The Blue Rose

26. Serena

TWENTY-SIX

SERENA

S tage four. That's what the doctor said. Only has a couple months, if that, left. My mom, the brightest, happiest person in the room, suddenly has a ticking clock, and it’s moving too fast. Everywhere she went, there was light. Even the most miserable of people couldn’t help but smile at her. She was, is , everything.

How could a person, who has so much love to give and who has helped so many people, be dying so quickly? When Mom first got diagnosed, it wasn’t this bad. She was only stage two, and the doctor had high hopes for a full recovery. She even did clinical trials to slow down the cancer.

It was working at first. She didn’t have to go through chemo anymore. That stuff only kills you faster anyway. Her color started to return, and her hair slowly started growing back. The doctor said the treatments were working with a fucking smile on his face.

So why now? Why after all this time? Why did it stop working, and how did it progress so fast? The doctors can’t explain it, and they say she’s deteriorating fast, from the inside out. I feel like my world is falling apart, that I’m dying right alongside her, and there is no one who can stop the pain from killing us both.

Dad screams at the doctors for their mistake, the veins in his neck throbbing. Mom is pulling on his arm, trying to calm him down and holding back the tears I know are threatening to fall.

Me? I want to cry and scream, but I feel numb. Broken. Empty. I sit, unable to comprehend the doctor's words, the chaos of the room flowing through me.

My mom comes over and touches my shoulder, my heart pounding with fear. “Honey, are you okay?”

I just stare at her, frozen. The words I want to say, the tears I want to cry, don’t come. They’re stuck. Refusing to come out. Dead. Just like she will be.

“Serena, everything is going to be okay. Doctors make mistakes all the time; it is a part of life. I’m here if you need to talk, hunny. You know I’ll always be here.”

I nod my head knowing it’s what I should do but not hearing her words. The world around me stands still, I feel like I’m floating. I feel like I’m in a wave pool, and waves are trying to pull me back as I try to swim free.

Dad curses the doctors, as they leave, and he comes over and hugs Mom. She starts to sob in his arms, he rubs her head telling her they will figure this out, and Dad pulls me into their embrace.

We stay like that for a while, simply holding one another. Mom crying, dad holding back his tears, and me staring into the abyss.

It isn’t until we get back home and I take a scalding hot shower that the tears finally fall. I have the music loud so my parents can’t hear me fall apart. They don’t need my pain added to theirs. They never have. Especially not now. We all need to be strong, and I need to be there for Mom for whatever time she has left. I hug myself crumpled on the shower floor, letting the water hit my back, and cry and cry and cry. It isn’t until my fingers and toes start to prune, and the water runs cold, that I finally get out.

I head to my room, not bothering to get dressed or turn on the light. Laying in bed, wrapped in my towel, I watch the fan go around and around, until finally my eyes start to drift closed. I tumble into the abyss of my sweet nightmare knowing nothing could be worse than my current reality.

It’s been six months since we got the news from the doctor. Longer than anyone expected, and for that, we are grateful. But it hasn’t been easy. Mom is dying. The light that once shined so brightly has been completely snuffed out. She is bedridden and can’t even eat anymore. She has food bags, and hydration IVs. Her skin is pale, and she can barely speak. Dad only visits her at night to say goodnight, but every Saturday he sets up little dates in her room. Every Saturday they both look forward to it, and the light returns to Mom’s eyes briefly, until sleep claims her.

I visit her every morning and every night, talking to her and telling her about my day. Most days it’s to complain about Jessica and how she’s being cruel or mean. I try not to complain too much, but Mom insists I tell her everything. She said after that incident in high school I needed to ditch her, and I did. For a while. Then I got lonely. I had no friends, and Jessica apologized. We were really good for a long time after that, she would only make rude remarks every once in a while. All I would need to do is give her a look and she’d shut up.

Lately though it feels like we are right back in high school, and I am getting fed up. With my mom being as sick as she is, Jess should understand I want to spend as much time with her as I can. I don’t know how much time I have left. But she’s always been a selfish narcissist and canceling on her every time she wants to go somewhere is making it all worse. The rude comments, the snide remarks, her commenting on my weight, or what I’m wearing. She’s looped back into her old habits of bringing me down to make herself feel better. I can’t handle being her personal punching bag anymore, so the best solution I’ve come up with to avoid the drama she brings is to just ignore her. Until I can erase her from my life for good.

