Black Rose

False freedom.

She laid me down onto the bed, and turned to leave. Before she could, I grabbed her hand. "Wait."

She turned, and slowly met my gaze. I gave her a pleading look. "Don't leave me alone. We don't have to talk about him. Just stay. Please. I don't want to be alone right now."

She hesitated, and I could see her apprehension written on her face. Then, after a long moment, she nodded.

"Alright. I'll stay for a little while. But I can't stay for too long. It's late, and you need to rest."

I nodded, relaxing a little bit knowing that I wouldn't have to be alone again just yet. She carefully sat down on the end of the bed and looked up at me. She met my gaze for a few moments, before hastily looking away. "I'm sorry he did that to you."

I felt a stab of pain at her words, remembering. "Can we not talk about it?" I asked, and I could hear the hurt evident in my own voice.

She nodded. "Okay."

We fell into an awkward silence, neither of us knowing what to say. After a few moments, I let out a sigh and looked across at her. "I'm sorry about earlier, in the bathroom. I should have done something. I shouldn't have just let him hit you."

She pursed her lips. "It's fine. You couldn't have done anything to stop him. Besides, I didn't want you to take my place."

I frowned at her, confused, and she shrugged.

"I'm used to it. I figured if I took the brunt of it, he would spare you. Obviously, I was wrong."

A pang of guilt and pity settled in my chest. It pained me to know that she thought she was trading herself for me. I swallowed the lump in my throat as silence fell again. After a long moment, I looked back up at her, and noticed a small black mark on her neck, a trail of ink that slipped down her shoulder.

"Is that a tattoo?" I asked, curiously. She looked briefly surprised at my change of subject, then grateful. Slowly, she nodded and tugged on her sleeve to reveal a pegasus, its wings spread, as if preparing to fly.

"Woah. That's gorgeous." I muttered, in awe. I reached my fingers out and instinctively trailed over the delicate black ink. I tried not to think of how soft her skin was. I also tried to ignore the curling purple bruises decorating her side. "When did you get it?"

She smiled at me softly. "When I was 19. A few months before I moved out here."

I smiled at her, trying to contain my surprise. I wondered if Blake allowed the tattoo, or if she'd gotten it to spite him. I had a feeling it was the latter. I didn't think that he would want his beautiful Iris tainted by such a gorgeous tattoo. Carefully, I asked, "Does it mean anything?"

She nodded faintly, a faraway look passing across her face. "Freedom. It's a horse that is able to just fly away whenever it feels like it. It can escape from anything it faces. It isn't held down by anything."

Her face was almost hopeful for a moment before her features crumpled up into a look of sadness. She let out a sigh.

"I realised later, that it's more fitting than I thought. Because as free as a Pegasus is, it isn't real. There is no such thing as magic. Freedom is just a fantasy."

I frowned, shaking my head. "How can you say that? How can you believe that? Freedom is real. Freedom is being able to choose the way you want to live your life and not being held captive by anybody. You have to have hope that you can be free someday."

She shook her head and looked across at me sadly. "There will always be someone holding you captive somehow. Holding you back, or controlling you. If it's not someone in your personal life, it is your boss, the government, or someone else. The point is, you're never truly able to choose the way you want to live. Freedom is just an illusion people convince themselves is real."

She let out a sigh and I bit my lip. In a quiet voice, I asked, "Have you ever tried to get away from him? Try and find yourself a better life?"

Her eyes glazed over and she blinked away tears. Slowly, she nodded and looked down at her hands. "Yes. Before I figured out the truth."

"The truth?" I breathed, barely louder than a whisper.

She nodded, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "There is no such thing as freedom."

I reached out a tentative hand, and slowly took hers. I laced my fingers in hers and looked into her face. She bit her lip. With the lightest of touches, I lifted my other hand and wiped away the tear on her cheek.

Neither of us spoke for a long moment, just watching each other. I found myself falling deeper and deeper into her sad eyes, a piece of me breaking as I felt her pain.

The silence pressed on, and I was overcome with the strongest urge to lean forward and kiss her.

Then she broke my gaze and looked down, tearing her hand from mine and pushing herself off the bed. When she spoke, her voice shook. "I need to leave."

"Wait—" I said, reaching out to grab her hand, but she just shook her head and started towards the door.

"I'm sorry." She muttered, then took the handle and closed

I didn't bother calling out, or following her, though every part of me was buzzing. I just swallowed my cries, and looked down at my fingers, her words echoing around my head.

There is no such thing as freedom.