Ruby & The Rose (lesbian stories)

Chapter 8

8

Rose stood from her hard, stone bed before dawn. She dusted down her clothes and ran a hand through her hair. It needed cutting again.

There was an all-night off-license on the end of the road. Rose purchased two bottles of whisky, and was half way through the first before she’d been given her change.

The golden liquid was soothing, no matter how much the sensation of swallowing it burned. She shared a few measures with a sinewy old man standing under a bus shelter. His name was Tom. He’d fought in the war. Well, he was in catering.

“Our lads could- hic- n’t ‘ave defeated Jerry on empty stomachs!” he declared. “Give- hic- us another swig of tha’ will ya. ‘s good stuff. Hic.”

When sunlight broke on the horizon, Tom had long since passed out. Rose prised the bottle from his wrinkled hand, and took a long walk. She swallowed the last few drops, and threw the bottle into a dustbin without looking- her killer aim not affected by her strong intoxication. The world before Rose was blurred; her eyes were unable to focus properly. Her feet faltered. She placed each carefully in front of the other, but they never landed where she wanted them to. She paused to crouch down. Close up, she could see how the pavement teemed with life. Ants and bugs and money spiders. A tiny little ecosphere. She pounded the ground with the heel of her hand, squishing all beneath it dead. The Rose. Destroyer of worlds. Killer of life. She ran from the debris of her life, only to cause yet more annihilation and devastation. Everywhere she went, death followed. She couldn’t kick it off. It was everywhere. The metallic smell of blood was a permanent fixture in her nostrils. It haunted her. In the darkness and the silence, there it was, that smell. And visions of her victims floated across her mind’s eye. She could taste the insanity, just a hairbreadth away. Rose picked the insect corpses from her palm.

She soon found that the town had a river. It was deep green in colour, and filled with litter and sewage. She climbed up to the bridge that crossed it about a third of the way down. It was just high enough for a mid-sized boat to pass underneath. Rose peered over the edge. The water flowed slowly.

“Why?” she asked the water. It did not reply. She tilted her head back to ask the clouds. “WHY?!”

Her voice rang out. She yelled again. And again. Over and over until her throat was hoarse. Floods of tears streamed from her eyes, and she didn’t stop to wipe them away. The salt was a contrasting taste to the smokiness of the whisky, but welcome. Her knuckles were white, clutching at the brickwork before her of their own accord.

Rose could feel the cotton snapping, thread by thread. The memories flooded out, crashing through her, smashing her insides to pieces, like a mallet through sugar glass. She held the bridge tighter. She squeezed her eyes shut, but nothing could stop it. Sobs escaped her, choked and desperate. She yearned for another shot of whisky.

Mum and Dad, Benjamin, Franz and Claudia, the twins, Mallory. All the people that Rose had loved and lost. Their faces stood out foremost, clear as day. Ruby’s own features began to form there, too. All blue eyes and blonde hair. She truly was beautiful.

Rose slowly unclenched her hands, fingers cracking as they unfolded, burns protesting. She held her arms wide, reaching as far as they could. The wind blew in her face, cold, refreshing. The sun was bright. She opened her eyes, and let the light flood in. It hurt, but in a good way. It balanced the pain inside.

Rose wondered how long it would take to hit the surface. A second? Probably less. The water would be cold. It would be painful. Good. Could take minutes.... But her mind would be occupied. The pros greatly outweighed the cons.

She stood on her tip-toes, and closed her eyes. The whisky still flowed viscous through her veins. But this would be the medicine to fix things for good. A smile spread across her face.

She thought she could hear shouts, distant to her, as if through a duvet, calling her name.  

As she tilted her body, and the world began to turn upside down, Rose suddenly felt arms around her waist.

“Gen! Imogen stop! Please!”

The arms were strong. And Rose knew that voice. She shook her head.

“It’s not you,” she whispered. The veil of inebriation began to clear. The very idea of who could be behind her when she opened her eyes shocking her into the land of the sober. “It can’t be.”

“It is, Imogen. Don’t do this. I need your help.”

A moment passed. Rose dropped her arms back to her sides, and slowly opened her eyes.

“Alright,” she said. She took long lungfuls of air. The arms let go, the ghost of their touch all too familiar. Rose turned slowly, each inch deliberate and measured. Through clouds of tears still brimming, she looked up at blue grey eyes. The face they belonged to hadn’t aged a day.

“Mallory?” she whispered. Mallory grinned.

“Hello old friend.”

“But what are you doing-?”

“I’ll explain later. Let’s just get back to your room. I’m freezing my tits off out here.”

The corners of Rose’s mouth curled. She took Mallory’s offered hand, and followed her down from the bridge.

At the B&B, Ruby was still waiting. She gave a sigh of relief that sounded too big for her tiny body to contain. She wrapped herself around Rose and hugged her tight.

“Where the hell were you?!”

But Rose only shrugged. She peeled off her jacket, laid down on the bed, and sleep snatched her away within seconds.