The price of Roses

Chapter Two: Unplanned help

Chapter 2

J.R opened his bedroom door to his bedroom, seeing that his lamb was left on due to his sudden urge to go out. Quickly J.R flopped on to his bed as he flipped the black leathered diary from its back to its front. J.R was a rather curious teenager, once he set his mind on wishing to know something he would indeed do all in his power to figure things out. J.R opened the cover to reveal the swipe marks that his older brother placed on to the page to bring the owner's name forth. "Adriana", J.R spoke the name out loud as the light from his red lamp began to flicker on and off rapidly but, settled within seconds. J.R shifted in his seat a bit, looking around his room than to the dingy page once again. "It's just a silly diary", J.R said to himself turning away from the first page to read the words written on the left parchment.

-To the reader of this diary if you are in possession of this book I am writing into, I will allow you the pleasure in letting you know that this dairy is a shame. I am sorry that you are disappointed but, please think on my behalf. I cannot allow anyone the knowledge of knowing where Sung-Joo resides. I do not want anyone to persuade him against me; you should understand, right? Though I suppose there is no use in a mere mortal knowing of it. I assume that you are of human decent, for if you were not you would have suffered a horrible death by a single touch of this book. The same fate will be bestowed on to an ill minded person, human or not. Congratulations you are not immortal or sick minded therefor you shall live yet another night. There is also another trick I have spelled a pond this book but, indeed I would have to bare myself for you to fully engage into the problem that you will now help me with.-

J.R raised a brow from the written words thinking it to be a joke of some kind. Turning the page to anew as he focused now on the right side of the page.

-Still reading...? Good. I know it's hard for you to concentrate right now as your mind has so many questions circling around in that mind of yours that need to be answered. I bet one is of who Sung-Joo is to me and why is it so important for others of my being or past to not come in contact with him? I will answer many of your questions especially the ones that will jump into your mind during my reason to you. I will start from the beginning, as I feel that the start is always best and in the end you shall know the problem that you shall help me with. I will not bore you with my birth. I was born; I was raised until the night of my death at the age of eighteen. Yes, I have been eighteen for some time now, though what is time when you are to live beyond it?

It was 1902, England. Two years before Queen Victoria had passed away and her son Edward had taken the throne in replace of her. Now of all places I was not born in England, my family only moved there during my infant age. Where I was born is not of importance and will not help you to better understand your place in my aid. It was another night within my family's home. You can say during this time it was rather nice home, something that people of color didn't have. My father owned a bakery a rather popular one at that, something that he inherited from my grandmother, a paled skinned woman who took side of her son not wanting to follow in his father's footsteps in being a banker.

You can say that my father had it easy due to his mixed race being more faded than most biracial children. Due to his complexion it was better that the more seen race considered him white or in this time Caucasian. My mother on the other hand was a lovely African women that my father saved from poverty and working.

My father dressed her only matching her dark skinned beauty. The pair seeming like a fairy tale it was miles away from it. Arguments and screaming was a usual thing at the age of my seventh year the sounds of plates and expensive vases crashing against closes doors were more common than day and night taking turns in life.

Father would yell how he spoiled my mother; how she didn't appreciate him and all his work he placed into her. Well my friend; my mother was anything but a house wife, no matter how much my father "trained" her in truth her mother placed our family into our nice home.

Young I was of course but, not stupid. Mother seemed to always take an unmoral kindness to father's brother. How? I could tell by the way my mother had her hands fondling inside of his trousers the time I dropped my spoon underneath the dinner table. This marriage was a spark waiting to burst into flames, setting everything on fire in its path.

I didn't bother myself asking why mother did such things. I always thought she was too beautiful for her own good. Vanity is one of the most deadly of sins. During the wakes of my eighteenth year I could say that my eyes opened at the time of ten in the morning. My body pained and ached to the point that I couldn't lift a simple limb if my life counted on it. Luckily my father walked in just before work. My father dressed in his waist coat and slacks as he sat at the side of my bed.

He looked down on to me with slightly worried eyes for me. Placing a hand on to my forehead, than pressed his fingers on to my slowly pulsing wrist. "My dear", my father called my mother into my room. My mother walked into my bedroom; her blouse and dress fluffed to a high class puff, of course dressed for yet another outing with uncle as father worked.

"Yes", my mother spoke. My father and mother eyed each other causing my mother to lean forward to press her palm onto my forehead. "Oh my, such a cold feel', she said to my father.

My mother pushed herself upward and sighed as she fixed her pearl earrings. "Oh dear, I think our child is dying", to her it was rather dark sarcasm but, I didn't know how much truth her words held at that time. My father folded his arms looking down to me "If she has a fever than she wouldn't feel so chilled", he said looking to his watch. "Do you think? My father's words to my mother as they traded eyed contact with each other.

My mother rolled her eyes as if they switched mental thoughts telepathically and somehow my mother had a disagreement in her expression and walked to the other side of my bed side as if to prove my father wrong about the subject. My mother placed her index finger and middle on to my lower lip and forced the muscle of my jaw that I had no power over to open just enough to see what was inside. Maybe, she had seen something that disgusted her, explaining the reason of why she covered her mouth so quickly and backed away from me until her back hit the wood of the wall.

My father would slightly sighed a disappointing sigh as he shook his head to the result of it he standing to his feet. "Get rid of it, get rid of it now! My mother shouted as her back slid down the wall and sat her rare on to the floor in absolute fear, those were the last words I remember from my mother.

"She got it from your side of the family, you know. I thought the monster gene would have surely surpassed our first child-

"J.R! The sounds of his mother called out to him from the bottom of the stairs. J.R jumped a little as her heard his mother's voice. "What! J.R responded a bit angered that his attention was taken away from the book. "Dinner! His mother yelled up again. "I don't want any! He said to her turning the page of the book once more.