Antilove

Ventisette

CAPITOLO VENTISETTE

flowers for every occasion

***

"MY MOTHER ALWAYS TOLD me she knew what my vice was even before I turned six." Lucien not only drives steadily but talks with a smooth voice as well—void of any hitches.

Body positioned so she sees the landscape, and chair pushed low, Rose tries to envision Lucien as a child. It's something difficult to grasp, especially since the origin of him is still one of Earth's oldest mysteries. Did he grow then stop growing? The devil's son? When was this even? Civilized culture or one lost to cave drawings?

"She knew my biggest vice would be humanity," he continued. "I was always fascinated by art, by science. Those things don't last which is why my father never encouraged it. He didn't want me stepping too close to society. I wasn't to talk to anyone that wasn't...like me. Kind of like The Little Mermaid."

Her lips twist up at his reference. Along with The Fox and the Hound and Hercules, The Little Mermaid was one of the Disney films she watched over and over again on the VCR.

"They couldn't stop me so they didn't. My dad forced me to deal my hand in contracts. I took and I took. I loved it. People get so desperate, you know?

"Anyways, I learned my lesson soon enough. They don't last. Not the people, not the culture, not anything. To you, yes, they do. The world has lasted and it has lasted. But to me, I see everything end. I fell in love with a human. I don't remember who she or he is now. It could have been anyone.

"But I loved it. I always stepped too close. My dad's been trying to train it out of me since ages ago. Then, he saw your mom, saw you, and saw the end of my love."

"That I was the end of humanity? Armageddon?" Rose raises her head.

"No. That humanity can't be preserved."

His words fly over her. Nothing made sense anymore, except his presence by her. "Flowers," she says, and sits up straight. "We need flowers."

With a quick glance at her, Lucien cocks his eyebrow.

"Peonies. I always get peonies. Um, there's a florist near the site. We can stop there." Rose wraps her hands around her hair and ties it up haphazardly. "Nothing's special about me. I'm a dime a dozen, Lucien. There are plenty of questionable people out there."

"Not to my dad," he says, and then, in a lower volume. "Not to me."

The car drives smoothly down the highway—a rarity on a day like this. The sun beats down relentlessly on the roof, and Rose rolls down the window, feeling the hot air cool her skin. "Were your parents nice?" It's a ridiculous question but, she's found herself in a ridiculous situation.

"Nice?" Lucien laughs. "They're just parents. Important in my life but in the background. I'm my own person now."

They don't necessarily talk for the rest of the ride—he must have sensed how worn out Rose felt. In turn, she takes the time to reroute her memory of his face.

He's always been beautiful. Ethereal, even. The sort of beckoning face that urges you to singe your fingers. The sort of face that promises exhilaration, pleasures unknown to man. And Rose hasn't found out each and every one of those indulgences yet.

Everything from his dark, lush hair, to his straight nose, and plush lips screams flawed perfection. It's a face that promises depth—death and life.