Rosette

Chapter 5: The Flea

Rose sits beneath the fluttering leaves, back against tree bark and hands occupied holding a book for her to read. Through all the hurricane that her life has been she's kept steady in the eye of it all. Once she finished the chapter she was on, she closed the book, picked herself up from the ground and made her way back home, she smiled at passers-by until she got home, to the dismal looking house she lived in. She unlocked it with her key, found her mother furiously sweeping the floors of the living room.

"Hi, sweetheart," she said, putting her broom to the side. "Come on, I've put out all the things we'll need to bake our cake. We have to be done by two though so I clean up the mess before your father comes home. You know he doesn't like messes."

They spent the whole time laughing and talking, her mom really allowing herself to feel happy and peaceful for once in this sadness-stricken house. That was until they heard the door opening.

"Rachel! What is all that noise?" the father's voice yelled. Making the two women freeze, and the mother's eyes well up with tears.

"Honey, please leave through the backdoor, he's in his moods again. I've ticked him off," the mother said, brushing her hands on her apron and quickly taking it off.

"Rachel!" the voice roared.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" she said forgetting how much he hated her yelling in the house and running out to him in the living room.

Rosette stayed, deciding to clean up the kitchen as much as she could so her mother doesn't have to endure his wrath, it made Rosette feel so guilty to see her mother be treated this way by the man she loved. But she didn't have many options, she only ever listened to her mother and her mother would've hated for anything to happen to her.

"How many times do I have to say it?! Don't you yell in my house!" The sound of a smack come through the door and a thump next. Rosette had to hold back a startled gasp, knowing what had happened, as she quickly began to wipe the flour from the table.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again," a quivering, docile voice said.

"It better not. I'm going to go change, go get my lunch ready."

"Yes, sir," the mother said, hurrying into the kitchen as loud foot steps went up the rickety staircase. "Honey, I told you to leave."

"I couldn't let you get in trouble for this," Rosette said, putting away bags of flour, as tears began to slide down her cheeks.

"Don't worry, honey, it's just one of his moods. I can handle him." Rosette wanted to retort but she didn't want to make this any harder. "Now, go, honey. He'll come downstairs and want his lunch. I can handle him mad at this but if anything happened to you-" the mother broke off, holding a sob with all her might back in order to spare her daughter the pain of seeing her this way.

"Mom, don't cry. I'll go."

"Go have lunch at a restaurant, here take this, it's all I have so eat frugally."

"It's fine, I'll go to Olivia's," Rosette said looking at her mother delicately yet swiftly make a quick sandwich for her husband.

"Okay, darling. Now go. Please."

Rosette kissed the top of her mother's head then left through the back door, racing out, cheeks still wet and sobs now spilling forth. She called Olivia's phone but she got no reply, which meant Olivia was still at tennis practice or went out with the other students to eat. She held her breath as she called Olivia's father, the only other contact she had that she felt was appropriate to call at the situation. He picked up at the second ring.

"Rosette, hi," he said, sounding surprised.

"Hi, Jack. Are you busy?" she asked, trying to keep her voice stable.

"No, is there anything you need, Rose?"

"I wanted to ask if you could come pick me up, from Olive Park?"

"Yeah, I can come. Is there anything the matter?"

"No, I'm fine," she said, a little too quickly.

"Alright," he said hesitantly. "Olivia's still out, you know."

"Yeah, I figured. I'll wait by the first gate of the park," she said and soon she was alone again, no one to talk to, walking to the park right by her house.

She couldn't help but cry, she tried with all her might to hold it back, she didn't want to seem pathetic in front of Jack with the amount she's cried in front of him, and soon she stopped crying but a feeling in her chest remained, one of complete and utter sorrow. She stood outside the park, back against the stone gate, lost amongst the crowd of people going about her, and began to read the book again, feeling herself relax as she read the words of Jane Austen. Soon though, Jack was in front of her and she close the book, quarter of the way through a chapter, and went up to his car. Riding in the front seat beside him, a place usually occupied by Olivia.

"Hi," she said."

"Hey," he said starting to drive again when she buckled her seatbelt.

It was silent for awhile as they both felt the awkwardness of being together alone and not having anything to say.

"So why did you need the ride? Isn't your house right by here, somewhere," he asked.

"Yeah, it is," she said, starting to pick at a loose thread on her dress. "I just don't want to get into it right now, sorry."

"Alright. That's okay," he said, looking straight at the road whilst taking glances over at her, where she sat staring at his hands holding the wheels.

"I'm sorry you had to pick me up."

"Rosette, you know that I don't mind doing that. You could ask me to drive all the way to the next country over and I'd come pick you up. Rosette, you're a dear friend to my family, you don't have to worry about asking for too much, you never do," he says. "I thought you had a car though."

"I don't, I normally borrow my mom's," she says distractedly, looking at the veins going up his arms, and the line of sunken skin on his wrist as he clutched the wheels.

It was silent for a moment but there wasn't any awkwardness in this silence, Rosette was still staring at his arms, thinking of how nice it must feel to be held by them and he looking at the road and taking subtle glances at her. He kept looking at the delicateness of her features, particularly at her big, innocent eyes. He was certain she's seen more gruesome scenes than he has but somehow there was still an innocence in her eyes, which were a deep, dark brown color.

A/N

I have a question; how on earth do I stop feeling threatened by people who write? Like I'm comfortable with my progress and how much I've written but when I see someone else also doing it I always feel like they can easily surpass me in skill. I hate myself so much for this insatiable torture I'm putting myself through. I obsess over something so minuscule and futile. I know the obvious thing is to just ignore them but like, this is where words become useless because I don't know how to transfer those words into consistent action. When I say all that I'm mainly talking about someone I know in particular, they literally copy what I do. I post an image of the sky and the next day we go out I see her taking pictures of the sky, suddenly all my family knows I'm gonna be a writer she decides to take it up as a hobby and she sees me bringing a book everywhere I go she does the same. I don't have many things in life, though in comparison of said person I'm more well endowed based on money, since my father has a very successful business, but in actuality I feel like she has a lot more assets, my only way of helping this world is writing, and it's the only thing I can say I'm good. I feel like that is also being taken away from me now, and I know it's dumb but actually living through this makes it seem like it's true.

The title of this chapter is of a poem written by John Donne.