Blood Rose (2 page)

Yawning heavily as I rubbed my eyes, I responded. My mind supplied the appropriate responses, “Did you have fun at work?”

“I can make all sorts of drinks with dirty names now.” I could practically hear the perverted grin even over the phone. “You know, since you bailed on me now you gotta come eat breakfast.” Ah, a ploy. My eyes narrowed.

He won. I sighed. “It’s gonna take a lot more than you to get me outta the house this early. Just come over.” It was a personal goal of mine to not leave the house before ten. He knew this.

“Alright, alright. I’ll see ya in a bit. I’m bringing food.” He sighed exaggeratedly with a blend of expected disappointment and mild agitation. With nothing more said we both hung up.

The crisp sound of opening the Red Bull made me smile. Pausing, I let myself take a moment to breathe in the sweet smell before taking a good long drink. “Time to get dressed then.” Yes, I talk to myself a lot. Heh. Just be glad you’re not really in my head. That can get a little twisted.

On the way to the closet, my reflection caught in the full length mirror that was poorly tacked to the wall near the bed. It had been left there by the previous tenants. The mirror was miraculously held on to the brick and mortar wall with bent nails. It bore a raw edge that I had cut myself on more than once. Being accident prone, sharp glass in my proximity should really have a frame or something. Paul had said he would fix it but I wouldn’t let him for a world of different reasons.

The girl staring back at me was nineteen years old, standing at five-foot-four. She was thin with very pale skin the sun did not phase with more than a burn now and then and a slew of freckles across her shoulders and arms alone. Not a monster by any means. Just plain. The cuts were gone already. Good.

Neither thin nor curvy, I had clear skin but my complexion has always been dull and lifeless. Nose and lips were all very average. Eyes of stone grey had no real color at all aside the blue and purple circles under them from a lifetime of ill sleep. That’s what they invented makeup for I figure.

My hand ran up from my black underwear clad hips to pull up my grey tank, exposing the thorn vines of black roses and the dragonfly tattoo covering the left side of my ribs from hip bone to breast. I’d been thinking of adding to it or getting another. Decisions decisions. For me, tattoos are more than just a piece of art work. They are an expression of yourself, a visual extension of your soul.

While caught in trance by the ghostly reflection, a sudden gust of wind ripped through the room chilling me to the bone. It sent a shiver up my spine that made the hair on my arms raise and tingle, giving me goose bumps from head to toe.

Panic stricken nerves held me in place for countless seconds. I held my breath as if anticipating something horrible to come. After a long moment something seemed to click inside of me and like a spell breaking, I was able to move again.

I checked the window to find the chilling breeze from the moment before was gone. Despite the early hour, the air was actually quite warm. The breeze brought up the scent of the city. Wet brick and concrete. Moist soil and fresh cut grass from someone mowing the day before. The smell of the ocean and docks from a few miles away drifted faint on the wind. Water and fresh fish. I loved those smells. It was home.

Humidity from the fog bellow clung to my skin as my head hung out the window. My eyes closed as I instantly dismissed the squirming discomfort in my stomach to let a peaceful moment completely absorb me.

What a mistake.

While enjoying the quiet warmth of the night, the stereo came to life blaring Nickelback’s “
I’d Come For You
” at the highest volume setting. Shrieking, I jumped in shock. The panic ripping through me felt like my skin had tried to leave before the rest of my body could catch up. My head slammed up into the window. Hitting hard enough the window rattled the sill. A flush of heat filled my skull and left my head pounding like a jackhammer. “Ow! Son of a-!” The increasing shock of pain stole the curse right out of my lips.

A can of Red Bull lay on the floor at my feet now forgotten- glugging out the contents onto the old wooden floor as it rolled back and forth idly. Eyes watering from the sudden stinging pain, I wiped the tears away as they splashed down my cheeks. Spinning around staggering away from the window and over to the bed, I went for the only weapon in the house.

It wasn’t me that turned it on! Had to be someone though, right?

