𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐩'𝐬 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 | +𝟏𝟖

𝘛𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘱

❈•≫────≪•◦ ❦ ◦•≫────≪•❈

|  |   𝟏   |  |

I glance down at the table in my living room near the fireplace. The crackling of the fire as wood becomes charcoal breaks under stifling flames. I sit in the armchair in front of the small coffee table, still analyzing how I managed to attain the attention of a deranged psychotic stalker. 

A single black tulip flower rests on the wooden furniture, the color is significantly black under dim lighting but out in the natural morning or afternoon lighting, it radiates a reddish purplish color.

I've been receiving these eccentric gestures for the last two months, a twisted way of someone confessing their maddening feelings for me. At first, the gesture was something I found outside of my house at my doorstep but as I feigned ignorance to the existence of this petty shortlived infatuation, it became more alarming.

I started to find black tulips all over my house, my kitchen, the living room, the bedrooms, and even the bathroom. I even begin to start searching for them at every turn, but what is even more disturbing is that I begin finding them in my office at work. A place that is more tightly secured than my own house considering I have confidential information locked inside there. 

I wanted to know who this mysterious person was, but whenever they were here, I was either at work or dead asleep in my bed, none the wiser of the danger lurking inside what should be a safe haven.

I stretch my right hand out to grab hold of the flower, bringing it up to my nose as I take a quick sniff. Just like the rest, it smells of intoxicating narcotic and unfamiliar scent I have never smelled before. An aroma that makes you wary of what could possibly kill you but at the same time a fragrance that screams, 'You're mine.'

It's addicting.

I remember reporting this to the police, telling them I potentially have a stalker, someone who has been breaking and entering my house and could potentially kill me but without evidence, I can't file a report. I have thought of giving them these flowers, but I somehow talk myself out of it. 
Why do I do that, when it could bring an end to this sick game?

I sigh as I twirl the flower between my fingers and try to picture what my Ericka is doing right now. The thoughts of her smiling and having fun bring comfort in my darkest days.

Feeling the heat resonating from the fireplace, I rest my head back on the couchtop, closing my eyes, I try to picture her hugging me even though it's been over a year since I've seen her. Over a year ago my ex-husband was caught by the authorities in dealings with an organized criminal group aka, the mafia. Which one, however, was not told to me and since then I have had fears of people trying to get to me through my daughter. So, I sent her to the United Kingdom where my parents currently reside. I don't know the kind of people he had dealings with and I surely don't wish to entertain the idea but after he was sentenced to life, he mysteriously disappeared from the strong grip of jail and was never heard of again. 

I can't believe that asshole, after digging a very deep grave, I can't tell if he's throwing bodies in or laying in one himself.  

I stand from the couch, plucking the petals from the tulip, and slowly step over to the silver mesh trash can and dispose of the flower like the rest of them. I then make my way up the stairs and enter my room, pushing through the door and into the bathroom.

I begin to strip my body of all the clothing I wore to work today while turning the tap and allowing the shower to heat up. Looking at the wall mirror as I undress, I peer at the woman who glares right back at me.