Rose
It’s odd, seeing Abel in anything other than his blue scrubs, faded and formless. It was even stranger seeing his naked body. I only caught a glimpse of his penis and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was partially erect. I blush as I remember the sight of it.
I turn to peek back at him, noticing his frown. It’s almost painful, how beautiful he is—his skin a little flushed, his dark eyes narrowed a bit.
I wonder when we’ll kiss again. Or when he’ll teach my body to orgasm. I’ve never done that before. These are the things I’m thinking as we drive along.
At a stoplight, he reaches for my face and kisses me, as if he read my mind. His hands cup my chin and when he brings me back for another I sigh.
There are no casual kisses between us, I’m convinced. Every kiss is like a message to my soul. As if Abel is wordlessly reminding me that he’s a monster’s miracle. Whether slow and tortuous or quick and hard, every kiss makes my heart tumble.
We stop and get gas and I stay in the truck, aware that it’s likely best not to tempt fate—even if fate isn’t something I’d previously subscribed to. I watch as Abel takes the plastic bag filled with our old clothes and tosses it into the dumpster on the side of the building. Like that chapter of our lives is gone forever.
We’re back on the road and I tell him where to head as my eyes start to droop. Several times, I jerk awake, expecting to be back in my bed at Silverwing. Every time, Abel squeezes my hand as if to tell me it’s okay and that I can go to sleep.
But I don’t because even though I’m thoroughly exhausted, I’m filled with a strange adrenaline that doesn’t quite take off but sits in my abdomen. The way it buzzes is the only way I can tell it even exists.
After an hour, I fiddle with the radio and Abel smiles, his eyes still on the road. I’m wishing we were already settled somewhere comfortably. I want his eyes and his hands and those lips. I want the things I didn’t let myself dream of at Silverwing.
Hope is dangerous until you meet someone who can give it a pulse, I suppose.
Abel drives confidently, just a little over the speed limit, sometimes more than a little when he seems to think he can get away with it. And somehow he does because just as the tank starts to hit the empty zone, we’re pulling into my tiny old town. Part of me wants to press my nose against the glass and take in all the inevitable changes but a larger part of me knows I can’t be seen so I remain in my seat, content to observe what I can in passing.
“Has it changed much?” Abel’s deep voice cuts through my weary worries.
And I nod because even if the rickety truck rolling through makes it hard to notice every detail, this relic of a place has seen noticeable updates. “Life went on without me,” I whisper.
“Shit, I don’t know if mine would.”
He’s frowning a little when I look over and I risk not seeing all the changes just to stare at him. I direct him all the way to my mother’s neighborhood.
The larger houses giving way to mansions and driveways full of foreign vehicles. Acres of land that boast lush gardens and impeccable green grass.
I’ll bet my father’s murder rocked my neighbors to their core. But I still can’t find it in me to care, knowing my mother slept with some of these husbands when my father wasn’t looking.
My house doesn’t look as formidable as it did in my dreams. It’s just another large house with brick exterior and a winding driveway. It sits on top of a hill, far enough away from the end of the cul-de-sac to give my mother the privacy she required but with a neighborly touch. A woman full of contradictions and secrets.
“So, what’s the plan?” He asks as he parks the car outside the driveway. “If she’s in there, you can’t kill her.”
My brows are drawn before I know it. “If I wanted to, I would. And you couldn’t tell me otherwise.” I don’t like the way my chest pinches at the thought of Abel denying me what I’ve waited years for.
“No, I don’t mean ever , baby. Just at a better time? When we’re…stable?”
That word makes me stop again. It’s like that word has some kind of magic over me. Does Abel know that? Is he saying it so I’ll react calmly? Does he know he’s my weakness?
Baby. That word makes any annoyance I might’ve had pause and ebb. His eyes sparkle at his insistence; those beautiful brown eyes that his mother hated but I… love .
Love is frightening and so much bigger than I am. Perhaps it’s my love that forces my nod. I know we’ll never be in a better place. I know that if I see my mother inside, I’ll kill her, but I don’t tell Abel that because that might be what love does to me. It makes me want to lie to him to keep him happy—something I’d never done before.
I hate liars.
Love makes me a liar to keep him happy.
If he’s happy, he won’t leave me.
In my love, I’m frightened.
In my love, I’m a liar. For him.
“So, what’s the plan, ?” he repeats, snapping me from my thoughts.
I blink a few times as my brain begins to function again. “There’s a safe inside. My father used to keep emergency cash in there. I don’t know if my mother ever knew that safe existed.”
