weight.
“Hodder? He was the cop that found me at the bottom of the steps.”
“He’s handsome.”
“You think everyone is handsome.”
“Hey, when you get to be my age, you can’t be picky.”
“You’re young, Aunt Tina,” I remind her. She’s only in her forties.
“Yeah, but these boobs aren’t getting any higher.”
“Wha…” I stop walking and stare at her in shock, then burst out laughing. “You’re too much, Aunt Tina.”
“You love me.”
“If only I had better judgment.”
“Brat. You can help yourself to the bed.” She lets go of me, and I teeter, grasping tight to the vase, so the flowers don’t spill.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I chuckle, reaching out to her before I fall over and bruise my other knee.
With a loving smile, she helps me to the guest bedroom on the main floor. I slide my bad leg across the beautiful oak floors, and when we get to the teal door, I hold my breath thinking I’m about to see a whole new world. I get that way every time I enter the guest bedroom. The hinges squeak as the door flings open, and I hop away from Aunt Tina’s tight grip and cold hands, place the vase on the nightstand, then plop on the bed.
“It’s like floating on a cloud,” I say.
She fluffs a few pillows and stuffs them under my leg to keep it elevated, then pulls the fluffy comforter up and over my body, tucking it under my chin. She sits on the edge of the bed and traces the bruises on my forehead gently. Tears swarm her eyes, and I reach up and take her hand in mine.
“I’m okay.”
“I know,” she looks down, then away. She focuses out the window and presses my hand against her cheek. “You’re all I have. I worry about you. And now…” She sniffles and let’s go of my hand to wipe under her eyes. “Look at me; I’m a mess.” She bends down and kisses me on the cheek. “Get some rest, okay? If you need me, scream. The walls are thick. I won’t be able to hear you.”
“I’ll text you instead. Okay?”
She nods, still trying to hold herself together. She still won’t look at me.
“I love you, Aunt Tina. Thank you.”
“I love you too, Daphne. Your mom would have been very proud of you.”
I don’t talk about my mom. She killed herself when I was eight-years-old, and I don’t know why. She’s the one topic I never want to talk about. “I’m really tired. I think I’m going to go to bed.”
Aunt Tina wants to say more, but she knows better. I’ll get angry talking about my mom, and I don’t have the energy to be mad.
“Sure. Sleep well, sweetie.” Aunt Tina presses a kiss on my cheek and gently closes the door behind her.
I let out a huge breath, tuck my hands under my cheek, and stare at the roses on the nightstand.
Roses are red…
The note I was left enters my mind as I stare at the vibrant red petals and bright green stems. The beauty is a contradiction to the painful thorns decorating the side. So enthralling with the rich color, yet so daring. A droplet of water pops on a thorn as it tries to drip, proving the danger that resides in such an elegant flower.
They remind me of someone.
Tongue is a red rose dipped in thorns, and the only way to get to his heart is to prick my fingers and bleed.
The valley of death isn’t as dark as people think. It isn’t the valley that’s so dangerous; it’s the souls of the dead that linger. I believe there is more to this world than we know and not accepting it will lead us to be surprised with how we die, what we see in the afterlife, or the challenges we face.
See, I’m not surprised about anything I’ve ever done. All the people I’ve killed, all the shadows I’ve haunted, all the blood I’ve spilt—I expected. But there are two things that have happened recently that I have not understood.
Daphne and Sarah.
Sarah.
God, I stabbed her. I’ll never forgive myself if she dies. I’ll walk myself into the swamp in NOLA and let the swamp kitties feast on me, and then I hope my soul finds its way to the valley of death where I’ll linger forever without peace.
I’m standing outside of Daphne’s aunt’s house, knowing my only form of comfort is behind those walls. I want to go inside; I want to say goodbye because I’m leaving,