The Blossom of Rose

26 • Mortified

Thunder rumbles over the dark, night sky as the summer rain parades down onto the deck. My gaze is glued on the patio window, where I study mother nature's mayhem. The pounding rain falls in violent clusters on the wood, causing the surface to groan under the pressure.

Annoyingly, my senses concentrate on the brutal sound hard-hitting my eardrum until it shifts to the gunshots from earlier. Bang. Bang. Bang.

My ears bleed and I screw my eyes shut. I shake my head lightly. And again. And again. Until the God-awful disaster has disappeared.

You're okay, Rose. No one got hurt.

The plate of my dinner remains untouched in my lap and my stomach grumbles at it, but my mind plays a snippet of the horrors again and rids me of my appetite.

It's a cruel thing, your mind is.

My legs are crossed together on the black, wingback couch of the vast room. The conversation of the three around me feed into my ears. Brando, Marco and the silent words of Luca.

"Let's just break down his door." Brando.

"Can we wear costumes? I've always wanted to wear those masks from Money Heist," Marco beams and starts singing very off-key. "Bella ciao, Bella ciao, Bella ci-ow!" He exclaims when Luca smacks him upside the head.

"What the fuck do you think this is? Some cosplay shit," he snaps and sits back in the armchair. "Grow the fuck up, Marco. You're not a fucking kid anymore."

If I'm being honest, the only words I heard in that was the f-word. He seriously needs to gargle some holy water.

"I was just tryna lighten the mood," he mumbles, rubbing the injured spot. There's a tense shift in the air. If it has been like this ever since the attack, I wouldn't know because I've been too busy buried in my head to notice anything else.

Samuel Perez attacked us. My ex.

Is this his ploy because I rejected him? No, it can't be. I met with him after I first slept with Luca, and he took pictures of that. That means he's been keeping tabs on me ever since I set foot back into this country.

He and Luca despise one another. He's always wanted to take him down and I just created an easy, straight path for him to do this.

This is all my fault.

"We know who he is, now. Why don't we strike back?" Brando suggests.

"There's no point. You've already given him what he wanted." I say and the solemn guilt in my voice mirrors the way I feel like boulders are dragging me down. Leaning forward, I place the plate on the coffee table and cringe slightly when my stomach bends. I feel all their sharp gazes on me.

"And what's that?" Marco queries.

I turn to Luca and his eyes watch me intently as if I'm the last mismatched piece to complete a puzzle. Nerves wrack through me and I fiddle with the ends of my braid and continue. "What's the first thing you did when the shootout happened?"

"Call for you." He keeps his eyes on me.

I swallow the lump in my throat and turn to Brando, raising an eyebrow.

"Protected you." Brando runs a hand through his blonde hair, and I see some sort of realisation in his features.

Everything stems back to me. I'm the problem here.

"He wanted you to have a weakness, Luca."

He tries to interrupt me, but I hold a hand up, "just let me get this out. Please." I don't care if there's desperation in my voice. There's angst and guilt weighing my heart down like a tonne that every time I take a breath, I can feel its stinging sensations.