Ten Petaled Rose

Chapter 5: Dead Man Dead Man

This was how she left:

The lights were still on.

The bed was unmade.

The house so quiet, so still, the gramophone still playing Henry Purcell's King Arthur as she slipped into the night.

This was how she wanted to leave; like she never did.

He remembered dreaming, thinking, she'd died. Dreaming some strange man had taken her in the night. Stolen her away from him. He dreamed that she suffered some horrible fate, because of how deeply he loved her. Trusted her. She was magic to him, and he knew rightfully so that the only way she could ever leave, was by force.

And then -- one day -- he woke up -- and he found out that she'd run off because she wanted to.

They all told him to move on. No more dreaming. No more imagining her as a damsel in distress that only he could save. No more hope sewn into the letters she sent. Promising to come back for each of his birthdays, until he doubted she even remembered what his birthday was to begin with.

Move on.

Such a simple thing to do when someone finds out that the person they thought loved them, turns out to be a liar.

How easy would it have been to hate her.

But secretly, John loved her, and he couldn't believe it no matter how many people told him it was true. There is no moving on from there.

Only running away.

*

Ringo was there before John woke up, much to his surprise. Tiredly walking into the kitchen, expecting Mimi to be making breakfast, when instead she sat at the table eating. Some stranger working by the stove, though he soon realized who it was.

"Mornin' John," They both chirped in unison. Ringo had made drop scones with honey. Sausage on the side. Mimi's favourite, though in the mornings she regularly made porridge. This was a pleasant alternative, though, he didn't understand why Ringo had come so early. Skeptical as he sat down across from his aunt.

"Mornin'," John responded, staring down at the plate Ringo set in front of him, before sitting with his own. This was very strange. And somewhat uncomfortable to John who wasn't used to this special treatment. Nor Ringo associating with his aunt.

"Why are you here?" He questioned, immediately slapped on the shoulder from across the table.

"John!" she scolded. Wicked eyes flickering with anger. John did not cook. And when he did it was mostly for himself. She hadn't had anyone cook for her before. Well, not in a long time at least and she didn't want John to take it for granted and ruin the whole thing.

"Sorry, though I don't mind ya bein' here early..." He paused, glancing at Mimi for approval in regards to his politeness. She calmed down a bit, "Why're you here?"

To that, Ringo responded far more chipper than he normally would, "Oh me parents left early and I set about walking', was in the area, and..." Before he could finish, he froze at the murderous expression on John's face. Eyes having wandered as Ringo spoke, he'd glanced at the rubbish bin. There the letter was, where John had left it. Only it hadn't been there the night before, and that could only mean one thing.

For the sake of Mimi, he didn't outright explode, but he did excuse himself. For Ringo's sake, because if he hadn't, he'd have likely socked him in the jaw. A less-than-suitable punishment, but he'd have to wait for Mimi's departure before he could confront him. He sulked into his room. Pacing angrily at the thought of Ringo betraying him. All these years of 'friendship' and now he sees fit to go behind John's back and steal from him? And not just nothing, he steals one of his mother's letters? Something he shouldn't have even known existed.