Page 5 of Roses and Skulls

Grandpas don’t die. Goddammit!Grandpas don’t die!

Two weeks later and here I sit on a cold, hard chair, watching as they lower my grandfather into his grave. I’m angry. Really angry. At everyone.

My parents cling to each other as my mom says goodbye to her dad. They look nothing like the people who raised me. They are shells of their former selves.

I thought they were strong. They told me they would protect me. But can I blame them? I was the fool who believed it. Now look, I have no fucking clue how to manage any of this. The pain. The sadness. The fear. Anger. Uncertainty. All emotions so foreign to me that I barely recognize one from the other. It’s a vicious brew, stewing inside of me. The pressure of it all presses against my skull.

Nervous energy calls me to run. To scream. To tear the very skin from my bones. But I can’t do any of those things. I’m trapped.

Mom hands me a rose and encourages me to stand and throw it on the casket that is now settled six feet in the rich dirt of the cemetery. Men and women in leather cuts approach one by one, tossing their roses on top of the shiny, black death box.

Rising from my chair, I stare into the hole.

My hand trembles as I hold it, suspended over his grave.

I turn around, taking my rose with me back to my chair. Jackson sits down and wraps his arm around me. I lay my head on his shoulder and squeeze the rose stem tightly in my hand. The pain of thorns digging into my skin helps release some of the pressure building inside of me. I sigh in relief and open my hand, staring as bright red blood pools in my palm. The open wounds drain the poison, diminishing some of my anger.

“It’s going to be okay, Rosie,” my cousin says, squeezing me tight.

I close my fist as my parents return to their seats next to us.

And that is how my secret begins.

Chapter One

Billie Rose ~ Nineteen years old

Have you ever watched Charlie Brown? Of course, you have. Everyone knows who Charlie Brown is. Anyhow, you know how all the adults talk funny? Wah wah wah… wah… wah wah wah… fucking wah wah wah. Whatever, you know what they sound like. That’s exactly how my parents sound to me. Mom is doing it right now.

My dad reaches over and slams my book shut. “Did you hear what your mother said?” he asks, his eyebrow cocked.

I roll my eyes and nod my head.

“What did she say?”

My fingers fly across my phone screen. I hit play and stare at him.Saturday. Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there,the male, Australian voice relays my words through the speaker. I set it for this accent specifically because I know it grates on his nerves. I wave my hand at them in dismissal as I gather my things.

My phone is now my voice. I haven’t spoken to anyone since the accident.

He grabs my arm as I try to pass by him. “I’m picking you up today.”

I nod my head again, my eyes mockingly wide.

He swats me on the butt softly and pushes me from the room.

As I’m waiting for my aunt to pick me up, I listen for the chime hanging down by my old treehouse. The wind is light today, so no chance. I always have one hanging in the woods behind the warehouse. I pray every day that he will whisper to me through one. So far, no luck.

Great, my aunt must have sent Uncle Dan to give me a ride. And… the twins, lovely, just what I needed on this fine Monday.

The minute I get in the truck Carson and Cole both start in on me. “Rosie, are you going to be at the party Saturday?”

Shaking my head yes, I roll my hands, letting my uncle know to get this show on the road. He sighs and leans over me to grab my seatbelt. I take a deep breath as he buckles me in. “Sorry, no help for it,” he says, shrugging.

Yeah, I get it. Buckle up, it’s the law.

Lot of good it did my grandpa.

I dig my nails into my palms as the belt clicks shut.

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