CAPITOLO VENTICINQUE

is it love or is it war?

***

IN HER LIFE, an impressive span of twenty-five years, Rose has managed to cram in more memories than she can recall. It all comes down to remembrance, for Rose. God knows what films will be projected onto her hospital room ceiling as she dies.

    And in those twenty-five years, Rose has never come across the paranormal. There was no doubt that when she laid her mom down into the ground, she'd never see her again. No apparitions, no traced out messages on the fog of her mirror, no visions. Rose has, however, had dreams about her. She's had dreams about everyone she's ever missed.

    Then came along a deal, made in a dark car, the smell of imported cigars and gunpowder—the smell of cavernous wealth, one of another kind. She never questioned it, Rose never questioned anything. What comes has come and will go. Will always go.

    But they have come, as of the moment, and Rose tremors in the aftershock.

    "Don't think about it. I'm not the product of a fever dream."

    "Then what are you," Rose whispers. "What are you?" her voice regains its sharp nature.

    Smooth, immaculate skin. Pronounced cheekbones. Jawline made to match. Brows detailed down to the hair, arching above hooded, provocative eyes. The colors, the colors make up the canvas. Flushed lips and rainforest eyes. A sculpted structure sitting on a perfect figure.

    He doesn't reply her. He never has the answers to her questions—he doesn't need to.

    "Answer me," Rose says. She steps closer, the licking fire beginning to singe the frays of her shirt. The heat rises and she builds a flame to match.

    "Rose," he says.

    "What are you? Answer me, Lucien, or I swear to god."

    "What am I? Do I even know?"

    "You do. You must."

    "And why, why are you so bent on that? Why do you think I know everything? Why do you think I have the answers?"

    Lucien spreads himself out on her couch. This is Lucien like Rose has never seen. There's a crackle in those eyes—always a favorite of hers—and the shadows cast by a single light source transforms his face into another work of art.

    "You get it, don't you, Lucien? You get me. You know why and you know how."

    "I don't get a single thing about you," he says, voice dipping lower and lower. "In fact, I don't think I even know you."

    When Rose doesn't answer, hesitating out of fear, of wonder, he continues.

    "My dad could give you everything and yet you convince yourself you don't need it. You need it, Rose. Don't be insane. Your life right now—"

    "Yes, my life right now. Is that what you want to entertain yourself with next, Lucien? Find yourself a girl who can't refuse you, is that it, then? I don't need jack from you or your family. I've been doing fine before you and I'll do fine after."

    Standing in the living room that Rose bruised her knees on as a child, they're a run out passion and a blaze. Static pricks her skin and Lucien never shifts from his recline on her couch. Something starts welling up beneath her surfaces and the heavy blanket of weariness covers her.

    "You don't hate me," he says, and stands up.

    "Don't touch me," she snarls. "You play the saint but you know what you are. You come back looking for what? There's nothing for you here."

    "When will you learn that you can't live life alone?"

    "I don't have much time left for learning, if you can't tell." Rose strays too close and she pulls herself back.

    "You told me to leave and I'm back."

    "I told you to leave and you left. It should've stayed that way."

    "Don't," he growls.

    So this is hell's favorite, emerald flames and rising fahrenheit. This was the former, the one he abandoned for hopes of normality. Lucien Serafino, a trailing meteor in her life, disintegrated in her atmosphere, destined to crash mid-rotation.

    "Don't? Whatever the hell do you mean? I'll do what I want because I know what I want and what I want is not you. You stranded me—"

    He erupts. "Because you told me to. If I hadn't you would've hated me more. You killed yourself these past weeks and I can't stand seeing that anymore."

    "Oh, like you really care."

    "I do."

    "Nothing you've done proves it," she hisses.

    Lucien's set afire, and the light flickers, casting half his face into the darkness. "Everything I've done proves it."

    "You don't care for me. Not really. I'm half a notch on your timeline and you'll be off to greater things in two days."

    Chest heaving, Lucien runs both hands through his dark hair and lets out a frustrated groan."Why do you do this to yourself?"

    "Then leave!" Rose screams. "If you can't watch me do anything then go, nothing's stopping you. You're wrong if you think I need you. I've died every night this week and I'll keep going until I stop dying. You're not the only person to have come and tried to help."

    Fight ebbing, the tsunami tides rise, tipping the iceberg over until a spot lands beside her feet. Lucien doesn't miss it and before he can move, Rose collapses within herself.

    "Don't," she begs. "Don't."

    Moving forward, Lucien engulfs her in his arms. The tension rises from his arms and body, Rose feels it in every muscle. Rose fractures in his embrace, the least expecting of any gesture like this. He backs himself until he's leaning on the couch, both of them on the floor.

    It's confirmed, his scent will never leave her, not for the rest of her life.

    "What are you?" she asks, a feeble attempt.

    "Yours."

***

ROSE CAN COUNT, on all her hands, the number of people that have given up on her. The first that made the list was her biological mother. Birthed with disease, Rose resented her for not taking any tests before deciding to pass on her mutilated genes.

    In this game of games, Rose was given all the chances to fail and she took them, with ever turn she made.

    But of all the people she's met, Rose never expected for Lucien to dodge that list.

    "Just let me be," she says.

    "I am letting you be."

    They stayed in that position, more or less. Eyes sealed shut by tears, Rose lost count of time, with only the steady beat of Lucien's heart as any reference. He shifts and carries her to the couch.

    "I noticed you didn't have a mattress anymore," he says.

    Instead of answering, Rose spreads open the blanket and wraps herself in it, rolling over to face the couch. Heart aching and mind hurting, she breathes in shallow inhalations.

    "I'll be back tomorrow," he says. "If you're ready to talk about it then."

    "Don't."

    It's unclear what that word means—don't leave or don't come back. And it's the only one she can summon from the fetal position she's in. Lucien leans over her to turn off the lamp and she listens to him walk out, lock latching softly into the doorframe.

    Mind abuzz and catatonic, Rose lies awake.

    Visions of her day haunts her. Waking up sobbing as she sees the sun, for just one more day, and stomach empty from the damage she did the night before. The fear of death has never clutched her this tightly. Did her incantation work? Is that why he came back? Or was it because he came to his own terms?

    Rolling over so she faces the other way, Rose throws up again. Her nervous system had become unraveled in this encounter. Having eaten nothing these past days, all that comes is water, rancid against the wooden floor.

    Wiping her mouth, Rose sinks into the couch and the pain.

***

a/n: thank you for reading and i hoped you enjoyed it! and thank you so much for all the input regarding radish. i've posted the first edited chapter of antilove on radish already. my account name is the same as my user (ablush). there won't be major changes in the beginning but i'll definitely be editing a lot more towards the middle, especially when rose is with lucien. anyways, have a great day!