It’s time for me to go see Mom, I’m going to tell her how I’ve finally decided to follow her advice. To let Jessica go once and for all, and not fall back into old habits. I’m bouncing with each step I take, getting excited, knowing how happy the news will make Mom.

Walking in, I see Mom in her bed, IV’s hooked up and her hair a mess. Dad is sitting next to her, holding her hand. They’re talking in soft voices, both of their eyes closed. They don’t notice I’m standing in the door, I freeze and just watch them. Soaking in a moment I don’t know if I’ll ever see again.

My parents are so in love. The look in my dad’s eyes while he talks to her about his day is like how a couple looks at one another when they first fall in love, but there is also sadness shining in his eyes. An understanding. A begrudging acceptance.

Mom is the first to notice me as she looks past Dad and gives me a small smile. Dad turns around, following her gaze.

“Serena, is it time already for you to see mom?” he asks, a pitch of sadness in his tone. I nod my head, and Dad kisses Mom goodbye, Gripping my shoulder he looks at me and whispers, “She isn’t doing too good today, don’t stay long, she needs rest.”

I tap his hand to let him know I heard him, something we’ve started doing when difficult news needs to be shared in front of Mom. He leaves the room but doesn’t close the door all the way.

“Hey, Mom; how are you feeling today?”

Dad’s right, Mom doesn’t look good. She looks paler than usual, and her lips are so chapped the skin is flaking. Her arms and hands have become so boney, and her cheeks have sunken in more, she looks like a barely breathing skeleton.

“I’m okay, honey,” she wheezes, unable to say anymore.

I take the glass of water on her nightstand and hold the straw to her lips so she can take a little sip. “How’s that, Mom?”

She coughs a little, drinking too much, but nods her head. “I want to talk to you about something important, Serena.”

My body tenses and I set the cup down, bracing myself for what’s to come. She only uses my name when it is serious. “What is it?” I ask, wariness in my voice.

“I’m dying,” she whispers.

We all know that, but we don’t talk about it. We like to live in denial, yet Mom is flat out saying it now. Why?

“I know, mom.” I say looking down.

“Not fast enough,” she rasps.

My head shoots up, and my eyes go wide. What does she mean by that?

“I need you to help me go,” she croaks.

I start shaking my head violently. “No. Mom, you can’t be serious. I know things are bad, but they could,” my voice breaks, tears filling my eyes. “No; they will get better. Don’t say things like that. Please, Mom!” I cry.

She can’t ask me to do this. She’s my best friend. My rock. My person . Without her to guide me, I know I’ll fall apart. She wants to leave me forever, and she wants me to be the one to do it? No. I can’t. I won’t. I refuse.

She motions for her water once more, and I place the straw in her mouth. Her hand shakes as she tries to wipe her mouth. My heart breaks, watching my mother get closer to death's door. I grab a tissue and dab it softly; she smiles, thanking me without words.

“Serena, I’m not getting better. I won’t get better.” I start crying harder, and she takes my hands in hers. “Please, I can’t do this alone. I’m in so much pain. I hate the way you and your father look at me.” She coughs, spit dripping down her chin and clearing her throat. “Don’t think of this as me dying, think of it as setting me free. One day I’ll see you again.” She wipes the tears from my cheek. “This is my last wish. I need it to be you.”

Her dying wish. She needs me to set her free. I don’t… I stare down at my mother who already looks ghostly. She’s begging me to let her go, telling me goodbye without ever saying the words. She needs me to be strong. The strong girl she’s raised me to be.

I nod my head, letting the tears fall. She smiles, relief relaxing her muscles.

“Thank you.”

I kiss her head, grab a pillow, cover her face while closing my eyes and set her free. “I’ll see you again, Mom.” Once her monitor goes off, I sit there with a pillow still over her face.

My dad rushes in, yelling at me, asking me what I did, why I did it.

“She asked me to,” I whisper, staring at the pillow.

She’s gone. She’s really gone, and I am the reason why. She begged me, and I told her no. I couldn’t do that. Then she looked at me with such hopelessness and resignation in her eyes, and something in me snapped and agreed. I set my mom free. I’ll never see her in this life again. She’s gone. Forever.

I walk numbly back to my room, shutting my door, falling to the ground, and cry. I hear the sirens of an ambulance outside my door, voices of my dad and strangers talking. I sit like that all night, numb and motionless.

The tears stopped. My life is over . My eyes ache as the sun streams in through my window. How will I move on without my mom? How will I ever get over what I did?

