the courier of roses

The car reeked of stale tobacco.

On the dashboard lay an array of seven roses, unevenly crisped in the summer sun, in various stages of petals faded and undersides slightly flushed. They were very clearly placed some time apart, Duke noted, because there was one that had dried to a crisp, pale beyond belief, and that one over there still had recent flush to it, and the one on the far right had a heat crack running down the stem. “What’s with all them?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lucille snapped back, faux nails clicking the back of the wheel. Her wrist shifted, peaked out from the oversized sleeves of a worn-out corduroy jacket. The jacket matched her dead-ish brown eyes, the color of fading autumn, the color of her hair's roots, an obvious tell that the rest of her hair had been bleached to oblivion Platinum blonde waves hung lazily just below her shoulders. There was an offbeat sort of look to her face, always just a little too focused to show any sign of care.

She twisted the key with unnecessary force and kicked the car into gear, rumbled out of the driveway, and night's dark fingers stretched their way into the car. She glanced both ways then punched the gas, ramming out into the road.

Duke sat silently for a moment, thrumming three fingers on his leg. “Are they from your ex?”

“No,” she said accusingly. “Not all of them,” she finally added.

Duke nodded. Stickers, odds and ends clung to every crack with perspicacity, and the windows didn’t shut all the way. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“Shut up,” she spat, blew a red light, and he watched it recede in the rear view. “We’ll go where I want.”

Duke’s lips pressed into a thin line.“Alright.” He looked across her and beyond, tracing a lake and holding it in his gaze as they zoomed on along and chugged smog out to the sky. Then he stared down at his lap.

“You want music?” she asked suddenly, somehow accusingly.

“Sure.” She turned on the radio and flicked the wheel until she found something she liked.

It was loud. “I don’t like this very much,” Duke eventually said. She ignored him utterly, and Duke’s mood sank.

They idled along a lakeside, and Duke got out and paced awhile, fixating on every little soaked silted pebble and kicking it along while she watched with a hawkish eye.

“You like it after all?” Lucille asked.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling back finally. “I really do.”

“Good.” She was already staring off into the distance. “Get back in.”

He clambered into the car, looked at her, and she looked back expectantly. After a long, tense moment of locked eyes and beating hearts, he reached over, hand brushing her face, leaned in and–

“Don’t!” she shrieked. “Don’t.”

“What?” He looked at her, terrified.

“Just don’t.” She moved her hand down. “Do this instead.”

“Okay,” Duke said, heart plummeting, and still completely off guard.

They held each other afterwards.

“That was nice.” Duke said.

“Mmm,” she said, muffled. She seemed gentler than before. And then Duke kissed her forehead.

The girl slammed to a halt in front of her house, cussing and furious. A new rose sat on her windshield with the others. “Good lot you were!” she screamed.

She put the fresh rose in a small, patterned glass vase and stared at it viciously. before thumping the door closed and storming inside.

“I don’t kiss. You need to know that.”

They sat over coffees rolling steam up between their faces, and Em looked at the girl peculiarly.

“Alright,” Em murmured. She hesitated. “Strange thing to say.”

“I’m serious,” she said, this time her voice softer. “I don’t kiss.”

Em stared at the girl, her own coffee untouched. She had a starscape of freckles and a lightning-crack gaze, a jean jacket crisp as summer flowers. “Okay,” Em said, “Alright. That’s fine.” Maybe she’s sick and worried about transmitting it, Em thought. Maybe she's carrying something. Em sipped her coffee, looked at the girl. The girl took a sip too. After she lowered it, Em asked, “Can I try yours?”

Lucille looked down at her lipstick stain. “Sure. Fine.”

And she passed it over, and Em drank it down, fought to ignore the bitter hot burn, and smiled at her. “It’s like we kissed, isn’t it.” She paused, looked down, short hair swaying. “Tasted a bit like strawberries.”

Lucille gave her a nasty smile. “Right. Bye!” She slammed up and turned to walk away.

“WAIT!” Em cried and grabbed her wrist fiercely. “I’m sorry. Please stay."

The girl stared at her arm, stared at her. "You don't listen, and you already crossed my one boundary."

"I'm listening, Lucy," Em said calmly.

Lucy peered at Em, her eyes darted all around her face. She twitched her wrist, pale. "Why should I believe you?"

Em's eyes faltered. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Lucy's eyes flared. "Maybe you fucking should’ve said something you meant, then!” Lucy yanked her arm free, stormed out of the coffee shop with a jangle and slam. Em glanced desperately around, locked eyes with a staff member, cussed and ran out after her. The worker glared after her dine and dash but let it be, wasn’t paid enough to care.

Em swung out to a stop to see the girl struggling with her car door, because her key was stuck or jammed or whatever and she was cursing. Em looked at the roses on the dash and felt her heart sink. “Looks like you’re not perfect either,” she said quietly. The girl looked up, eyes flickering, and rocked the lock faster. “Are those from other girls?”

