering over him by a foot, and in a threatening voice says, “She’s mine.”

Before Bradley can respond, or before I have time to process what is even happening, Aster turns around, grabs me forcefully by the arm and pulls me away. I feel a tug on my other arm, Bradley grabbing me trying to stop whatever is happening. “She didn’t say she had a boyfriend.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Aster releases my arm, and stalks over to Bradley. In a blink of an eye, his hand is around his throat. Aster lifts him in the air with more ease than I thought possible, even despite his size. The veins in his arms bulge from holding Bradley up. Shaking him for good measure, Aster brings his head to Bradley’s ear and says again “She. Is. Mine .” Venom flows through every word he spits, before he throws Bradley onto the ground. Silence falls across the market, everyone watching, but no one brave enough to take on Aster alone. Growling, Aster grabs my hand and pulls me away from a hurt and confused Bradley still sitting on the ground.

I stare up at Aster, anger rolling off of me. Not from hurting Bradley, but from the fact that he showed up after ghosting me, and is dragging me to God knows where. Pissed, but also a little turned on, I stay silent and plant my feet into the ground.