6 MONTHS LATER…

After work, I take a shower, change into my pajamas, and head to my mom’s room to tell her about my day. Walking in, Mom is sitting up in bed, deep in a new book, a content smile on her face. When she sees me she beams and sets the books down, taking off her glasses and placing them on her night stand.

“How was work, honey?” she asks with the brightest smile on her face.

My mom is so beautiful with straight black hair, and eyes as blue as mine. I hope to look as good as her when I’m her age. She ages so gracefully; not a wrinkle in sight. The sickness she once had slowly faded away. The new clinical trial she was put on seems to be working, and it’s like she never had cancer at all.

We’re so lucky. I’ll never let any of us forget that.

“Work is work; whatcha reading?” I ask, plopping down next to her on the bed. I’m the youngest person working at Salem's busiest art gallery at just twenty-three years old. I couldn’t believe it when I got the call saying I was hired. The whole family celebrated; we went to our favorite Italian restaurant, then froyo after.

“Just a new romance book I found when I was browsing the bookstore.” She says with a slight blush, embarrassment lacing her features. Mom loves her spicy books, I don’t know why she feels so embarrassed to tell me about them. We all have our hobbies. Mine is art, and hers is book porn.

I lean on her shoulder and grab the book from her lap, placing the bookmark in it, before putting it next to her glasses. “Oh yeah? Tell me about it.” She launches into her story, all earlier embarrassment about her book forgotten. This one is about monsters and has tentacles and things that shouldn’t intrigue me but do.

Her words slur together, and she yawns, telling me she’s tired. It’s only four in the afternoon, but naps are the best for her continued improvement. So, I kiss her forehead and leave her room.

I start making dinner; Dad’s working late tonight again. I have a feeling he’s cheating on Mom. He’s been working late every night for several months and he comes home, a smile on his face, smelling of a woman who isn’t my mother. I will confront him one of these days, once I have the proof. He won’t get away with hurting Mom like that. She deserves better; I thought he loved her, but I guess love fades away if it was never true to begin with.

There’s a knock on the front door, making me stop chopping the onion. Who could be at the door? I’m not expecting anyone. I leave work at work, and I don’t have any friends. That night I told mom about kicking Jessica to the curb, that is exactly what I did. She hasn’t been a part of my life since that night, and I couldn’t be happier. Less drama, less stress.

I open the door, and freeze, my face morphing from shock to anger. Standing there is a face I haven’t seen in months. Blonde hair shining, brown eyes, looking like the shit she is. Jessica . “What are you doing here?” I say, crossing my arms, disdain lacing my face.

She pushes past me, ignoring my question. “What’s for dinner? Smells good.”

I shut the door behind me and stomp back to the kitchen. “I’m going to ask again; what are you doing here?”

She turns around, fake sadness in her eyes, “That’s no way to treat your best friend.”

I scoff, “Best friend? We haven’t been that in a long time.”

She places her hand over her heart, and in a mocking tone, says, “That hurts, Serena, I would have thought after your Mom died-”

“What?” I ask, eyes squinted and brows pinched together.

“What?” she asks back.

“My mom isn’t dead.”

Now she looks confused. “Uh, yeah, she is; she died, like, six months ago and then you disappeared. I thought it’s been long enough of this silent treatment, so I came over to tell you to knock this shit off. It’s getting old.”

I point to my mom’s room. “She’s not dead. I was just talking to her, telling her about work.”

“Work? You haven’t been to work since she died, Serena.”

I shake my head. “No; that's not true. You’re lying.”

She grabs my arm and drags me to my mom’s room, opens the door and points to her bed. “See? She’s not there; hasn’t been for six months. You’re crazy.” She walks back into the kitchen, and I just stand there looking at the dusty room.

My head begins to throb, and the longer I stare the more intense the throbbing becomes. Soon it becomes a pain so intense, my vision blurs and the room starts spinning. I close my eyes, clutching my head. I cry as I remember it all. Remembering I killed her.

I go back to the kitchen, my fists clenched, and teeth grinding. Jessica has her nasty little finger in my sauce tasting it. I take the knife from the counter and go back to chopping the onion.

How could I forget my own mother’s death and that I was the cause of it? What is wrong with me?

Jessica snaps her fingers in front of me. “Earth to Serena. Believe me now?”

“What?” I ask, still chopping.