In the corner between the bed and the nightstand was an old Louisville slugger my brother had given me from his glory days in high school. Grabbing it up, I looked more like a drunk with a misshapen cane than a pro ball player. Holding my head with the other hand as it pounded internally to the music, my hair felt wet. I was bleeding. Terrific.

The stereo was blasting louder than I remember having it set to. Or maybe it was the mild concussion making my ears ring with sensitivity. Luckily having no surrounding neighbors, there was no one to disturb. The loft was above an empty storefront. It had been empty for a couple of months. Rent is high downtown for store front lots. I was lucky.

Clumsy I may have been but inept I was not. If there was someone in my house, I was not the type to willingly go down without a fight. Speaking of going down however, I slipped through the spilled Red Bull at that moment. Landing on my rear and sending a wave of pain up through my tailbone. Mumbling curses, I crawled back to my feet, using the bat to help me stand. It was humiliating even being alone. Was I alone? Would an intruder be laughing if there was one?

After picking myself up off the floor, I saw my doorknob twisting back and forth forcefully. What I had forgotten though was Paul was on his way over and he also had a key. The door had gone still as I crept up to it along the wall. Just as I came up on the door, it swung open. The bat came up over my head and in multiple short swings I clobbered the door and the assumed intruder.

Obviously, I did not play sports for a reason. Can you imagine what would have happened if someone had given me a real weapon?

“Son of a bitch, Anna! What the hell is wrong with you?!” Paul yelled over the music, holding a defensive arm up over his face. Good question but a better one would have been, ‘what isn’t wrong with you?’

Paul ripped the bat from my hands and tossed it across the room. It bounced twice on my unmade bed. Shocked and guilt ridden, I paused to punch him hard in the shoulder before I threw my arms around his neck. Locked in a state of contradiction, I wanted to beat the crap out of him for scaring me and hug him because I was glad it was Paul and not someone else.

Grumbling, he wrapped a free arm around my waist. Paul was a sturdy guy though, stout too fortunately. He stumbled back as I threw him off balance. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know it was you! I thought someone was trying to break in,” my voice trembled sheepishly as the words, raspy with panic, trailed off with the sound of the music.

Paul rumbled a hard laugh at my expense. “I’m fine. Don’t worry, you’re no all-star,” his voice was not so much amused but irritated at my idiocy, as indicated by his mocking back tone.

Paul stood roughly five seven with a face like a boxer. The dog more than the fighter. His jaw was heavy on the masculinity and square cut. Close to his face was his boxy nose, broken more than once. His brown eyes were tight and deep set as if he were always heavily burdened mentally. Although he’d never admit to it, his height gave him a complex. To make up for it he was a fanatic about going to the gym four times a week to hit the weights and run a few miles. It paid off.

On the down side of this, he was also a bit too into himself not to mention deep in the belief of his own indestructibility. He kept his thick curly hair military short because he hated it. Though not a GQ dresser, he was compulsive about his clothes as well. He once dumped a girl for stepping on his shoe and scuffing it. His defense was she refused to apologize.

Staggering further into the room, Paul drug me along stumbling with him. Once stabilized, he released me as his free hand pat against my head lightly (which hurt like hell) as he pushed a brown sack into my arms. Paul never seemed to have noticed the fact that I had punched him.

Reaching behind him, Paul fumbled along the wall for the lights. When they flickered on, he saw the blood on his hand. His face churned in a sneer. Paul hated the sight of blood. “Why are you bleeding? What did you do this time? God, Lianna, turn that shit down!” His agitation grew more intense by the second.

“I hit my head on the window.” With red cheeks and bloodshot eyes ready to brim over with tears, I walked over to the stereo and with shaky fingers hit the power button. Just to be on the safe side I also unplugged it. To myself I muttered quietly. “No one’s coming for me.” The one sentence motivational speech to reassure me actually did the opposite. Strangely my mood tanked quickly into depression. However, I am not one for self-pity. I hid the dip well.

Lifting a hand to the back of my head, I felt my blood soaked hair again. Why do head injuries have to bleed so much anyway?

