When Roses Wither

Golden light from the few candles around the room wavered on the wall and danced with the reflection of the silvery-blue moonlight. The heavy brown curtains grazed the ground softly as the wind trickled in to engulf the lone writer at his desk.

His left eye twitched in irritation. He was a very irritable man. Haynes thought that writing was humdrum, but could not stop his fingers from dancing across the keys portraying a writer's feelings.

His eyes fixated on the paper in front of his hardened face, and his eyebrows drew together as his fingers rhythmically danced across his mill. His ebony curls were drenched in watery anxiety. Beads of sweat formed on the brink of his nose, as his focus drifted from his fingers to the words printed on the paper.

Henry pressed his lips together as the woman behind the bar---the bar that he sauntered his way to---greeted him with a glass of hooch. The yellow-brown liquid glistened against the walls of the glass, and he darted his tongue out to moisten his chapped lips. The aching in his chest augmented.

Agony. Remorse. They settled in his heart the minute his wife left him to fend on his own.

The gin mill was half empty. The only company Henry had that night was the soft music playing in the background. The tune ever-so-painfully reminded him of his deceased wife. His face was fallen, submissive to gravity. The pallor in his gaunt expressionless stare was almost sickening, as if the man had forgotten what sleep was. His shoulders slumped, a longing gaze on the liquor now positioned in his hand.

Was he to drink it? If he did, what would become of him then? Would he plummet back into the darkness his wife toiled to get him out of? Would the urge drown him bit by bit, withering away pieces of his sanity with it? Would the taste cut away his emotions just like it used to?

If he drank the hooch, would his dead frau roll in her tomb, angered at her disgrace of a husband, who could not even keep to his word. What kind of man would he be then?

The hombre's-

Haynes paused. The all-too-familiar feeling of uncertainty spiked his blood as he softly rubbed a key with his middle finger. The paralyzing feeling of self-doubt caused him to lean back into his seat, angered at himself.

Of all times to lose focus!

What was he to write now?

Haynes pinched his bottom lip between his teeth as he lost his equanimity. The writer's block was intractable. Haynes chided himself for allowing it to glaum his thoughts away, especially since they had just begun to blossom. His attention then met the movement of his finger on the key, and he paused, the corners of his lips tugging upwards in satisfaction at retrieving a new idea.

The hombre's index finger touched the yap of his glass and danced around the edge in circles. He had not sunk his boat just yet, but the storm enveloping him was growing more and more belligerent.

The twist behind the bar narrowed her eyes at Henry as she leaned against the counter, her nethered red hair falling over her shoulder. She examined the lines on the man's face that etched a sad story, before clenching her jaw.

She could not afford to be contumelious now, could she? Not after seeing the dolour in Henry's eyes---the dolour that he carelessly drowned in.

"Are you not going to drink it?" Her voice rang like a bell in the hombre's head and forcefully hauled him out of his stupor.

Henry stayed quiet and continued to rub the mouth of his glass. Silence formed between the two, and after a moment of the woman's stare, Henry gave in. He lifted the-

Haynes paused for the second time that night, but not because of writer's block. A delicious scent swam up to his nostrils, making itself known. The scent was strong, as if the person birthing it was behind him. He tried shrugging it off to get back to his book, but the smell enthralled him.

That smell---that delicious, floral smell---drove Haynes over the edge as memories flashed in the sable bubble of misery he called his brain.

In the mirror hanging upon the wall next to his desktop, Haynes spotted a figure standing in front of the curtains of his balcony. His heart stopped for a dizzying moment when he realized just who it was.

The moonlight coloured the woman's white, ravishing dress, that kissed the floor, allowing a glow to form around her. Her dress complimented her voluptuous body superbly. The neck of her dress grazed the line between her breasts allowing Haynes's eyes to shamelessly wander to her cleavage. The radiant glow allowed lightly freckled skin to be shown off heavenly--skin that only one man had laid his lips upon. The woman's blond hair was in a gatsby updo, her lips were stained with blood-red lipstick, and her hands were naked and at her side, cupping her full hips.

"Hello, Haynes." Soft, silky, the broad's voice rang like a bell in Haynes's ears, and the sound caught his breath.

What was she doing here? Why had she visited him now?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Haynes turned to face her. To say that he was scared was an understatement, but he whelved that fright behind his charming smile, the smile that swept the woman off her feet. The uneven dents in his cheeks thawed her heart, and the circles of gray underneath Haynes' eyes that painted the tips of his cheek-bones gave him a sexier appearance.

At least, that is what she thought.

"Hello, Rose." The baritone in the man's smoky voice enthralled Rose, and she pulled on her bottom lip with her teeth.

