For the love of Primrose

"He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me...," Primrose sank into the bubbles.

Her left hand like the branches of a willow tree dangled off the edge of the bathtub with her fingers barely holding the fresh stems of what was previously a bouquet of roses. For the millionth time that morning, her eyelids squeezed short threads of tears off her face into the soap suds. Slowly she plucked the last petal and tossed it into the bath water among it's floating companions, “...He loves me not."

The stems slipped out of her fingers and scattered all over the floor. As she slithered her body lower bringing her head just under the water surface, a grey silence flooded her mind. She lay still like a coffin in the earth, the petals dancing over her to the tune of her funeral. With her mind's eye, she watched the dancing petals cluster and declutter. 

A whirlwind of voices suddenly engulfed the silence, “Let go. It is over for you. What's the point anyway? He hates you! Lilly is dead! You were not good enough! Die!"

She jerked herself out of the bathtub, her heart pounding like an angry pestle. Pressing her palms to her ears she whispered, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made. I am highly favoured. I am loved."

When she finally opened her eyes, the crimson petals were still wildly pirouetting in the water. She gazed into the mirror searching her eyes for something, anything and all she got back was a hollow stare. 

Behind her depressed image stood five translucent flower vases. One held old sunflower stems and the rest were filled with withering rose stems. She gathered the fresh stems off the floor and dropped them into one of her empty vases. A faint smile circled her lips as she ran her fingers along the shriveled sunflower stems. They were a souvenir from her failed wedding day. She held them to her chest and took two steps forward while humming the tune of her entrance song. It had been the almost perfect greenhouse wedding and the almost perfect 'I do' before Spence decided he could not stay with her for life. She had pleaded infront of all the guests but Spence simply placed a soft kiss onto her forehead.

“I can't do this... pretend like it will be fine," he had said and walked away for good.

Tears, pity parties and fake commiserations soon became her daily portion.

Primrose returned the sunflower stems and lifted the driest rose stems to her bosom. She sank to the floor and lulled them to sleep, “Rock-a-by baby on the tree top..," she sung carefully wiping the thick layers of dust off their epidermides.

A deep longing gripped her heart as she clutched her feet to her chest. She wished she could reverse time. She wished she had listened to Spence. Maybe he wouldn't have left her for loosing their baby in the rose fields. Maybe they would have been okay. She pressed her palms to her ears once again pushing back the haunting voices.

“You killed Lilly and you know it!" they taunted, “You were always working so hard, tending those useless roses! You should have listened to Spence when he told you the pesticides were not good for baby Lilly! Poor Lilly. She never lived to see the light of day..."

“Arrrrr!" She wailed, “I am loved! I am forgiven... yes forgiven! I am..."

A soft rattle on the door drew her out of her desolation. She sat as still as an iceberg praying she had not been overheard. The knocking persisted for a brief eternity before coming to a sudden halt. Quietly she crawled out to the door and peeked through the keyhole. There was no one in sight except for a package at the doorstep. Shivers of curiosity raked her spine.

“Please be from Spence...please" she hoped hurriedly opening the door to retrieve it.

It was a black heart shaped box. Its lid was wrapped in satin and held in place with a simple yarn ribbon. Primrose crossed her fingers and opened the lid. They were flowers; rose flowers. Her face drew lines of confusion. She had just received her monthly sympathy flowers from the rose field owners the previous day and she was not expecting any flowers. She opened the note and poured over it's contents.

###

Our dearest Miss Primrose,

We hope this finds you well. We the team at Gatbat Rose Fields

still moan with you over the untimely loss of your child and the unfortunate turn of events at your wedding.

We however kindly request that you clear the debt you owe towards using our greenhouse as your wedding venue before the end of this week. Failure to pay will mean confiscation of your house and car.

Best wishes

Mr Spence Kata

Manager, Gatbat Rose Fields

###

Primrose' heart skipped a beat when she saw Spence' name at the end of the note. The knot at the pit of her stomach tightened. All this while she thought he had left town yet he was still working at the fields. He had even been promoted to the position of manager.

“Maybe he sent all the previous roses," she thought hugging the note, “Maybe he's trying to reach out."

“ Or maybe...,"she stopped short remembering the threat on her house and car.

She withdrew the roses from the rose box and made her way back to her bathroom. The petals in her absence had resigned to one corner of the bathtub and were swaying gently from side to side. She drained the water and watched them dance to the bottom. Her mental torturers began to yell but their buzzing quickly dissipated in the tantalizing scent of the fresh bouquet of roses. The moisture on the tips of the petals tickled her nostrils and she giggled lightly.

Full clothed, Primrose stepped into the bathtub and stared at the ceiling as she plucked the petals one after the other while chanting, “He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me..."