The Rose Lovers

Each rain drop falling from the sky to the troubled water, echoing in darkness of the Loire. I wait in the cold. I know he is on his way, that he will be safe, but I can’t help a shiver of anxiety dripple. The Nazis are fast asleep by now and although a patrol will soon make its way here, I wait, counting the minute in my head.

The longer I wait, the rain becomes more aggressive and the icy wind bite my cheeks, my hands, and through my clothes. My teeth chatter and my whole body tremble in a fail attempt to warm itself.

I hear footsteps next to me, each resonate in the water overwhelming the street. I am too apprehensive, or rather terrified, to see if it is him. It might be the end for me. Or the end of us. ‘I leave tomorrow.’

I close my eyes and try to focus on the sound of his voice, not his words, because it can’t be. ‘Look at me.’ But I can’t, I want to respond but remain silent. The rain starts to slow down, the drops further apart from each other.

‘I love you.’ To his words, only my tears answer. ‘If you ask me to stay, I will.’ To this, I finally raise my head to meet his eyes. I can see the sincerity in them.

‘You’d hate me if I did.’ His jaw tenses. He knows I’m right. I close the distance between us and engulf myself in his coat, welcoming the warmth he provides. His arms close around me and we stay in this position until one of us remembers we aren’t allowed to be here and we are running out of time.

‘I should go,’ he says. I nod in response, but not before I give a soft kiss on his lips. We are both wet from the rain but the heat rises regardless.

‘What time?’

‘Sunrise.’

I give him another kiss, longer and hungrier this time. ‘I will see you before sunrise then.’

 I walk away before we are seen. He will be safe, I try to convince myself. I know he must do the right thing, what his heart tell him to, fight for the ones who can’t or won’t. Resistance. That word he loves, the one I hate; because I knew from the first time he mentioned a group of people he started to meet a few nights a week that it would take him away from me.

The rain has stopped by the time I reach the farm. I don’t go to sleep, instead I walk in the fields. I smell every flower. I notice the moon’s reflected light illuminating a single rose. I look around, but the flower is alone among the field. An odd image.

I touch the petals gentle enough not to tear them apart, and pick up the flower. My love for him, I pour into this lonely rose. This will keep him safe. A token of our unwritten story, to our future and possibilities. To a time of freedom and liberty.

I carry the rose with me, close to my heart. It has not withered once since the day she gave it to me, on the dawn of the new day. The day I left. I doubt I can do this for very much longer. The pace is intense, our attacks swift but the run is where we come in danger. Two of us have already succumbed to the enemy. The constant cold and fear have frozen my heart and I sometimes wonder if I should have never left.

I miss her. But each time I take the rose in my hands I can sense her. Alive and happy, far away from the hell all around me.

Today is another dangerous attack, maybe the worst of all. A base in Paris, we think higher ups are meeting tonight. A chance too great to pass.

‘We go at ten.’

I charge my gun, I will be the last one to leave the scene after the explosives are in place. I have one job tonight, make sure everyone else is safe in their escape, and cover their backs.

‘Go,’ someone yells in the darkness. A bullet grazes my arm and attempt to go faster, shooting everything on my way. I am last, as planned. Everything goes as it should have been. There will be no casualty tonight.

Snow and ice covers the roads, the buildings, the trees. I can hear them behind, close. Maybe this where it ends after all. I promised her I would come back to her, but maybe this is a promise I will have to take with me. I wish I could hold her, one last time.

I no longer feel cold anymore. I close my eyes, the rose in my hand. Someone is next to me, tries to talk to me. I have to focus harder to understand. A brother came back. Too late, but at least I wasn’t alone in the end.

I can hear him whisper. He knows he is dying. The bullet hit his stomach and he is bleeding out. He whispers to his brother, ‘take it back to her,’ he makes him promise. The young man agrees and takes me away with him. It has been a long time since he has been gone, and even longer since I have seen her. There was magic in my core but I can feel it slither away from me. The scenery changes as we pass by cities, country roads, and villages. I am close to the Loire, I sense its water, the same one that allowed me to come to be.

The snow has melted since, the rain has stopped. The sun is tentative in the sky when, carried in a pocket, I am taken back to his lover. She takes me in her hands, and falls in the ground. She tightens her grip around me, I can hear her sob. I wither in the wind, and my petals drifts in the air before they are taken far away through the breeze. He knew he loved her. As he is gone, I must go too, my purpose over.