To Be Obscure

| CH. 10

Perfection.

True perfection.

I groaned and rubbed my face, still smelling the warm, Georgian air. I sniffed and coughed, and found my face pressed against the sheet that covered my mattress. I knew it was mine because it smelled like me, and Luther, and the purple fabric softener that I tossed with my laundry.

"Lamont." I heard Nathan's voice, but I felt sick. Normally waking from a dream was followed by pain, or yells, or the taste of blood. This time, I was nauseated. Every part of me felt hot.

Reaching up, I wrapped my fingers around the side of my headboard, using it to pull myself into a seated position. I covered half of my face as I looked down at my feet. My vision swirled and danced with the dim light. It wasn't morning—how long had I been out?

"Lamont?" Nathan spoke again.

The edge of my bed shifted, and I looked up to see Nathan staring at me. He sat up straight, his hand wrapped tightly with a bandage. He looked tired—as tired as I felt. His fingers reached to grab my chin, but I took his wrist in my hand. Nathan flinched, expecting pain, but I wouldn't hurt him. Not again.

"What time is it?" I asked. The tightness in my belly moved up into my throat.

"Just past midnight," he said as pulled his hand into his left, cradling his injured wrist against his stomach. He observed me and the sweat that sprouted on my forehead. "You passed out at the park."

"Passed out," I repeated.

As I stepped away from my bed, and out of my room, I thought about the white porch that blended in with the trees. The start of these blackouts was never easy to remember, but this was one I couldn't forget—I tried to return to the park, to reality, but I was pulled away from it all.

"We brought you back," Nathan said as I turned into the bathroom and shut the door.

Dropping my face down into the toilet, I wiped bile from my lip. It dripped as it splashed down into the water—discolored, yet clear. I half thought bits of mutton and wine would follow it, but that dinner was a dream, a memory—I hadn't eaten, and it hurt like hell.

"You've put on weight, by the way," Nathan said outside the door. "Weird, considering you don't eat much."

I flushed the toilet. What he said hit me. It wasn't that I'd put on weight, but rather the word: we.

"Nate." I crossed the bathroom and opened the door with a quick pull. Nathan stood against the wall with his shoulder pressed against the doorframe. I looked past him, into the living room, and I could see her—Rosie. "She's here," I breathed.

"Yep," Nathan sucked on his teeth, "apparently she's been sleeping in the park. I couldn't leave her there."

"She helped you carry me back?"

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Not really, but she kept watch, I guess. So, I fed her."

I groaned. He didn't seem happy to babysit, and it annoyed me that he talked about it in that way. Still, I'd made a silent promise when I looked at his hand—I wouldn't hit him, never again. I'd find some other way to control it. So, instead, I tapped his cheek, a bit harder than needed. "Has she said anything?"

"I can hear you." Rosie's voice seemed to echo through the kitchen. Nathan tilted his head in her direction and sighed. Under his breath, he muttered something that sounded like 'teenagers,' but I didn't stand beside him to hear it. I leaned against the island that separated me from the living room.

"Hi," I said. What else could I say?

She looked at me with my eyes and Charlotte's nose. Charles' red hair mixed with curls on top of her head. She chewed gum, and blew a bubble until it popped, but didn't say a thing. She didn't blink, she didn't move; she waited for me to say the next words.

Only, I didn't know what they were. And, and I let her know, "I don't know what to say."

Rosie leaned on her hands, balancing her elbows on the armrest of the couch. She looked at me as she settled her gum on the inside of her cheek. "That's not what Mom said."

I flinched. Mom? Charlotte. "What did she say?"

Rosie lifted her brow, in thought. "That all you did was talk. It's how you got them things, took care of them. That and—"

I stopped her before she could continue. I knew what was next: that and killing people. "Sorry if I'm at a loss for words. One day, everything is normal, and the next, I have a daughter."

"Sorry if I'm a bummer," she rolled her eyes, "but, you're all I have."

My mind went numb. I rounded the island and dropped down on the couch beside her. She looked at me, her eyes wide and shocked, and I clenched my hands around my knees. "Why are you saying? Where is your mother?"

Rosie bit her bottom lip. She looked back at Nathan, who took my spot in the kitchen. She looked down at Luther, who paced near the couch. I watched her fingers fidget with the front of her pink shirt. It reminded me of Charlotte, the nervous fumbling she'd done when thrown into a situation with no way out.

I touched her forearm, and she looked at me with sorrow. My fingers twitch against her skin. "Rosemary," I said quietly.

"Don't call me that," she whispered. "Mom did."

I wouldn't. "Where is she? Your Mom," I asked again. "Rosie, tell me."

She sucked in a breath and another. She jumped from the couch and played with her hair. I saw the nervousness turned into tears as she tried to laugh. "I don't know," she said as she clapped her hands against her legs, "I haven't seen her in a year."

"A year?" I stared at the floor.

"Yeah," she sniffed. "Shit was going bad, really bad. Mom did what she needed to do to protect me. She told me to find you because you're the one who could help. If it wasn't for Grandpa Vic, I'd..." her voice trailed off.

Her voice trailed off. I looked at the puffiness of her face, the tears that fell from her eyes. I tried to process what she told me. Grandpa Vic? Who was he? Charlotte's parents were dead.

I did what I'd normally do when Charlotte cried. I stood and pulled her close to me. With an arm wrapped around her shoulder, I caressed the top of her head with my other hand. I planted a kiss within her hair and left my lips there to do it again.

Rosie cried against my shoulder. Moisture seeped through my shirt and onto my skin. I looked at Nathan, who for the first time, looked sad. Her tears were real. The way she grabbed me, pulled at the back of my shirt—she wanted her pain to end.

I knew it because I'd felt that same pain before. It'd been so long since I'd seen it in someone else, but to see it in her—in my daughter—shattered me. Where was I in her life? I didn't protect her. Never had the chance, and that was my fault.

"Don't cry, love," I said, holding her tight.

"I'm scared," she whispered, "they're coming."

"Who is?" I looked at Nathan, who started the coffee and rummaged the fridge. 

"I'll make something,' he mouthed as he pulled a pan from the bottom cabinet.

"Abby," Rosie said as she looked at me with the saddest blue eyes I'd ever seen—it broke my heart. "Abby's coming. I know she is. No one ever gets away."

I pushed her red curls away from her face. She sniffed again, rubbed her nose, and wiped her eyes.

"They won't hurt you. I can promise you that."

"Mom said you'd say that," she laughed a bit, and I smiled.

"Did she?"

"Yeah." Rosie looked at Nathan as she pulled away from me and walked into the kitchen. She sniffed again, grabbing a napkin to dab her eyes. "I believed her."

"Do you believe me?" I ran my tongue along my bottom lip, observing her gaze. Behind her, Nathan put water to boil.

"I don't have a choice," she half laughed as she sat on one of the stools next to the island. "You're all I have, Monty."