Bloody Face and the Dark Mistress

XIII. Three is a Party

Rose sat the dishes on the table, sighing in annoyance.

I feel like a damn housewife.

She scowled to herself. But nonetheless, she had wanted to make Oliver dinner for when he got home. A sort of apology, for what transpired last night. Literature always had a way of pulling her heartstrings.

Oliver arrived, hanging his coat up and looking surprised at the dinner before him.

"Wow, did you do this for me?" She nodded.

"All the other dashing men are beyond that door. So who else would it be for." He playfully rolled his eyes, taking his seat.

He talked about his day and they sat in silence for a long while. "Rose, I have to tell you something."

She gazed at him expectantly.

"It's about Shelly . . . she's dead, Rose."

Rosita sat there, staring off into space, her lips slightly parted as she held back tears.

"How?"

"Someone had cut off her legs and-"

"Dr. Arden, that bastard!" Her eyes flared with anger as she stood. Olivet followed, grabbing her arms gently.

"Rose, I'm-" he was cut off by her slamming her lips against his. He stood there in shock before realizing she needed a way to vent her anger. He grabbed her waist and used his tongue to part her lips, he then pressed her against the wall, his hands roaming while she grabbed his hair.

They eventually broke apart and she went to clean up. He stood there panting, wanting so much more, but he could not force her. He sighed, clutching the wall.

Rose reserved herself to the couch, flipping through channels. He took a seat beside her, his eyes drooping and soon sleep took him.

Rose turned off the tv, trying to do the same. She silently cried as she listened to Oliver's light snores.

Arden will pay severaly.

Then she heard it. It was faint and she thought herself mad. But it sounded like sobs. She rose from couch and glided to the basement, fingers wrapping around the knob to pull it open. She crept, hand gliding the wall for a lightswitch. She found one and flicked it on.

Light flooded the room and Rose stood there, her fists clenched at the sight of Lana Winters chained to the floor.

Lana's eyes were pleading as she attempted to scream through the gag, but Rose was already up the stairs. She yanked a knife from her holder on her way to Oliver's sleeping form.

Her hand soared through the air and stung his face to wake him up, the knife quickly being pressed against his throat.

"Rose, what-"

"You son of a bitch," she laughed hysterically. She traced the knife along his cheekbones. "You have thirty seconds to explain before I start cutting up your face . . . and perhaps even more intimate parts."

She dug the knife in deeper, knicking him.

"Tick tock, time to talk."