A Rose by Any Other Name

Prologue

Writer's Note- As of January 13th 2019, the story is complete but unedited. I'll be going through edits slowly, new readers please bear with me. Edited chapters will have a note labelling them as such.

Thank you for your patience. Please remember to vote.

-RM

[Edited July 14th 2019]

Chapter song: Afraid by Xavier Omär
#

"C'mon Derrick, it'll be my treat." Mike was asking to hang out again, it's like this guy couldn't take a hint.

I closed my locker louder than I meant to, hinges creaking noisily as it croaked shut. After I clicked my lock, I realized I had forgotten something. "Shit." I exclaimed softly.

Mike had been casually leaning against the adjacent lockers, but perked up from beside me. "Is that a yes?"

The tattoo parlour was closed for the night. I'd already counted the till and done the mopping after saying goodbye to the other workers. The store was my pride and joy; an open floor plan with the dark accents made it a space I loved to be in. I had apprenticed here in university and now I was co-owner. Walking in every morning it still surprised me how lucky I was to love my job. Relatively speaking, of course.

It helped that business was booming ever since I started doing magic imbued tattoos. People loved the idea of tattoos that never faded, could move on their own or could be temporary. I had always been good with my spells but even for me it was getting overwhelming. Especially with Mike coming in once a month or so, trying to book a tattoo appointment and then cancelling.

Mike came by more often than he ought to, trying to goad me out of staying late and sometimes suggesting that he was ready to get his first tattoo. Yet, as soon as the needle started buzzing, he claimed to have changed his mind. I was beginning to think he just wanted me touch him and the tattoo would just be a weird side effect.

We were in the back of the store, Mike having come from work just to see me, even though it was nearly a half hour drive. I would never admit it to him, but a part of me did want for his company. Not a lot, just a little.

I took the time to redo my locker combination, taking out my sketch book and stuffing it into my messenger bag. I was working on a sketch for my next tattoo. Something about it wasn't working for me, the spell for what I wanted it to do, slipping from my grasp. Mike's eyes followed my movements carefully. As I began to click my lock closed, Mike put his hand over mine, effectively trapping me to the spot. "Listen to me," he said softly, the warmth of his hand seeping into mine. He was always doing that; initiating small, intimate exchanges I didn't want to understand.

I stared at him until he removed his hand. His hair was beginning to curl around his ears, falling into his eyes and covering the back of his neck. I touched a dirty blond strand by his ear. "You should cut your hair." Mike stilled for a moment, spots of red appearing on his cheeks.

I sighed. That had been happening a lot lately, too. What the hell was up with him? 

I secured my messenger bag across my body. "Let's go to this café I like," I murmured reluctantly, fixing my eyes anywhere but on his.

Mike relaxed, unloosing a laugh. "It's a date."

I didn't have the energy to argue with him, so I didn't.

#

Mike was far too energetic, always rattling on about something.  I'd known him for the past few years or so, those odd stretch of years between high school, college, graduating and then working. I met him after transferring to his high school in senior year. Even then he had so much energy. Of course, he was student body president, top of his class, on the varsity track team. It had irritated me. It always irritated me. I'd been to six high schools by that point, and no matter where I went, I was the top of the class. Not with Mike around, that's for sure.

We had just left the café, and I made sure Mike had treated me well. I chose the most expensive item at the shop; a dark chocolate cheesecake with cream cheese icing. Instead of being annoyed at my expensive choice Mike only gave one of his easy smiles, tapping away with his credit card. I wasn't sure if Mike was coming to my place afterwards, but I hoped he wasn't. I could only handle so much of him in one day.

It was a clear beautiful day; a smattering of clouds populating the blue sky, sunset beckoning in the distance. I almost smiled as a slight wind passed my face. Catching Mike's stare, I arched an eyebrow. He only looked away, chewing on his lip. The obvious nervousness made me think someone so big shouldn't look so nervous. I looked him over, noticing something different.

"Have you been working out?" I said.

Mike had the audacity to look sheepish. "Yeah, just a little."

His shirt was more form fitting than usual, clearly showing his efforts. I made an exasperated noise. "You're looking fucking ripped, man." I clapped him on the shoulder, "I'm sure Cheryl appreciates it."

Mike coughed. "Actually—Cheryl and I broke up."

When exactly had that happened? I swore I remembered them making out at the last party Mike had dragged me along to. "Shit, that sucks. She was cool." She could be a little snotty but she had a nice ass. Mike didn't reply right away and I looked at him to see he had stopped walking a few paces back. He looked as though he was clearly torn over something.

Damn, I wasn't good with this stuff. "Mike, breakups can be rough. If you need someone to talk to-" I struggled for a better thought to enter my head. "I guess you have me?" Why the fuck had I phrased that like a question?

He had a strange expression on his face. "No. me and Cheryl are okay. We still talk a bit but we outgrew each other, which is okay. Shit happens, but-" he had been talking in a rush, words tumbling and then he stuttered to a stop.

He stood up a little taller, grey eyes boring into mine and taking a step closer. "There's someone else I want." he said, "Someone who I'm realizing I've wanted for a while."

Before I could ask him what he was talking about, the sound of a speeding car filled the air. Both of us looked down the street to see a weaving dark sedan speeding up the road.

"What the fuck?" I said, "They're going to wrap themselves around a pole like that." The car was nearly crashing into oncoming traffic, swerving out of the way at the last minute. It was some feet away from us when it swerved again, directly into where we were standing on the sidewalk.

I opened my mouth wanting to yell at him, or to say something. But my throat wouldn't work, and my mouth felt like sandpaper. The last few seconds were agonizingly slow, Mike looking at me with fear and worse, anguish, like I meant something to him. In that moment I hated looking at him. I hated how he made me feel and I hated I hated him being there.

There are a lot of things I could have done. I know I didn't do any of the right ones. I threw my forty dollar cheesecake at Mike. The box flopped open, the cake hitting him square in the chest, ruining his Ralph Lauren shirt. In surprise, he stumbled the few steps back out of the way of the oncoming car.

The time it took me to make the wrong choice I hadn't moved.

I'm sure I looked like a rag doll after the car hit me; limbs flung askew, bones crunching before I hit the concrete. There is something about pain that robs you of memory, because after that I don't remember a thing. Only the screams of a voice that couldn't be mine.