The Golden Apple

Fifteen - Magnolia

When I was a little girl, my father set a vase of red roses on my nightstand in my room.

He instructed me never to touch them, for I would end up regretting it. I never understood why I was not allowed to touch them, though. They were so beautiful and so mesmerizing. Instead of just silly decorations and furnishings stashed against the walls of my room, I had something authentic. Something real. Something that was growing and changing, just like me.

One of those days I decided to go against my father's words. I stood up on my tiptoes to pick out a rose, because the vase was tall and hard to reach. I noticed these small brown specks attached to the stems, which made me especially curious. I had clenched my teeny delicate hand around one of the roses tightly, but I ended up yelping in pain. The specks had pierced my skin, and some drops of my blood spotted the carpet.

Father found me moments after, a whining toddler with tears streaming down my cheeks. He scolded me for touching them, explaining to me that the brown specks are dangerous. It turned out that the specks were called thorns, and roses have thorns to protect themselves from harm. I continued to cry after he scolded me, but I still held onto that red rose. I loved it all too much, and I didn't know how I could ever let go of it.

When I think of Jake, those red roses come to my mind.

Helena was right. I could not stop thinking about him. His smile, his eyes, his harebrained street stories that he tells me every night; I couldn't help but smile myself. Ever since I rescued him he's been making my life more than just a usual routine. I'm always looking forward to what he has to say next.

I dangled my feet over the edge of my bed as I let my thoughts run amuck. Helena is behind me, braiding my lengthy hair and telling me this story about some previous lover she had. I am not listening. I am too busy remembering the other day me and Jake spent together in the castle library.

I had showed him all of my favourite books in there, from epic adventure stories to dramatic romance stories. Jake had started to read one out loud, but started to stutter his words and put it back. He explained to me that he hasn't been able to read a book since he ended up homeless, so his ability to focus and understand literature is limited to about a ten year old's ability.

"Basically I'm a dimwit," he told me. "I'm just...dumb."

"Don't say that. You're not a dimwit," I replied. "I can teach you how to read faster. You just need to start up again."

"Alright. If you say so."

He then started chasing me down the aisles, showing me how fast he had to be when he was out on the streets stealing. Each time he caught up to me, he would bump me and hug me playfully. We laughed and laughed; our echoes filled the hollowed room. He was nervous about this activity in the beginning, but I got him into it by chasing him first. Even though we have known each other for four months, he sometimes gets nervous around me still.

Thoughts race through my head. Am I too intimidating? Does my hair look okay? Why did he smile at me like that? Am I blushing?

I shuddered. I have never been so self conscious in my life!

"Ahem!" Helena interrupted. "Are you in there? Or am I just talking to your bedroom wall?"

Reality struck me with a jolt. Helena was standing in front of me, snapping her fingers directly in front of my face. My eyes widened while I fiddled with the end of my braid. This was embarrassing.

"Um-uh," I stuttered. "Okay, I'm sorry! My mind was just somewhere else."

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?"