It’s like I can hear my father in my ear, telling me and my sister that he’d hid some money away in case we ever needed it. Had he known I’d meet my demise by my mother’s lies? Had he known I’d be the one to take his life?
I try to shrug it off, but Abel’s eyes are so direct. They’re staring into my soul and I am shame personified. “I don’t know.” I try to say what I’m feeling but I don’t know the words, so that’s all I offer, even though he didn’t ask me anything.
“Does thinking of him make you sad?”
I shake my head and blink away the moisture in my eyes. “No. It fuels my need to kill her.”
Abel doesn’t say anything else and sitting here under his watchful gaze makes me antsy. It’s time for me to go inside.
“I’ll be back,” I whisper, taking a deep breath to prepare me.
He stops my head from its turning, his palms against my jaw. Heavy is the head …it’s so very nice to rest my head in his hands.
“You be careful.”
“I will,” I assure him. He stares at me for a good while and I’m staring right back, pretending not to be worried. “If I don’t make it out…”
He presses his lips to mine before I can finish, and I part my lips to let him in.
I can’t read his mind, but I can read his lips as his tongue slides between them to stroke mine.
Make it back to me .
I pull away before I start to second guess myself. Without another word, I slide out of the car and run toward the first tree. I don’t see anyone out, even in the foggy daylight that looks more gray than anything else. I rush the rest of the way, always looking around, ready to dive into hiding.
I make it to the front of the house with no problem and I don’t stop because stopping could make me nostalgic and any emotion would weaken me right now.
Knowing my mother, she hasn’t changed the locks, she hasn’t removed the spare key from its place inside the lantern, and she hasn’t changed a single thing in her life because she thinks I’m no longer a threat. She probably still has my father’s last name and pretends to be a grieving widow, embarrassed by her insane daughter.
I reach inside the lantern and, sure enough, it’s there. Her smugness infuriates me, but I inhale deeply before nodding at Abel. He remains in the car as I unlock the door and step inside.
I wish I’d told him to drive down the road. An ugly car like that will attract the attention of the nosey neighborhood wives who like to take brisk walks with each other in the morning to legitimize their gossiping sessions.
I wonder how many of those gossip sessions included my family.
As I enter, I realize nothing has changed. Not a single thing is different, and it almost feels like I’ve stepped inside a time machine. The house is quiet, and I wonder if anyone is here. By the looks of it, I’m alone. But I remain quiet as I maneuver in the place I used to feel most safe in.
I pause in the kitchen and open one of the drawers—the drawer that I know holds the knives. I don’t touch any of them, but I see it sitting there among the others like it’s just another blade. It isn’t. Sharpened and polished to perfection, this is the knife that I’ll kill my mother with.
It has sentimental value, after all. Before I can delve into my memories, I push the drawer closed and move toward the steps.
I walk up the stairs as quickly as I can and can’t help but glance in my sister Grace’s room. Empty.
The pink comforter is stretched tightly across the bed and nothings out of place. Typical Grace; the perfect daughter. And I never begrudged her for it because she truly was. So kind, she sobbed the day they dragged me out of the courtroom.
I’m torn between disappointment and relief. If she isn’t home, there’s a good chance my mother isn’t either.
I head to my old room and expect the worst as I turn the knob.
All my things are boxed, and my bed is gone. Dust is settled on every surface and the air is stale. This place should remind me of my halcyon days, when I wasn’t another member of the cattle and before I’d taken my father’s life; but all it does is remind me of how misplaced I was here. I wasn’t quite out but I certainly wasn’t in.
I rifle through my old things, grab a backpack, and stuff clothes, shoes, and a few other things inside it. My ears hear all types of creaks and groans throughout the house but every time I pause, there’s only silence. I grab my backpack and head toward my mother’s room.
My body feels warm and my vision is distorting. I can feel my violence taking over at the thought of being faced with her. But when I push her door open, her bed is empty and made. As I stand here, staring at the bed my father died in, the phone rings, making me jump. A few more rings and the ancient answering machine—a quirk of my father’s—picks up.
“Mrs. Montgomery, this is Dr. Joe Brown at Silverwing Mental Institution. If you could give me a call at your earliest convenience?—”
I press the button to silence the message as I sit on my mother’s bed.
So, he wanted to warn her? How kind of him.
I reach over and press the “delete” button once the light indicates the voicemail arrival.
It’s too late, Joe.
You can’t stop karma. Not when she takes human form.