Dead Daisies

It's Frustrating

The next few days went by agonizingly slow. It had been a week since I met the Rosemary's. Every time I thought of Thomas I got all hot and bothered, but I also got a creepy tingle through my fingers. But here I was, on his front porch ready to declare my presence.

"Hello Miss Thompson," Thomas had appeared from behind me with his hands covered in black dirt," You finally took my offer after making me wait so long?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. Just...a lot of stuff was going on."

I kicked a pebble next to my boot. Was I supposed to tell him the truth? That he made me uncomfortable but also gave me millions of butterflies? Definitely not.

"Do you like books?" Thomas asked.

That had caught my attention.

"Yeah, I do actually."

Thomas waved for me to follow him, and I obeyed. Walking behind him I could see his back muscles flex through his navy blue shirt. He wasn't scrawny like I had first thought. He was quite built actually.

Thomas led me through the living room and down a hall decorated in family portraits. But they were odd. Unusual. Not the families, no. It was the literal pictures. They were handmade by an artist. The families were dressed in ancient clothing, mid 1600's most likely.

"What's with these paintings?" I asked, touching the one closest to me, a portrait of two children and a mother.

"Not to be rude about your moms decorating skills." I added on.

"They came with the house." He replied, short and sweet.

I hadn't heard of these families living in the house. I would've at least came across other residents.

Thomas opened a door with gold designing covering the wood. It had to be handmade too. All this furnishings and portraits had to cost a fortune. Then again, all of the belongings in the house could've came with it and Thomas could be telling the truth.

Behind the beautiful door we're dozens of 12 foot shelves stacked with any book of any kind. It was a sea of ink and paper and dreams. I stepped forward, unable to close my mouth in utter awe.

"If I had this in my house I would never leave this room."

I practically jumped over to one book that caught my eye.
Moby Dick. Yes, it was weird that I actually enjoyed a school book that most teenagers dreaded.

"I see you favor Moby Dick." Thomas said, making his way to my side.

I turned to face him, clutching the withering cover to my chest.

"I know it's weird that I like this book, but..."

"You may have it as yours." he interrupted.

I almost dropped the book from my hands shaking.

"Are you serious? These books could be a fortune!"

"That could be true, however, I can see that it brings you joy."

~~~

We walked into the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Rosemary were. They had obviously been sharing kisses here and there from the look of their flushed cheeks.

"May I interrupt?" Thomas spoke up first.

"We we're just talking," Mrs. Rosemary stated, giving Thomas the stink eye,"It's so nice to see you again Amelia!"

She glided over to me and pulled my body into her warmth, automatically sending the sent of vanilla and roses to fill my lungs.

"I'll walk her out." Thomas said.

He guided me to the front door and gave me gentle hug. As we parted from the embrace I noticed another large, ancient painting hanging near the stairs. It was a mother, father, and a grown son. He almost looked like...

"What is it?" Thomas questioned.

"That painting..it looks just like your family."

I stared intently at it, struggling to see I stepped past Thomas and moved closer. But Thomas grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the door.

"I'm apologize but you must go."

Thomas's sweet brown eyes turned a nasty shade of licorice.

"A sudden turn of hospitality I see."

I knew the attitude was clear in my voice, and it was clear that Thomas had caught it too.

"I urge you to leave Amelia." He growled, spitting my name out like it was venom.

I hadn't done a single thing for him to get mad at me. We were just in the library laughing and having a good time, but here he is, growing angry with me.

I threw the book down and stomped away without taking a second glance at Thomas. I don't think I was to see him ever again.