Loving a Black Rose & Life in an Elevator

Chapter 2: Echoes of the Red Ink

Lou and I always met in public or at her house. It wasn't because of how the house looked, but because of who lived inside. Even though it appeared to be an average house—perhaps even a bit worse than average—the interior and exterior both felt depressing, lacking in color and furniture. The rooms were filled with cats running everywhere, knocking things over, vases crashing to the floor. Portraits of her ancestors lined the walls, which had terrified me when I was younger. The most prominent piece of furniture in the house was a huge, ancient clock with brown tones. The clock was completely inaccurate, ringing at unpredictable hours, causing everyone in the family to wake up in a panic. Screams would echo through the house. I was always keen to add a bit of color to revitalize that funeral-like environment, but my aunt always disagreed.

I opened the door to my house, and a roaring voice boomed from the old couch.

— "Ah, the return of the conquering hero!!!"

I looked over to see him. He was sitting down on the couch, a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He was in his late forties, though I often thought people judged him to be a decade older. He was of average height, but his shoulders, arms, and legs were as muscular as tree trunks. He would've been in much better shape if he hadn't deserted the army. He had been assigned a dangerous mission by his superiors, and just two days before the operation, he left. Of course, he didn't tell my aunt or me about it. My aunt wouldn't have reacted well if she knew her manly boyfriend was being hunted by the army for desertion. And how did I know about his desertion? When I was 16, I asked him why he left the army. He dismissed my question, saying it was none of my business. His reaction only fueled my suspicion, and I set out to find the truth. One day, I searched his closet and found a journal with his photo and a letter that marked him as "Wanted for Desertion." Courageous but naïve, I confronted him about it. His fury was so intense that he slapped me across the face with the back of his hand. He told me that if I ever mentioned it to my aunt, he would kill me.

Later that evening, when my aunt came home from work and saw the bruise on my cheek, she said nothing. I guess horrible people are meant to stay together. I ignored him. I wanted nothing to do with him. I quickly ran to my room and locked the door behind me. I took out the black notebook from my desk. I knew I shouldn't open the first page, but it was too tempting. I sat down and opened it. The message on the page was creatively drawn, surrounded by illustrations of plants framing the letters. Each page had a rose attached, and Lou had written the message in red ink.

Hey! Shouldn't you be waiting for tomorrow? I know you. It's fine, I know everything (sarcastic laugh). Anyway, I'll be thinking of you. Love you!

P.S. Don't even think about opening the pages before the right day, or this notebook will automatically destroy itself.

I laughed. She always had that sarcastic humor that could light up a whole day. I read the message twice, trying to hear her voice in my mind, imagining the words dancing in the air, lingering like a soft echo through the pages.