“That your mom is dead. That you’re crazy and forgot. I don’t know how you could forget or why you thought she was still alive, but I can’t wait to tell everyone about it.”

I glance at her, anger coursing through my veins. “Fuck!” I pull my finger up, sucking the blood off, from where I cut it when I wasn’t paying attention.

“Are you dumb or something? Your blood is going to ruin dinner,” Jessica sneers, pure disgust on her face.

I pull my finger out of my mouth and look at the blood seeping from it, then look at the knife. Grabbing it, I glare at Jessica, and say, “Actually, your blood is going to ruin dinner.” I slice the knife across her arm. Blood pools out.

She screams, gripping her arm. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

I smile at her. “I’m crazy; isn’t that what you said?” I ask, cocking my head and stabbing the knife into her thigh so she can’t run. Jessica falls to the ground, grabbing her knee and crying uncontrollably. Her blood looks so pretty coated on my knife. My heart pounds, my own blood singing and begging for more. I want to make her bleed. I want every last drop of her life.

Snatching her hair, I drag her to my mom’s old room and throw her on the hardwood floor. She kicks, and screams, desperate for me to stop, but I’m bigger than her. She always loved to point that out, and now it is to my advantage. I sit on top of her and start punching her face, blood spraying everywhere. I take the knife and slice it across her chest, watching as the blood drips down, soaking her shirt.

She tries to buck me off, so I wrap my hands around her dainty little throat and watch as the life leaves her. Her eyes close and head falls to the side. I’m breathing heavily and angry. Angry she opened my eyes to my mom being dead. Angry my mind was playing tricks on me. Angry I didn’t get to torture her, if she died. I check her pulse. Still there, but barely. The anger starts to dissipate knowing I get to make the bitch, who made my life miserable for so long, scream.

I get up and walk to the kitchen, grab a chair, and slowly drag it down the hall. I go to the garage and grab some rope to tie her up with. Grateful my dad already has everything I need. I lift her body up, the rage inside me boiling over at how light the bitch is, and set her down. I tie her arms behind the chair and her feet to the legs, making sure it’s tight enough to leave marks. I want her perfect skin to be ruined.

Going back to the kitchen, I grab a glass of water and the blow torch I was going to use for creme brulee, numb to everything except the task at hand.

Walking back to the room, I splash the water on her face, startling her awake.

“What the fuck?” she groans as she starts to open her eyes and she tries to move, but quickly realizes she is tied up. “Are you out of your mind? Untie me right fucking now!” she screams.

“Not gonna happen,” I smirk, shaking my head. “Now be quiet, this may hurt.” I shove a sock in her mouth and bend down to slice her achilles, making her scream. Though it is muffled, it’s still loud enough for me to enjoy, a sinister smile, like the one Cheshire wears spreading across my face. I watch as her legs start to shake from the pain, and tears pool in her eyes. She glares at me with such hatred, it makes me slice the other one.

That’ll show you, bitch.

I trace the knife up to her face, placing the blade against her cheek. “You’ve always been so beautiful, Jessica. And you always loved to make me feel less than. I wonder how you would feel if I destroyed the one thing you love.” Her eyes go wide, and she starts pleading through the sock. Her cries go unanswered. I feel so much joy. So much power. Making her be the one begging for once. I place my hand to my ear. “Huh, what’s that? I can’t hear you? You want me to slice your beautiful face?” She starts shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I slowly drag the blade across her skin, watching as a red line forms behind my blade. The blood slowly drips down.

“You know, red never was your color. Maybe we should try something else. What do you say?” She doesn’t answer, turning her head away from me and squeezing her eyes shut.

This fucking bitch thinks she can look away from me; I’m going to make her look me in the eyes as I take away her power.

I take the sock out of her mouth, wanting to hear her beg and she spits at me. A wicked laugh escapes me, echoing around the room. I wipe the spit away, my eyes going wild. “I’m going to fucking ruin you when I get out of here. I’m going to have you locked up forever. You’re going to regret doing this to me. You’re a coward. A loser. A-” I silence her by shoving the sock back in.

“What makes you think you’re getting out of here?” I ask, head tilted and my hair falling over my shoulder. She cries, fear finally replacing the anger in her eyes.

I get in her face, gripping her chin with a bruising force and making her look me in the eye. “Some people are a poison, a weed that needs to be plucked.” I stand and grab the torch, the anticipation heavy between us. “A leech that sucks the life out of you. You, Jessica, are both. You have bled me dry for the last time. I’m through being your personal punching bag. I’m done being the weak little girl you made feel small.”

