3. of shadows & roses

3

of shadows running from something that I can never seem to escape—the pain of knowing I was never wanted.

But here I don't feel that nagging weight that tells me I have to run and hide from something, even though it feels as though someone has been watching me and I literally made myself believe that the creepy automobile actually was after me.

It’s the paranoia that settles when you have to walk on eggshells around abusive and bully-minded people.

I make it back to the center building on Mainstreet just before the rain starts to pour, though I wouldn't mind getting caught in the rain. I bend over, hands on my knees, and do my best to calm my breathing. I need to get back into the habit of running if just for routine purposes, though I know it can be a calming coping mechanism just the same. Part of me also suspects that my shortness of breath is in combination with the adrenaline rush I feel heavily in my bones. My heart thuds quickly in its chest cavity. For what? I don’t quite know but it suddenly loses purchase when I round the building to the stairs leading up to my apartment entrance. Then dread washes over me all while still feeling the effects of my adrenaline-laced heart.

A black rose.

It’s the fifth one to show up at my doorstep since I moved in a few weeks ago. I don’t know who it’s from or why it’s here, but I suspect that it’s from someone who knew the person who lived here before me. The only reason I believe that is because the day I moved in, the entire apartment was emptied save for a single black rose placed delicately on the marble countertop. So, it’s up to me to break this person’s heart and let them know that the intended subject of their morbid but romantic gifting has since moved on.

I unlock the door with my key, kick off my shoes and throw my backpack down on the ground. I head straight to the junk drawer in my kitchen for a pen and find a piece of paper lying around. I start to scribble:

I’m not sure who the flowers are for, but the woman who lived here before moved out. Try finding her new address? Or maybe move on. Also, why black? Morbid much?

Sincerely, the new girl.

I open the front door again to tape the piece of paper to the outside of it in hopes that the next time someone tries to deliver another rose, they’ll get the message.

I head over to the window that faces out toward Main Street, overlooking all of the people walking down below. Some are in groups, others are alone. For such a small town like this, I’m sure everyone knows everyone. I have no doubt that in a month's time, I'll know the name of almost all the residents who make up Shadow Creek . . . that is if I ever decided to stop being such a recluse.

I have spent my whole life begging to be seen by those around me, fighting to have a fair chance to prove myself. Yet here I am clinging to the shadows like some kind of vintage wallflower not wanting to come out of the dark.

I watch as the raindrops splatter against the window in the most soothing way, the sound of water pelting gently against the glass could put me to sleep. I decide to open up the window to allow the smell of rain to come through and as I lift the glass up, something catches my attention.

Standing across the street directly in front of the little flower shop is a tall figure, dressed in all black and looking straight up at me. Again.

I don’t get to examine much further than that before a crack of lightning whips through the sky and breaks my attention for a split second, leaving me to discover that the shadowy figure is gone. A figment of my imagination , I tell myself because really, that's what my life has come to. Did I imagine the shadowed figures watching me because I secretly crave the anonymity of actually being watched, the desire to be seen is the subject of my life-long fixation after all, or because I've truly lost my mind and everything I hold memory of is simply just a delusion I've been victim to? No matter the reason, something eerie washes over me and chills run down my arms. I decide to shut the window before heading off for a hot shower.

It’s nearing midnight and I know I should get to sleep but I make my way to my loveseat and flip through channels for something to watch on TV instead. I have to open the bookstore in the morning. The perk of living on top of the place I work at is that I can sleep in a little later, not that I like to sleep much these days anyways. It kind of evades me and when I do sleep, I feel like I might never wake up. I’m kind of a night owl and morning bird all in the same breath. Sleep is nice, but I’ll sleep when I’m dead, naturally.

Books are an escape from the trauma that is my life. Stepping into a world that isn't my own, imaging all the what-ifs as you navigate through world building and plot twists. Books help me dream up the happily ever afters that can ultimately replace my abusive path of life. At least I chose to read the happy books, but strangely enough, when I get to the happy ending, it leaves me . . . empty. I always explained it away to myself as, even though I crave those happy ever afters, I know they're not real. So really, I'm just doing it to piss myself off.