The girl looked up. “Not quite.”

“Okay,” Em said, breathing out and pressing her lips into a thin line. She didn’t believe her. “Let me see your key.” she said.

The girl let go. With a gentle turn, Em unlocked the car.

“Oh.” The girl stared at Em, huffing and puffing. “Fine. Get in.”

And for a while, Em stuck by her word. The girl also moved the roses to the trunk, which was better than nothing, Em supposed. And after a while, although Em didn’t really know it, the other girl fell in love with her.

Lucille laid in Em’s arms, looking particularly soft and comfortable, and Em looked down at the light glittering on her lashes. And then Em kissed her.

“NO!” she cried, shoving her away, “NO! You fucking didn’t!”

Em pulled away, a queer expression on her features, and beginning to feel faint, leaned back. “Oh, that was lovely,” she said, looking increasingly confused, and leaned back. Em's body gently began to fade, becoming, murky, translucent, and then finally so as a bed of stars twinkling in the space her body had held. “It was worth it,” Lucille heard in a thin whisper, and then Em burst into infinitesimally small stardust, peppering the seat below her and leaving only a small thing.

“NO!” the girl screamed, “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!” She beat the dash repeatedly until her car started honking and screamed even louder, slamming the car shut, storming out and clenching her fists until her nails broke the skin.

She yanked the trunk open, stared at the dehydrated, wilted roses in the long-dried vase in her cup holder, and pulled them out as her eyes stung and threw them to the dashboard.

She reached into Em’s car seat and picked up the most intricately-folded and dew-dropped rose she’d ever seen, nicked her fingers on the thorns, and hissing gingerly, placed it in the vase. Clutching this, she abruptly stormed inside as she began to cry and sob with rolling hickups.

“Lucille?” her mom called but she stormed on past, stormed up the stairs and slammed her door shut. She was sobbing, hiccuping, hyperventilating “Honey, let me in.”

“I need to be alone,” she shrieked. Then, calmer, “Please, leave me alone.”

She stood by the door, hesitating. “Okay, love,” and moved away.

When the space was clear, she hurried to the bathroom, slammed the door and filled the vase, placed Em inside it.

Day rose.

“Moving out!” she shrieked, bringing her luggage jamming down the stairs, and slammed out the front door with it and a vase clutched desperately to her chest.

Desperately, failingly, for a week she tried to keep it alive, keep it awake, in her new apartment with nothing but her, clothing, a box spring, and a faint grey light from the window. It failed, wilted and wilted and one day bent in half.

“Shit,” she said, “Fuck!” and took it to her car. She swerved out and drove out towards the lake. She idled there for a while, staring out at the reflection, and hiccuped louder and louder.

Night fell. “You coming in or what?” Jacob barked.

Lucy stared at him stiffly, him in his shitty car that fucking reeked of cigarettes, him with his crisp stupid jean jacket, him with his infuriating but alluring smile and slammed the door wide and slammed it shut.

“It reeks in here,” she spat. As he drove, Jacob looked at her and the cold look in her eyes, roared down the road, bumping drastically around corners and rattling the shit in his cup holders and the crap scattered on his dashboard, looked ahead and knew it was more than that.

“Yeah,” he said, “it’s kind of shit, isn’t it.” He looked over as they slammed over a speedbump and she looked over at him with fear that melded into a strange curiosity in her eyes, her hair a-strand in tendrils, her face not angry but almost lost, and in his chest he felt a strange twist that rocketed his heart to overdrive.

He drove down along the way she stared out the window, and then they screeched in the mud to a lakeside and pulled to a stop.

“This it?” she spat.

“Yeah,” he said, heart thrumming. beating alluredly in his chest.

She stepped around outside, stepped around, stared at the little silted shimmer that the water licked upon them and kicked at rocks as he only watched.

Finally she stopped, walked up. She looked at him. “There’s something I’d like to do.”

“What?” he asked.

“First, I don’t want to see those.”

He covered them up and before he could open his mouth she darted in and kissed him, and he struggled, but soon it was over and his heart burst to static and she began to fade away. “Fuck,” he gasped, “shit, oh, fuck,” and watched her shocked face fade and then burst into a shower of sparks. A small, gentle pink rose clattered to the tiny wet stones, and Jacob swore, staring down.

He put her with the rest of them on the dash under the glare of his windshield, smoked a cigarette, another, another, and then he’d gone through a pack and an array of headlights sweeping by when he finally reached up.

“Fuck me,” he said, made a few vows and prayers, and kissed the rose’s pricks.

“Was it worth it?” was asked with a final breath.

Em awoke with a gasp in the passenger seat, glittering gold of the sun, and looked to her left and let out a soft breath.

“Oh.”

She raised a rose and held it glimmeringly to the sun, gazing in wonderment in the myriad dew-shimmer gems of ruby.