I turn the torch on and stare into the fire. “Do you know how to kill leeches?” I ask, not bothering to look at her.

Her cries get louder, and I know she’s trying to scream. Little help that will do her when no one can hear. I look her dead in her terrified eyes, “You burn them.” I take the torch and place it on her arm, watching as her skin starts to bubble. The room smells like torched flesh as I work my way up and down her body with the flame.

This is power. This is me taking back the confidence and control she stole from me. Too long have I let her slowly kill me, slowly take the light my mom tried to give me. I was too weak before, but calling me crazy? Saying she was going to tell everyone? I had to do something.

She has to die.

I don’t think about the consequences, and I keep burning long after her screams have stopped. Watching her feel a semblance of the pain she caused me brought a sense of peace I’d been yearning for for years. This earth being rid of her is the greatest blessing I could have given anyone.

I untie her hands and start burning each fingerprint off. Even in my haze of retribution I remember all the murder documentaries I spent countless hours watching. Every little thing to do to make a person unidentifiable. Leaving no trace of who she once was, I walk back to the garage and grab pliers from my dads tool box, ready to start plucking every single tooth from her mouth.

Even if she is found, she will forever be a Jane Doe. Maybe I’ll set her up and display her like the Morbid Monet would do. Maybe he’d come and find me to punish me for being a copycat. The idea makes me giddy. He tortures his victims in different ways, I’d just have to finish with his signature. The murder would be blamed on him, despite it not being his normal victim profile, and I would never get caught. I’ve been fascinated with him for so long, if he saw me now would he spare me? Help me kill her?

I don’t hear the front door open or hear my dad call out my name. I’m too lost in the fantasy of being the accomplice to the Morbid Monet. It isn’t until he walks into the room and starts shaking me that I’m pulled from my dream.

“Serena! Oh my god; what did you do?!” He looks at the burnt body before him. “Who is that, Serena?”

“Jessica,” I say with a huge smile spreading across my face. I drop the pliers, finally done with my task, and my dad pulls me into him.

“Everything will be okay. I’ll take care of it. Just go shower, and we will talk about this later.”

I nod my head and leave the room. He’s a lot calmer than I thought he’d be. Granted, maybe he’s used to me being a killer now. First mom, now Jessica. I really am a monster. Got to hand it to him though, he gets the Best Dad in the World award for not turning me in.

Turning on the shower, I watch as the blood goes down the drain. Hypnotizing me as my sins wash away with it. I hear the door open to the bathroom and peek out to see my dad grabbing my bloody clothes. He shuts the door softly behind him, and I stare down at my hands. The hands of a killer. That's what I am now.

I leave the shower, heading straight to my room and completely forgetting about dinner. I close my eyes and wish to dream of my nightmares, to find comfort and acceptance in what I did.

I fall asleep, and that night I don’t dream, not about anything.

The next morning, I wake up and go straight to the room my dad turned into my studio. A place where I can escape and perfect my art without any worries of the world.

Sitting down at my easel, I start to paint, each brush stroke starting to blur. I don’t know what I’m painting until it’s finished, and even then, I don’t understand. The canvas is of a faceless woman with cuts and burns all over her body and her teeth missing.

Looking at it starts to hurt my head, so I grab the red paint with shaky hands, my chest heaving, and throw it over the image. It looks like blood dripping over the image, hiding it away.

“Serena?” My dad pokes his head through the door, looking haggard and worn. “Is everything-” He stops talking as he stares at my painting, throwing it to the ground. “Have you lost your mind?!” He screams, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. “Why would you paint that?!”

Tears well in my eyes, my voice wobbly. ”What do you mean? I just started painting.”

“Do you have any idea what this could do? I just got rid of the evidence and you go and paint it?” He stops shaking at me, the vein in his neck throbbing.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What evidence?”

He turns his head, sympathy coating his eyes. “You don’t remember what happened last night?”

“No,” I whisper,

“Oh, Serena.” He pulls me into him, rubbing my back.

I pull out of his arms, confusion swirling through me.“What happened, Dad?”

“Nothing, baby; nothing happened.” He lets me go and walks over to the painting. “I’m just going to take this.” Then he leaves, leaving me there alone, wondering what he was talking about.

What happened last night? Why did he get so upset when he saw the painting? I put everything away with stilted movements. I don’t understand. What don’t I remember?