My Precious Rosebud

I'm Here

One month. I had been living with Marylyn for one month. Not once had I gone back to the apartment. I had considered going back once or twice, but I never did. It was too dangerous to be there.

At first, Marylyn was surprised that I had shown up, considering that I hadn't told her I was coming. Then, I told her that I was having some issues with Kevin, though I didn't tell her the exact reason why. She agreed to let me stay as long as I needed to, and of course, I accepted her invitation.

Things were pretty nice there for a while. Marylyn found me a job at some diner about half an hour away from her house. It doesn't pay a lot, but it still feeds mouths at the end of the day.

During that month, the day was usually the same. Every morning, I'd wake up, eat breakfast, and get ready for work. I'd leave the apartment at about 9:30. From 10:30 in the morning to 7:00 in the evening, I would work at the diner. For the next few hours, I would go out and run some errands and have dinner. Then, I'd arrive back home at 9:00. Marylyn and I would do something together like watching a movie. Then, we would go to sleep.

Life was doing well. But some certain thoughts kept crossing my mind. I was constantly plagued by the idea of Kevin coming after me. But, I tried not to let my mind linger on that for too long. Besides, if he wanted to kill me, he would've done it sooner.

After a few weeks, I had almost completely forgotten about him. Life was pleasant, and I was happy. However, that changed one day.

When I was driving to work, I had a gut feeling that something was off. After a few hours, I shrugged if off, thinking it was just me being paranoid again. But the feeling relapsed when I left that evening. It only got worse as I climbed up the multiple sets of stairs in the apartment.

When I first entered the apartment, I knew that something was off. The whole place, which was usually bright and cheerful, was dim and gloomy. The curtains and blinds were shut, making the area even more dark. The picture frames on the entryway's walls were crooked or had fallen onto the floor, the glass in pieces across the hardwood floor. The potted plants were knocked over, spilling soil and leaves onto the cocked rug. And, there was something reflecting off of the floor.

I carefully shut the door and stepped into the entryway. I tried to make my footsteps as quiet as possible. As I crept towards the hallway, I noticed something on the rug. On the corner, barely visible, was a crimson red stain. Feeling nauseous, I pulled my phone out of my purse. With a shaking hand, I turned on the flashlight. The light illuminated on a puddle of the same crimson red on the rug.

I gasped and stumbled away from it. Panicking, I reached out and touched the puddle, grimacing as my fingertips connected with the liquid. It smelled awful, like some kind of metal. My hand shook as I realized what this was. This was blood, and it was probably Marylyn's. So, Marylyn was most likely dead. My breathing became quicker. I walked into the living room and saw something that almost made my heart stop.

I had opened the door to hundreds of roses. They were covering the couch, the tables, and the floor. I knew they were from him; he had found me. Then, my heart practically stopped when I heard a small squeak from behind me. For a moment, there was no other sound other than my shaky breathing.

Then, I felt a pair of hands grab me under my arms and dragged me toward the bathroom. I struggled, but the person had a pretty tight grip on me. I tired screaming, hoping that someone would hear me, but the stranger put his hand over my mouth, so any other attempts to be heard would be useless. So, I just let the mystery person drag me into the bathroom.

Once they arrived, they tossed me into the bathtub. My head hit the hard metal, and it made my vision became blurry for a few seconds. The person's back was facing me, but judging by the build of the body, the person was male. He was tall and slightly muscular, and he was wearing all black that was covering everything but his neck.

I was about to say something, but then the man spoke up. "I'm impressed, it took me quite a while to find you. But, the wait was worth it."

I gasped and backed as far into the bathtub as I could. I knew that voice like the back of my hand. "Turn around and let me see you," I demanded.

He chuckled. "If you insist. I don't think you'd like it. though." Slowly, he turned around, and my suspicions were confirmed.

"Hello Lydia, it's good to see you again." He walked up to me and tried to touch me, but I quickly moved away from him. "Stay away from me!" I shouted at him. "I know what you've done. I know what you did to other girls." My voice began in volume s I kept talking.

He seemed taken back by my words. Then, he chuckled again. "You think I didn't know that already? I saw that the box was on the floor. I knew that you had gone through." He paused for a few seconds. "You know, I thought about doing it. I considered running right up to you and just running the shears through you, but I didn't do it."

He grabbed me by the throat, cutting off my air supply. I wanted this to be slow. I wanted to see you cry as your blood poured out from inside of you. Most of all, I wanted to see the light fade from your eyes slowly." He gripped me even tighter. "I wanted to hear you beg for mercy I as drove the blades into you." He released his grip and dropped me back into the tub. I heard a small crack from my nose, white hot pain spreading throughout my nose.

He grabbed a pair of gardening shears. "Well, it's been a month. Might as well have some fun." He began to close in the space between us, leaving no room for me to escape in.

When I was a whole lot younger, I always thought that I would die old. I imagined that I would be surrounded by my children and my grandchildren, and I would be happy. Of course, I had heard of people dying in accidents and things like that. However, I never imagined that I would be one of those people. Well, life typically never goes like how you want it.

However, when I saw Kevin raise the shears above his head, I made a choice. I wasn't going to die today. I wasn't going to be just another one of his victims. I was going to live. As he swung the shears down, I held my breath and grabbed the handles.

He stared at me with a shocked expression. He tried to pull away from me "W-what are you-"

I glared at him and pulled back. "It's over. I'm not going to die today." Pushing forward, I tackled him and ran out of the bathroom. I didn't care where I was going, but anywhere was better than that room.

When I paused in the living room, pain blossomed all over my feet. I glanced down to see rose thorns stuck in them, blood leaking out from around the thorns. It hurt to move in the slightest. But, I had taken the shears with me, so I wasn't totally hopeless.

Just as I began to calm down, the sound of running made it to my ears. My head jerked around just in time to see Kevin running toward me, pure rage in his eyes. In a split second, he grabbed my wrists.

I fought with every ounce of strength I could, nothing but pure adrenaline fueling me. Whatever he did, I did the opposite of. I tried to put up a good fight, but my strength.

Eventually, he shoved me down on the floor. He crouched over me, an insane smile plagued on his lips. "Given up?"

Closing my eyes, I let out an anguished scream and blindly swung the pliers. They hit something solid. There was a loud gasp of pain and shock.

Opening my eyes, I saw what happened. I gasped and stumbled away. Kevin glanced up at me. There were tears in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips. He reached for his chest and pulled the gardening shears out. He held his hand over his chest, blood spilling out of the wound. "Good job Lydia, you did what nobody else could do. You got me." His voice had receded into a whisper.

All of a sudden, I realized what I had done. Tears began to form in my eyes. "K-Kevin?" My voice was cracking and shaking. My hands shook as I removed his hands from the wound. "W-we need to get you to a hospital. Let me-"

I was cut off by him reaching toward my face. He touched my cheek and dragged his hand down my jawbone, blood painting my cheek crimson. As he took in his last breath, he breathed out:

"Farewell my precious rosebud."

. . . .

This was an old short story that I had written back in November 2016. I did not get around to finishing until recently. I hope that you enjoyed this, and if you didn't, that's fine. Anyway, thanks for reading this. All comments are appreciated.

Have a fantastic day!