I Like The Roses

She sat on her old, moth bitten bed staring at the phone. She reached over, her hand shaking. Her hand closed tight around the receiver. As the telephone neared her, she took a deep slow breath. She exhaled. With her other quivering hand, she pressed button after button with a cold finger. She pulled the phone to her ear and listened carefully to each ring…
Riiiiiiiiiing.
Riiiiiiiiiing.
Riiiiiiiiiing.
“Hello?” a deep voice calmly answered the ringing telephone.
“It’s me,” she said quickly. She glanced over at the many pictures of her friends on her bedside table.
“Oh,” there was a long quiet void, “Hello. How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“I’m ok. I’m not dead yet,” he gave a slight chuckle.
“You don’t sound fine. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” there was a high tone in his voice; “you must be imagining things.”
“Oh. Sorry. When you feel like telling me, you know my number,” she folded her arms.
“You shouldn’t be talking,” the tone in his voice got higher.
“Wesley…”
“No. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m sorry…” she hugged herself.
“No! You don’t understand. You can’t.”
“But I do!” she got up and put her slippers on. Her arms were tightly folded against her breast.
“You can’t just go back to the way things were. You’ve changed everything.”
She sobbed quietly.
“What, are you crying now?”
“No…” her voice quavered as hot tears rolled serenely down her red, tear-stained face.
“Gina…”
“I didn’t mean to!” she couldn’t stop her many tears.
There was a delay in his speech. She swallowed hard as she went over what she said in her mind.
“…you what?” he said quietly.
“I didn’t mean to! I mean I didn’t mean to say ‘I didn’t mean to’, I mean—”
“No. You’ve said enough.”
Click.
Dial tone.
“Shit,” she rubbed her now-cold, wet face. She gingerly placed the phone back with a trembling hand. It fell off the cradle, “shit!” she grabbed it and slammed it down.
Her body shook as she crashed onto the snotty covers. She stayed there for a long time. When she looked back on this event, she couldn’t quite recall how long she had shuddered on that bed. She finally pulled herself off her putrid bed and shuffled over to her kitchenette, back stooped. She reached out to the cabinet door handle and grasped it lightly. Almost struggling, she cracked the door open a small amount. She waited, and then swung the door all the way open. Not seeing anything that pleased her, she closed it so the door wouldn’t make a noise against the peeling cabinet paint. She pivoted to the next cabinet and clasped the handle, slowly twirling her delicate fingers around the cold metal. She yanked the door open. She saw boxes and boxes of tea, one piled on top of the other. Tea. Thank god. Hot tea will be good. Her hand darted to the top shelf in the back. With expert speed and navigation, she snatched up a purple box of tea. Easy Now the box read. She got a cup, water, and crammed the tea bag into the cup, and shoved the contents into the microwave. She pressed some buttons, most of which she didn’t look at, and hit start. She fell back into a thread bare padded chair. Her head tilted and her long hair flooded her shoulder and arm. Her eyes fluttered and shut. Her mouth parted delicately. She woke to a loud beep. Or at least she thought it was a beep. It turned into a buzz quite quickly as her senses came back, and she realized it was the front door.
“Oh no,” she looked at the microwave. It was all dark inside, but she could tell she wasn’t going to like what was in there. The clock that was always on was off.
She stood up with a great force and it almost knocked her down again. She twirled around as if looking for something of great importance. The front door buzzed again. That’s right. She needed to answer the door. She needed to answer the door…
She stumbled over to the rusty intercom next to her dilapidated apartment door. With her still-shaking finger, she pressed the plastic button.
“He-hello?” her voice trembled.
“Um, yeah, hi. It’s me,” the scratching of the intercom made the voice hard to recognize. But there was no one else it could be.
The only sound came from the intercom’s soft buzzing. “Ok. Come on up.”
She pressed the other cracked button. A loud buzz could be heard from below. The apartment building door creaked and clicked. She released the button. There was silence.
She walked back over to the microwave. Her fingers reached out as if to help it, but she knew nothing could be done. She clutched the lever and the door snapped open. The cup was empty. The tea bag was on the roof of the microwave. She pressed some buttons but nothing happened. No light went on. She unplugged it and plugged it back in. she pressed some more buttons. There was a knock at the door. She twirled heavily around. Her heart sped up. She wandered to the aged door. Her hand closed quietly around the knob and gradually twisted…
“Hello,” the man at the door said optimistically.
“Hey.”
“Good to see you.”
“You too.”
“You look well.”
“You too.”
They said nothing.
“I brought you roses,” he presented a bouquet from behind his back.
“They’re lovely.”
“You don’t like them.”
“Of course I do. Don’t be silly.”
“Do you wanna put them in water?”
“Sure. Tap’s over there,” she motioned to her kitchenette.
He hesitated. He started to step forward, and then stopped. She stared coldly into his dynamic eyes.
“Ok then,” and he strode to the soiled sink. He picked up a chipped cup from the counter. He turned the faucet on. He filled the cup half-way, and then placed the roses in the cup. As he turned around he saw the microwave. He stopped and stared. He gave her a quizzical look.
“Don’t ask,” she shifted her weight from her left foot to her right. She looked down. He gazed at her intensely. His heart melted as he stared at her blotchy face. He walked over to her and put his hand under her chin. He lifted her head and stared into her puffy eyes.
“What…?”
He just watched her.
“Don’t say it. I don’t think I could handle it,” the tears returned.
“You called him, didn’t you?” she nodded, “It’s ok. Everything will be alright,” he wiped her tears away and brushed her hair back.
“I don’t need to be taken care of.”
“You’re right. You don’t. You’re strong. But everyone needs a shoulder to cry on. That’s why I’m here.”
“No it’s not,” she sobbed, “you just want to be around me,” she buried her face in his scrawny chest.
He put his arm around her back. She sobbed in his warm embrace.
“You see? It’s fine.”
“No it’s not! You’ve ruined everything!” her voice was muffled by his sweatshirt. She pounded her fist on him several times, “I hate you!”
“Do you want me to go?” he asked slowly.
“No. Stay. I want you to stay with me.”
“Ok. Ok. I won’t go. I’ll stay with you always… I’ll go when you tell me to.”
“I really do like the roses. Really.”
“I know.”
And he stayed with her the whole night.