THE BOYS ARE GODS | ✓

03 » last breath.

MY AUNT WAS an alcoholic. Although, she was my favorite aunt, she was pure darkness. My best memories are with her, when she was sober. I can vividly remember my last Christmas with her back in Leeds, when she was happy. But, I think that was a mask, she was simply never happy.

My grandmother was an alcoholic, as well. My grandmother was a great lady, much like my aunt. They both adored flowers, their favourite flowers being red roses. They both had long, curly, black hair and plump cheeks. To me, they were very pretty and I adored both of them. But my aunt, much like my grandmother, died in the same way, too. Choking on their own vomit. I was never close with either of them mentally, people I passed time with when the days were long.

I have the superstition that history repeats itself until every outcome has been made. Maybe that's why, when my cousin, Rosa, and I found my aunt choking on her own throw up, Rosa was far more traumatized than I was. Maybe, that's why Rosa skipped her mother's funeral, but I did too, I was only informed of Rosa's disappearance. I wondered what happened to Rosa after she went missing, but when my family recieved a funeral invitation, she was found.

Rosa Marie Gonzalez was pronounced dead on December 14th of 2013 at 12:33 AM.

Four years, a new house, and new country later, her existence still haunted my memory like a ghost in an old home. She danced around in my head, whispering sweet nothings. She would appear in front of me and hold out her hand for me to take it, everytime it seemed like she was going to show me something. She doesn't come around anymore, I miss her. I think the doctors and therapists scared her more than she scared me.

Rosa Gonzalez was always somebody I looked up to, even though she was 10 years older than me, she was my best friend. She was my only friend, really. But still, even as she was my friend, she was never considered important. I looked up to her, yes, but, the only memories I have with her are ones of death.

"Flourishing, prosperous, blossoming, and to flower."

"What?" I looked over at Adonis as we laid in the tailgate of his truck on the cold December 14th day.

"The name Florence means flourishing, prosperous, blossoming and to flower." Adonis recited fixing his gaze onto my face. I watched his eyes as they trailed over my eyes, nose, cheeks, and then finally my lips.

"Do you research stuff up in your free time or do you just know it?" A laugh fell between my lips and my hands were thrown up in exclamation.

"Both," he chuckled slightly, nudging me with his arm, "you see that rock over there?" I nodded my head slowly, my gaze following his to a rock that stood off in the distance.

"My dad use to take my mom and I here," my eyes shot back to him as he coughed to cover up a sob that was threatening to spill through his lips. Like if he allowed himself to cry, he would spill all of his dark secrets, "my mom would always hold my hand and we would jump off together because my dad always jumped before us."

I smiled softly and nodded my head, "your dad seemed like a great person." Do you say that to someone who has lost someone? Adonis's eyes twinkled against the stars, they were blue, they were gray, they were sad, they were dead. When someone's eyes are dead, is there a chance of bringing life back into them?

I read somewhere that when people die and then are suddenly revived, they see their life flash before their eyes. They never talk about what they saw, what events are played, who they saw. Did they see the future, if they were to live? Recall core memories from their past? Do they have the ability to feel emotions? Can they hear the yelling of the doctors, the sobbing of their loved ones?

"Let's go jump off of the rock, Italy." I choked on my own spit. Adonis's eyes held mischief and whatever Anteros wanted, he got.

"Florence, and it's 50 degrees and winter. We'll get sick." Did he ever think before he spoke? No. He was Adonis Anteros didn't need to.