Nothing Will Change

Chapter 47

There was a collection of bottles accumulating underneath Rose's bed. All small bottles, hiding from the bin. She could use them instead of traditional vases, she had so many, but that would prove that she wasn't handling everything as well as she led on, and she couldn't have that. Some were more circular, some were square, but they all contained the same thing, like all her memories were growing to have. Whiskey. When she saw orange or brown she thought of the liquid, stinging her throat the way she adored, burning her like a flame. She wouldn't count how many bottles were under her bed, it would be too cementing.

So she sipped white rum instead, trying to get used to the clear liquid as an alternative. She sat at the bar in Alfie's club, for no real reason. She had wanted a drink and suddenly she was dressed in red in his bar. It was the same red as the dress she made for Grace so long ago, the same red as blood. Yet it was so unavoidable, blood, it hid amongst the orange of whiskey like buddies. And she sipped and sipped until she couldn't remember, and until she liked the taste over feeling mild discomfort.

If Tommy called she didn't answer. She needed space. The auction kept her up at night, all their faces blurring into one seamless loop of all Rose disagreed with. And how he didn't hug her or make sure she was okay. She wanted to hug him, but by the time he remembered she pulled away. And she didn't pick up the phone, just shook her head when Ada said it was for her. So she sat in Alfie's club, partly because he wouldn't be there, partly because it would sting when he found out she was. However long it had been, count the bottles you count the days.

She knew it was Alfie because no one dared to stand as close to her as he was. Most other men had sense, petrified of Tommy's scent that stuck to her like tar. Her dress had long flowing sleeves that kept her arms covered, although there was a dip around her back that defeated the purpose of the sleeves. But her hair mostly covered it from where she didn't bother to put it up.

"Back again?" He wondered eyeing her up and down, "another client?"

Rose licked some rum from her lips, "I'm warming up to rum you'd like to know."

"It should be gin but you are putting money in my pocket with that," he smirked. He didn't sit down, she wished he would, "what are you doing here again?"

She kept her eyes on the liquid in her glass, the embezzlement of the glass expensive, "I wanted to talk to you... Because I think for some reason you're the only one who'd help me to understand."

When she wouldn't look his way, Alfie's normally perky sarcastic expression dropped and he looked around, trying to spot a blinder if he could. Their partnership was holding strong, though not many blinders were the type to come to his club. Though he thought at least one would have came with her, or followed, but he knew every face. So he sat down, because Rose was floating with the mirror balls unlike how he had ever seen her.

"Go on then Rosie, shoot," unlike last time, he wasn't favourable with sitting far from her, because when he finally saw her face it was pale. Her eyes were lined in kohl, possibly to hide the dark circles underneath them. She didn't correct him, she hardly flinched.

"Before I do, I don't want Tommy to know I'm here, or was here," she rose her eyes to meet his and his expression went to something close to concern.

"And why is that?"

She sighed, "because he's the reason I'm here in the first place."

Nodding slowly, Alfie took her drink from her hands and examined it. There was a ring of her lipstick darkened on the rim, like it wasn't her first drink. Not that he even thought it was her first. The movement made Rose's face fill with regret, because no matter if she pleaded, Tommy would find out she was there. Maybe if she left, packed a bag and went home, he wouldn't. Ada would understand, she'd encourage it. At least they then could stay in contact and she'd be away from Tommy.