The First Rose
"Darling, please stop! I can't take any more!"
"You dare tell me what to do, woman?!" the man screamed as he continued to strike at his wife. "I worked hard all day to come home to cold dinner and find out there was no more wine?!"
The woman begged on her knees, rubbing her hands together repeatedly saying she's sorry. The left side of her face is covered with bruises and blood has slowly started to trickle down her chin.
In the next room, their seventeen-year-old son did his best to cover his little sister's ears. He had started to cry; his heart was too gentle for this home.
His little sister, only two years younger, twisted and turned her body to see her father hit her mother once again, and again, and again. She crumpled to the ground, holding her stomach, bracing for impact after impact. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, a hot surge of murderous rage flooded Roselle's little body.
"Love, you don't need to see this," her brother says.
"I have to," she said, eyes of steel. "I need to make sure I will never forget this moment,"
--
The night grows deeper, and the beating has finally stopped. Roselle and Jerome enter their mother's room carrying wet towels and medicine for her wounds.
"My children," she smiles sadly and reaches out to hug both of them.
Roselle and her brother lean in to the hug before noticing the packed briefcase on the head of her bed.
"Y-you're leaving us, Mother?" Jerome gasped. "You can't leave me and Roselle with that monster!"
"Yes, she can," Roselle said firmly, her eyes locked on to her mother's own. There was an unspoken understanding between them that Jerome simply did not understand.
"Jerome, I understand that you must be feeling scared right now, but please find strength inside of you," his mother said, lovingly stroking his cheek. "Your father has banished me to the countryside as of the meantime, and I am powerless to protect you,"
She pulled in her son for another tight hug. "One day, you'll be the head of this family. And I need you to promise you'll do everything in your power then to protect your little sister,"
"I... I promise, Mother," he whispered.
Their mother let him go, standing up and reaching for her briefcase. A carriage was already waiting outside for her. As much as she hated it, she would have to leave her children to the devil himself.
Only for a little while, she thought.
She walked over to Roselle, giving her a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead. She squeezed her daughter's hand one last time, and gave her a nod. A permission.
Roselle nodded back.
--
The next night, Count Hawthorne finished off the bottle of wine he had bought from Aleman's Spirits. The good stuff.
He stood up from his sofa, and immediately felt dizzy. But maybe a little too strong, he concluded.
He tried his best to shuffle from his office to his bedroom, each step feeling heavier and heavier. He was soaked in sweat by the moment he reached his bed. His mouth felt parched, and there was an aching in his chest slowly spreading to his left arm.
"Maria! MARIA, GET IN HERE NOW!" he screamed for his wife, then remembered he had her sent to the countryside just last night. "Roselle!"
His daughter burst into his room, closing the door firmly behind her. "What is it Father?"
"My heart, it hurts..." he winced. The pain was getting more intense. "My medicine... quickly! You little bitch,"
Roselle narrowed her eyes, and went over to the medicine cabinet, taking her time to look for her father's heart medicine.
"ROSELLE, FASTER!" he roared. "I swear you're useless just like your mother!"
Her hands finally located the bottle of Quinine, handing it to her father. Before he could take it, she snatched it back, just out of his reach.
"R-Roselle, what's the meaning of this?" he asked in disbelief. His vision was getting darker and he found it harder and harder to breath.
"It means that our family has finally plucked the thorn stuck on its side," she said, placing the medicine bottle back on the cabinet. She then looked at her dying father. "You,"
Count Hawthorne's eyes went wide. "You little b-"
His heart finally gave out, the life in his eyes fading. The last thing he sees is his daughter opening his medicine bottle and scattering the pills on the floor.
"You don't mind if I set you on the floor, do you Father?" she asked. "I need to make this seem real, after all,"
When she had made sure her father was dead, no more pulse and no more breathing, she screamed.
"Brother! Father's dead! Please send for help, he's dead!" she cried.
Her brother came to the room, nervously surveying the scene in front of him. He quickly picked up his sister from the floor, hugging her, patting her back and reassuring her that everything will be all right.
Roselle smiled.
This is for you, Mother.
