Roses

Painting the Roses Red

He shoved his hands into his pockets, grabbing hold of the one thing he brought into his new life. Carefully, as it was delicate, he undulated the heavy paper between his thumb and forefinger. He recalled the night the pale parchment fluttered from underneath the door to his apartment. He rubbed rhythmic circles around the thick paper, a nervous tick he had acquired since that night. It had began to yellow over the past few days, he frowned at the thought. He had hoped the color would remain pure, but like all things, it soon became tainted. He lazily began to remember that night, the events leading up to the illusive letter.

He summoned the memory of her lips, swollen and pink, the words that formed but never came, as she soon would fall silent. He remembered her skin, her hands... She was his his angel, Rose was. A fallen one. He could still see the rose colored liquid that pooled around her, as if it were her aura. Her destiny. In some way, he'd known this was her fate. Roses either wither and die, or are nipped in the bud at the age of ripeness. He did her a favor, besides she had disobeyed him. She had deceived his watchful eyes, his Rose, his Angel. Oh, Only if he had known she was carrying child, would he have reconsidered... But it was a bastard anyhow. They were not married and the likelihood of it being his offspring, as she had indeed whored around... Chances were slim, and chances were not to be taken. He'd lost his temper that night, as she confessed her sins. He kissed her once, one last time, and proceeded to take her literal breath away. As he returned home that night, carefully devising a plan, the thick pure parchment paper, along with a ticket stub and a small bronze key, sat still beside the microwave. He'd gotten the letter in the mail about a week ago, but didn't recognize the handwriting or the address. He made his way towards the counter on which the letter was sitting. Hesitantly, with shaking fingers he unfolded the letter.

1836 Brooks Lane, Rosewood Condos #6, Dallas Texas

Only trust the Rose.

Quickly he folded the paper, shoving it deep into his pocket. He plucked the ticket from off the floor, a one-way to Dallas and tucked it-along with the key-into his inner jacket pocket. He hadn't wasted much time getting out, no hesitation.

' He arrived at his new home at a decent time, the key, of course, was for the room. Laid upon the dining table were many manila files, soon he found they contained several legal documents concerning him and his new life. He was now, Taylor Kavinsky, a wealthy banker whom enjoyed the fancier side of life. A few days later, he received another letter stating he would attend the "Roses" gallery located at the Kettle Art Gallery. He'd realized now, as Taylor had finally escaped his thoughts, he'd been staring at the painting for a while. It was of a rose, dripping and smudged. It was morbid, yes, and beautiful, if there was such a combination of the two. He could see the strokes the artist had created, the thick layers of paint that caked upon the canvas as-

"I assume you are interested, sir?" A symphonic voice sounded behind him, her words caressing his ear, as Roses once did.

"I'll take it." The words were forced and clipped, he still had not mastered self control. The Lanky blonde with pale skin offered him a weak smile. She reached over to the panel, changing the green availability dot, to a red taken one. His jaw clenched as her dressed revealed much skin.

"It's a rather odd piece...is it not?" he shook his head, a breathy laugh escaping his lips.

"On the contrary love, it speaks in ways beings cannot. It is rather....alluring." She straightened her back and rolled her shoulder.

"I, for one, am more intrigued by the man standing in front of it," Taylor watched the fire dancing in her eyes, the same flame his dear Rose had once kindled for him.

"Tis' a dangerous game you play love, a dangerous one indeed." He clenched his fist, fighting the will to do unimaginable thing to her, this reincarnation of his Rose. His fate.

"And If I find danger...Alluring?" The word slipped off of her tongue effortlessly, deliciously. Her eyebrows climbed her forehead, indicating she was waiting for a response, a come back. She crossed her arms over her chest, flashing the inside of her wrist which contained a small simple tattoo of a rose.

Only trust the Rose.

A sly smile spread across his lips.

"You're-" A man walked up to the lady, his hand resting upon the crook of her elbow as he spoke.

"Excuse us," and she was gone. Taylor's temples began to throb, the same irritating pain that occured the night Rose had admitted to Adultery.

"Sir," Taylor turned towards the man slightly, his teeth grinding together. "Are you the one buying this painting?" Taylor shook his head slightly. The simple man did the same. "It's strange to say the least, but Lilly is a very talented young woman. I'm sure you'll find some use for it." Taylor only nodded, not in the mood to speak. The man simply bowed and left him to be, infinitely lost in the sea of red.