Bed of Roses | H.S.

Prologue I

"Daddy? Is that you?"

A poignant silence enveloped the room, thick with the weight of unspoken truths. "No, flower. I'm afraid daddy's not here anymore," he gently intoned, his voice a soothing balm amidst the silent cries that enveloped the hushed corridors of the funeral home.

"B-But... You're my daddy. You look like daddy! If he's not here, where is he?"

Dressed in a somber black dress that accentuated her vulnerability, she peered up at the towering figure before her, his features a confusing reflection of the beloved father she had lost. Confusion etched its way across her delicate features as her eyes locked with his piercing green orbs, a stark contrast to the familiar blue eyes that had been etched into her memory.

"I'm his little brother that's why I look like him." He whispered, his voice a fragile tether in the midst of her swirling emotions. A tender ache gripped his heart as he gathered the words to convey the unspoken truth. "Daddy's in heaven now, you know that place, right? God decided to take him up there because his mission here is already done, because he's a good person." His voice, laden with a gentle solemnity, wove a delicate tapestry of reassurance in the wake of her father's absence. "You can't go there yet because you still have a lot of missions to complete here," he continued, his gaze a steady anchor amidst the tumult of her thoughts. "Look, right now he's watching you from heaven," he carefully imparted.

"Oh... Can I call you daddy then?"

"W-Well, I guess you can Rosetta. But just for now, okay? I'm too young to be called like that." A sad chuckle bubbled up Harry's throat. His reply lingered in the air, a fragile connection between them, offering a brief haven in the midst of sorrow.

She was 7 years old. He was 16.

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"Daddy?"

A soft, tender laugh escaped him as Rosetta's endearing voice pierced the hazy tranquility of the room. "Yes, flower?" he murmured, his breath a gentle caress against the tendrils of her hair. "Didn't I tell you before not to call me that? We're friends," he gently reminded her, his amusement palpable even in the half-light, his eyes crinkling with affection.

"I'm sorry... C-Can you hold my hand?"

"Would that be alright for you?"

"Yes."

His fingers, elongated and delicate, traced a tender path along her arm, a ballet of sensation that whispered secrets to her skin. A shiver rippled through her, a response she couldn't contain, and she found herself nestled closer to him, seeking the solace of his solid warmth. With a tenderness that belied his strength, Harry wove his fingers through hers, creating a silent bond that transcended the mere physical touch. Rosetta surrendered to the serenity of the moment, allowing the weight of the world to slip away as she surrendered to the embrace of the night, their intertwined fingers a promise of unity amidst the uncertainty of the world.

"You like that, Rose?"

"Yes, daddy." He grunted in retaliation, a wordless protest that hung momentarily in the air before dissipating into the quietude of the room. Rose remained oblivious to the subtle discord, succumbing to a peaceful slumber that cradled her in its gentle embrace.

She was 16. He was 24.

As the night unfolded its velvety curtains around her, Rosetta's mind grappled with a tangle of thoughts that danced on the edges of her consciousness. Half-dreaming, she found herself entwined in a maze of uncertainty, grappling with the paradox of their intimacy. "He's just holding my hand," she repeated to herself like a mantra, the words echoing softly in the chambers of her mind. "He's supposed to be my guardian," she mused, attempting to reclaim a sense of propriety that seemed to slip through her fingers like fine sand. "I'm just feeling confused," she conceded. "It couldn't be wrong, right?" she questioned, the uncertainty in her voice a reflection of the silent plea for reassurance that resonated deep within her soul.

And so, with these unresolved thoughts gently cradling her in the arms of sleep, Rosetta drifted into the realm of dreams, where the boundaries of right and wrong blurred, and the language of the heart spoke with a clarity that eluded the confines of reason.