RED

3. Anemone

Love is much like a wild rose, beautiful and calm but willing to draw blood in its defense.

by Mark Over

A ding sound emitted before the handle of the door was forced down and the door pushed to open. A pale skinned woman in her early fifties with hair the colour of chestnut stepped into the penthouse then took off her shoes by the side of the door to slip on a pair of grey open-heel slippers. She turned away from her shoes only to stop on her tracks by what beheld in front of her eyes. Her eyes widened a bit in surprise at the mess that played out. The apartment was barely in its glory. It was a shadow of what it used to be. Few clothes were sprawled across the sofa. Empty bottles of beer as well as wraps of half eaten chips were left on the center table and the floor, not in any way, vacuumed. Dirty dishes were left in the sink and it remained a mystery to her that no fowl stink was perceived. How was that even possible?

A woman that followed behind her gasped as soon as her eyes laid on the horror she never imagined could be possible.

The middle aged woman sighed as she lightly shook her head. She wondered why she was so surprised. This wasn't her first time of stepping into the penthouse and meeting it in such a distasteful state but each time, it managed to put her in a state of surprise. She wondered when, on earth, was her son going to change.

"He never listens and does the same thing... over and over again." She stated before turning to the brunette behind her, who held two filled up grocery bags in each hand while staring at the mess.

"You best get to work, Samantha 'cause it's going to be a long day plus... I don't want my son to meet us here." She told her, before walking away.

"Yes, Mrs. Vos." Samantha, who was a little over the age of thirty with a round face and dark brown eyes managed to give a reply regardless of the shock she was in. She never imagined the rich were equally dirty. She shook all thoughts aside and had started already; she didn't want to spend the night here.

Samantha set the grocery bags she held in her arms on the counter of the kitchen before sighing once more. She decided to get to work immediately with the cleaning.

Mrs. Vos stood by the end of the staircase and stared up for a second at the room above. She slightly debated whether to go up or not. Either way, her son was going to give her an earful. She'd best finish what she started, so she took her first step up the stairs and then a few more till she was at the very floor she needed to be. A few more steps on the wooden floor and she stood in front of his room. She turned the knob to push the door open. As usual, his bed was in disarray with the blanket nearly falling off the bed. Shirts, ties, shoes were in a total disarrangement. She sighed once more while staring at it all, before taking steps further into the room careful enough not to step on his properties.

She stood in the center, taking a look around. She couldn't help but wonder how he managed to run such a big company and keep it at its peak; but at the same time, completely refused to keep his home at its best. She understood he was always busy and that's why she always troubled him into getting a woman for himself. The very best would be a wife. A woman who would keep the home neat and composed, but he always brushed her words off. He preferred spending different nights with strange women. She would pull out their hair if she caught them with him any day, but her son was always careful with that. He neither introduced any of them to her, nor brought them home.

She always had to read scandalous columns regarding him from the news headlines and when he does get a girlfriend, it's for publicity as the lady is, either, an actress, a model or equally a rich heiress. It never lasted past a week. He never introduced them to her as well. It always irritated her to the core and it worried her that he showed no sign of settling down to build his own family.