But I was surprised when I found out the bookstore below me was also up for sale. Do I need a job? No, but it keeps me busy and again . . . books.

It’s a good distraction from feeling like my life can slip between the cracks unnoticed to the world and not a single damn person would miss me. Maybe that’s how my mom felt after a few years of pretending to be a mother. Maybe her selfishness meant more to her than her family because she was worried that she was going to slip away too. But she wouldn't have; I would have loved her. I needed her. That’s what hurts most of all.

Though, I tend to feel like I can't fault her; you think people you love will stick around but, in the end, the only person who's got your back is yourself. People leaving me was a pattern I was starting to get used to. I never felt like I gave anyone a real reason to abandon me, but one by one, they all left me behind.

The one that hurt most outside of my parents’ betrayals was the shitty human-being I used to call my best friend. Griselda developed a strong love for boys and college parties early on. I simply wanted to ride my bike or hang out at the library. I noticed our friendship shifted when she lost her virginity at fourteen. I told her I thought she was being taken advantage of by the nineteen year old who took it from her and she merely called me jealous.

She started noticing that Fiona and Ferra seemed to be more into fashion and sex than I was so little by little she started getting closer to the both of them. Which seems so superficial, but it opened my eyes to the brutal fact that she was never a real friend to me.

But one day she convinced me to go to our final senior party with her, it was the month before my eighteenth birthday. I found myself in a stupid game of truth or dare and when I chose truth , she called me a pussy and forced me to do a dare. Again, my need to fit in or be seen pressured me to accept it, so I did. But when my dare was to lose my virginity to a random guy, I knew she had completely changed from the girl whom I used to color Scooby-Doo coloring books with when we were seven.

I denied the dare, and everyone started booing me. The guy started to get a little too possessive, trying to convince me it would be the best night of my life, and my so-called best friend just rolled her eyes at me when I turned and stormed out.

Griselda was the only constant in my life when things got morally black. But she turned out to be just as slithery as the rest of the snakes who had shed their skin, showing me their true colors.

I walked away from the party after fighting off the laughs and rude glances, and as a result she got super annoyed with me. She stomped right up to me, grabbed me by the shoulders to turn me to face her and spit in a mocking tone, "Maybe you would have been better off if your daddy had taught you how to not be such a pitiful fucking prude," in front of the whole party.

She was the only person I had told about my father trying to rape me. I ended our friendship that night.

One by one, I had front row tickets to watch the people in my life push me further and further into the cracks they'd created. And to this day, I’ll never understand what I did to deserve it.

I once thought I wanted to watch their souls burn with the hatred they felt for me, with the pain they inflicted on me. I once believed that I could be so cruel as to want their lives to end for what they did. And maybe part of me still does. But my once hateful thoughts have died down to a simmer of pain, not really wishing actual tribulation and now only needing therapy to help calm the evil but childish thoughts.

My need for revenge was a lot deeper when I was so close to leaving but knowing that I had to stick it through a little longer. I know life isn’t a fucking fantasy novel, and people like me aren’t granted the luxury to watch the named fire starters of our lives meet their true match, burning to dust deep into the pits of hell that they meant for me. So I let all of those dark and disturbed thoughts disintegrate the moment I stepped into this town, wanting a fresh start with as little negative thoughts as possible.

Though, I still crave to be the girl who radiates so much power and beauty, it'll make people fall to their knees.

I pull the throw blanket that hangs over the arm of the couch and fix it over my body, feeling a slight breeze swoosh through the air and despite my best efforts of evading sleep by watching trash television, the soothing voice that seems to fill my mind urges me to close my eyes and lulls me to sleep. But I can’t help but feel like another wave of cold air feathers over my body and I get an eerie feeling, one that tells me to look at the window I was standing at earlier. It’s open. But I know I had closed it before.

I don’t spend any more than a few seconds thinking it over before the velvety tone of the shadow voice warms my soul and shushes me off to a deep dream of something sweet that I probably won’t remember when I wake up in the morning.