“If you ever had a light on or turned down that music maybe you wouldn’t get hurt so much. Well, okay you’d still manage to get hurt a lot. And don’t you dare call me grandpa, it’s been a long night.” My brow rose as he rambled on. He did seem rather cranky. “You okay?” He asked finally, his tone softening once he realized how much of an ass he was being.

“It’s nothing. Like you said, just a long night.” My face tightened with bitterness. Paul was used to my scowl. It didn’t faze him at all. I walked the sack into the kitchen and plopped it onto the counter.

“Sounds like a long morning for you. Was it the dreams again?” Paul asked with a sigh. Shrugging my shoulders was my only response. Why did he bother asking? With my back to him, I rolled my eyes. The dreams were not what bothered me really, just my paranoia.

Paul looked me over again with a raised brow, a slow evil grin spread over his lips. “I know you were excited to see me but did you miss your trip to the bathroom this morning too?”

He may have been laughing but I sure wasn’t. Not only having not been able to get dressed before he barged in, my underwear was soaked in Red Bull. “Damn it. I fell you jerk!” I chucked a plastic spoon at him from the bag. “I dropped my Red Bull when I hit my head on the window and I slipped in it.” Indeed, I was humiliated- And pissed.

Paul laughed again catching my bad throw midair. He sure was not helping matters. Walking over to me, he leaned to kiss my forehead before walking off for the bathroom. After washing the blood off his hands, a towel was chucked in my direction as he walked over to the window to mop up the sticky mess with another towel. “Thanks.” Mumbling as I caught the towel, I proceeded to dry my bare legs.

Twisting around, I hopped up onto the countertop with a wince caused from the bruise forming on my tailbone and held the towel against my head. After a minute of holding pressure on my head, I dropped the bloody Red Bull soaked cloth in the sink. As carefully as possible, I maneuvered into a cross-legged position on the countertop.

When Paul was done, he tossed the rag in the sink on top of mine though not before he saw the blood and grimaced at the sight. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can drive you to your fathers or to the hospital if you want.” The empty can was tossed into the trashcan like a basketball. Swoosh! Two points!

Reflexively I shuddered at the thought. “Thanks but no thanks. I’m not starting the day with a trip to the hospital. I’ll be fine.” Paul was standing at the open fridge. He reached for two Red Bulls and tossed one to me.

“Uh huh. Well anyways, I got us some breakfast.” He popped the can open downing half of his in one gulp while I just stared at mine.

My brow wrinkled curiously. “How’d you get over here so quickly?” While looking over at the food on the counter, I opened the can.

“Eh, I already had the food. ‘Sides, you gotta eat something other than bad Chinese and Riads once in a while.” Paul smiled, winking at me.

Paul reached into the sack and handed me a Styrofoam box filled to the brim with fruit. He really knew me too well. It shouldn’t have bothered me so much. Paul pulled out biscuits and gravy for himself. Thanks to me, he was already armed with a spoon.

He grabbed up a stool and plopped down next to me. We ate in silence- a blessing, for my head was still pounding. When we were done, he cleaned up the trash for me. I gave a groan, holding my hands over my stomach and hanging my head down. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Um… Headache.” I grumbled tightening my arms around myself protectively.

“Not what I meant but whatever. I swear I don’t know how you get into some of the situations you do. You’re hardly even human because of how accident prone you are.”

That struck a chord. Remaining silent, still upset and nervous over what had happened before he showed up- I pondered explaining more thoroughly. Though if I had told him what all had happened and how paranoid I was he probably would have called his brother and got him out of bed and over here.

Paul’s brother’s name was Richard. Richard Davis was a cop in Burlington. He was quite a bit older than Paul. Still single though which was too bad. He was a good guy. Richard was one of the many people that constantly tried to push Paul and me into dating again. Had since we were five I think.

So as nice as he was I liked avoiding that topic - which so often came up, at all costs. His family was thrilled when we first decided to try it and acted as if they were in mourning for someone who had died when