Rose strode her way to him as if she were walking down the aisle, her eyes never leaving the orbs she grew to cherish. Her long-fingers gracefully slithered across the carmine sheets of the bed before she stopped at Haynes' side. Neither of them dared to say a word, as if afraid to break the silence that agonizingly scorched the surface of their flesh.

Haynes's breathing was slow, shallow. He kept his head in the direction of the balcony. His heart hammered against his ribcage, but he ignored the pulsating beast. All his attention was on the woman beside him. Rose's finger traced the man's desktop before stopping at the mug filled with coffee.

She chuckled. "Your coffee has run cold, darling."

Rose touched the mouth of the mug, mimicking Henry's previous movements of concentration. Her index finger danced around the cold glass, her mind in total equanimity---equanimity Haynes lost the minute Rose stepped foot into his room.

"It was of no use to me before, it is of no use to me now," Haynes said almost in a whisper, as though too scared that if he spoke any louder, she would disappear. Though seeing the woman here disoriented his brain, he did not want her to leave. Not after being away from her for four months.

"And why is that?" Rose asked, humour in her voice.

Haynes abruptly stood up from his seat and faced Rose with a hardened expression. His eyes scanned her pulchritudinous face. It was a mystery onto why her heart had beat for him, a wastrel, whilst she was a beautiful calamity of art.

"It is missing a hint of sweetness," Haynes spoke softly as he cupped the woman's cheek, his thumb rubbing the icy flesh. Rose smiled and shut her eyes, leaning into Haynes's touch.

"Shall I re-make it then? You were never good at making yourself anything tasty." She bantered.

Haynes froze at her words. He bit the inside of his cheek, moving away from her. Walking towards the balcony, a gust of wind raged into the room. He met the gaze of the moon above.

Rose's eyes fluttered open, and her lips parted. Turning around, she went after him. Her scent grew stronger by the second, and Haynes could not help but drink it, his hands clutching the curtains.

"I was never one to serve, Rose," He finally replied.

Another chuckle left Rose's lips as she stopped at his bed and sat down, her dress brushing her ankles ever so gently.

"And besides, you would not be able to re-make it."

Rose seemed to perk up at that. "And why is that?"

Haynes's eyes glistened with weary as he turned to face his wife.

"Well, you see, darling," He paused, then walked over to her. He played with the strand of hair over her shoulder, meeting her eyes.

"You are supposed to be dead."

Those words did not come as a shocker to Rose, after-all, she indeed was a man's dead wife.

"Would a dead dame be able to touch her husband's hand?" Rose's hand lifted and she entangled their fingers. The disquietude that once subsided in Haynes's chest dissipated and was replaced with fret---fret that he was finally losing his remaining sanity.

"No, but her husband would be smart enough to know the difference between reality and an illusion." Haynes's words pierced right through Rose's heart.

She stood up with a frown and lifted the shoulders of her dress. Slowly, the dress slithered down her frame. She stood half-naked in front of the man she loved, but he refused to meet her eyes the moment she removed her dress. Angered, Rose grabbed his hand and pressed it to her breast.

Haynes's breath hitched and he snapped his head in the direction of their hands. His mouth dried, chest ached. The fingers that cupped Rose's breast tightened around the soft cushion causing the woman to whimper, and drop her arms around his neck. She closed the gap between them, her lips brushing Haynes's earlobe.

"Is this an illusion, Haynes? Or am I just another callow half-naked bim that you had sex with then dusted out?"

Haynes stiffened and his face sank. He held onto Rose's wrists and stepped away from her, scanning her eyes. Before he could utter a word, her bitter laughter filled the room. The colour in his face drained and his knees became weak from the shame lurking in his veins.

"How do you know about that?" He questioned.

"I am dead, remember?"

Haynes's expressions turned into a glare and his grip on her wrists tightened.

"How do you know about such information, Rose?" The venom in his tone broke the woman's smirk and she scowled. She pulled her arms away from Haynes. The force caused her to stumble back until she landed on the bed, her hair undoing itself.

"I watched you, you bastard! I watched you every single night for four months!" She yelled, anger spiking her blood.

Haynes grew speechless. What could one say in a situation like this?

Rose pushed herself off the bed, her breast bouncing. Haynes' eyes lingered to the melons before cementing itself to the wall. Now was not the time to be aroused by such beauty.

Rose's footsteps caused him to move backward. Not out of fear, but out of guilt.

"I watched how you brought women, men, even my friends into this room! I watched how you had your way with them every night as though I was not once part of your life! I watched how you made love to them over and over again, and not once did you regret any of it!" Rose roared, her voice cracking at the end of her sentence.

