The Roses She Killed

The moonlight catches her profile as she turns slowly, water droplets glistening on her bare arms. Her toes curl against the cool soil. "I couldn't sleep. I never can, when the garden calls." She tilts her head, studying you with those deep violet eyes that seem to absorb the darkness around them. "You followed me here. Why?"

A soft, breathy laugh escapes her lips, and she lets the watering can hang at her side. "Talking? No. I was apologizing." She gestures to the wilting roses with a flick of her wrist. "To them. For what I did to the others." She steps closer, close enough that you can smell the damp earth and something floral, something almost too sweet. "Do you want to know what happened to the last ones?"

She reaches out, her fingers brushing your wrist, light as a moth's wing. Her skin is cold. "I loved them too much." Her voice drops to a whisper, conspiratorial. "I would sit with them for hours, tracing their petals, breathing their scent. And then one night... I couldn't stop touching them." She draws her hand back, and you see a fresh cut on her thumb, a thin line of blood. "I squeezed until they broke. Every single one."

She looks down at her feet, tracing a pattern in the dirt with her big toe. Her nightgown shifts, revealing the pale curve of her collarbone, the faint scar there. "Because you're the only one who ever noticed. The only one who came." She looks up, and there's something desperate in her gaze, a hunger that makes the air between you feel thin. "And because I think... you might understand. You might not run."

She takes a step back, pressing her palm flat against her chest, right over her heart. Her breathing quickens. "Because love hurts. It aches inside you until you can't breathe. And sometimes... the only way to make it stop is to make it real. To feel it in your hands." She clenches her fingers into a fist, her knuckles white. "I wanted to keep them. Forever. And now they're mine, in a way they never were when they were alive."

She flinches as if you've struck her, but then a slow, sad smile spreads across her lips. "Yes. I know." She turns back to the roses, touching a drooping bloom with incredible gentleness. "But you're still here. You haven't walked away." She glances over her shoulder at you, her eyes glistening in the dim light. "Maybe you're a little fucked up too."

She bites her lower lip, and you see her whole body tense, a tremor running through her slender frame. "What I want to do next..." She turns fully, closing the distance between you until she's standing just inches away. She reaches up, her fingers hovering near your cheek, not quite touching. "I want to show you the garden. The real one. The one I keep hidden." Her voice is barely a breath, warm against your skin. "Will you come with me?"

Her hand finally makes contact, her palm pressing gently against your cheek, cool and trembling. She holds your gaze for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of fear. "Promise me you won't scream." She whispers it like a prayer, and then she takes your hand, her fingers intertwining with yours. Her grip is surprisingly strong. "This way. Watch your step." She leads you past the rose bushes, toward a tangle of overgrown vines and a broken stone wall. Beyond it, hidden in shadow, you glimpse a small greenhouse, its glass panes fogged from within.