Films of tears pooled in her dulling eyes as she met him, pounding her fists against his barrel chest. Her sobs could have been heard from a mile away, if she were alive that is. Those heart-shattering cries of hers caused Haynes's chest to crack open. With one swift movement, he engulfed her. His hand came up to her hair just as she began to struggle. He would not allow her to break free.

Haynes began whispering soft nothingness in her ear, hoping she would calm down, and she did. That was her weakness---she fell for sweet words. Maybe that is why she fell head over heels for the man hugging her tightly.

The two remained still, the sound of grief in the air. Haynes's own eyes began to fill as his hold tightened. A heavy breath left his lips, and he shut his eyes.

"What makes you think I do not regret them?"

Rose did not reply. She could not find the words. All she did was hold onto him as tight as she could.

"Do you know how hard it was for me? Do you know how hard it was to watch the woman that I love slowly die in my arms, and having no possible way of stopping it from happening? Do you know how hard it was for me to accept your sudden death?" Shaky, barely grazing the surface of an undertone, Haynes's voice caused goosebumps to rise on Rose's arms. She inhaled deeply, shaking her head.

Haynes choked on his sob as he clenched his jaw. "Exactly! I had nothing to do, no-one to turn to! Everyone thought I needed space, but space is the worst thing to give a man who recently lost his wife of one week. We...we were not even married for that long, Rose. Why did you leave so quickly?"

Rose sniffed, lifting her head so that she could meet his teary eyes. 

"I could not turn to alcohol. I promised you I would not drown myself in it, but then...then this woman came along. She helped me, Rose. She knew exactly how I felt. We were in the moment, a-and one thing led to another, and-" He could not say the rest, so Rose finished it for him.

"You had sex with her."

Those words bloomed a fresh set of tears in Haynes' eyes as he nodded. "I-I was so lonely...so, so lonely. I could not...I could not control myself. It started off with just her, but after a while, not even she could satisfy me the way that you did."

Rose lifted her hand to wipe his cheek. "Haynes, I-"

"No. No, let me finish." Haynes shook his head. "Every woman and man that I brought to this house was a reminder of how incredibly lucky and unlucky I am."

Confusion etched itself on Rose's face.

"Lucky that I had you in my arms the way that I had them, and unlucky because I lost you as quickly as the night was over."

Rose laughed softly through her tears.

"Rose, baby, I had nothing and no-one to turn to. What I did is not an excuse, but I want you to know that every night, I pictured you instead of them. I terribly regret bringing them to our room." Haynes pressed their foreheads together.

"I am so sorry, my love. I am so sorry."

Rose shook her head softly, cupping both the man's cheeks. Silence filled the room and the two stayed still.

"I forgave you every night, Haynes. It is my fault you are in this state," Rose murmured.

Haynes immediately pulled away and shook his head. "You dying is not your fault, Rose. Do not ever blame yourself for that, especially for the sins that I committed."

Their eyes met and Rose broke the contact instantly out of timidity.

"You were my first and only love, mon chéri. No-one can replace you."

A smile broke out on Rose's face as she tip-toed, connecting their lips. Her body exploded with heat and she wrapped her arms around Haynes.

"We can be together again," Rose said after she pulled away, a smile on her face.

Haynes's eyebrows furrowed at her sentence. "What do you mean?"

Rose detached from his body completely, lowering her head. "Do you trust me, Haynes?"

Haynes nodded. "Of course, I do."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes, always." Haynes nodded once more.

"Are you willing to die for me?"

Haynes froze and the silence from him caused Rose to look up.

"And leave my family and friends behind?" Haynes asked in a whisper. Now it was Rose's turn to nod. Haynes went over to her just as worry appeared on her forehead.

"I would do it a thousand times if it meant I would get to be with you forever." Haynes smiled just as Rose's face lit up.

"Will you marry me, Haynes?" Rose asked. Haynes was taken aback by the question but managed to quickly shake it off.

"Will you marry me again? Are you willing to spend the rest of eternity with me above?" Rose tangled her fingers with his hair, swallowing the forming lump in her throat.

"Is that not supposed to be my line?" Haynes bantered.

"Yes, but you had your turn. I think it is my turn now." Rose got in on the humour, their bodies shaking with mirth.

"Yes," Haynes replied to her previous question.

Rose's eyebrows shot up in shock and her smile turned into a full grin. Without another word, she wrapped her arms around her husband's neck slamming her lips onto his.

The world around them melted and Haynes felt his soul leave his body. He did not know whether it was because of the kiss, or because he was indeed leaving his body, but he did not want to know. His concerns and attention were solely on the woman in his arms. Haynes was finally getting to spend the rest of his life with the woman that he loved.

What else could a man wish for?