Beautiful Rose (19 page)

I remained in the doorway. There was no way in hell I was getting any closer to her. I stood, waiting for the bombshell she obviously wanted to drop. What did she know? It had to be something big, for her to break in here and confront me like this. She stuck me as the type of person who didn't give up until she got what she wanted, no matter
who
she hurt in the process.

“Or don’t,” she shrugged. “So let’s talk families, Rose,” Harmony said, her voice bright, as if we were old friends. The knot in my stomach tightened.

“What about them?” I said, gritting my teeth.

Harmony shrugged. “I just think it’s sad how the dynamics of a family can change so much after an
accident,
” she said with a grin.

Oh god—she knew. I suddenly felt sick. Leaning forward, I tried to ignore the searing pain forming in my chest. Harmony knowing about my suicide attempts was the
last
thing I needed right now.

“I don't know what you're—”

“Cut the act, Rose,” Harmony spat, “I know everything. Your little sister? The one you killed by plying her full of sleeping tablets when you were five?

“I didn't . . .” My words trailed off. “I have no idea what the hell you're talking about. Have you been drinking?”

“No, I haven’t been drinking,” she sneered.

“I’m an only child, Harmony. And you’ve obviously lost your marbles.”

“Sure you’re an only child
now
. What do you remember about that night, Rose? Anything? I bet your parents worked hard to make sure you wouldn't remember. I mean, it’s amazing how, when you hear something so often, you begin to believe it.”

“Like you believing you have any kind of a chance with Jack?” I retorted.

“You so don’t want to fuck with me,
bitch
,” she hissed, getting off the bed and stalking toward me.

“Get out. Get the fuck out of my home!” I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the room, my nails digging into her skin. She laughed and thrust a cream colored folder at me.

“It's all in here, Rose. Now you have two choices. Stay the fuck away from Jack and I'll forget this ever happened.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or don't stay away, and everyone, including Jack, will know what a murdering whore you are,” she hissed.

She yanked her arm out of my hold and stalked to the door. I shook with anger. How could someone be so hurtful? She was pure evil and would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.

“Think about it,” she said, turning back to me. “Is Jack really going to want anything to do with you, knowing that you killed your own baby sister?”

“Harmony, do the world a favor and go fuck yourself. Jack would go gay before he ever went back to you.” I slammed the door in her stupid, smiling face.

Still shaking, I walked over to the kitchen table and sat down, setting the folder in front of me. As I scanned page after page, I realized that although Harmony might be a lying, deceitful whore—she wasn’t making this up.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rose

I hadn't seen my mother since the day I’d discharged myself from the hospital. Now here I was, about to ring the doorbell. I had a key but it felt odd using it. Like I'd once lived here and moved on, so now I had no right to let myself in. How wonderful, that my own family had left me feeling like this.

In my right hand, I clutched the folder. The proof. Proof, of all the lies that I’d been fed.

Proof of my sister—Eve.

I felt sick. I felt betrayed and hurt that this had been kept from me for so long. And I was embarrassed as hell that it had taken
Harmony
of all people for me to find out.

“Rose,” Mom said, her expression guarded. “What are you doing here?”

I almost laughed. No contact in almost four weeks and that's the first thing she says. At least she had the decency to look embarrassed.

“I mean, how are you?” She hesitated. “Do you want to come in?”

I nodded and pushed past her, not trusting myself to speak just yet. I walked through the front living area and into the kitchen without a word. Everything looked the same as it had a month ago. My anxiety began to increase as I sat down at the table, placing the folder squarely in front of me. My fingers trembled and my heart began to pound as I wondered whether or not I was ready for this. I had to be sure. If what Harmony had said was true, would I be able to live with that?

“Can I trouble you for a glass of water?” I asked, keeping my voice formal.

My mother frowned and nodded. I watched in silence as she filled two glasses with cold water from the fridge. Her movements were forced, almost robotic.

I found the lack of emotion Mom was showing almost sickening. I might as well have been some random stranger who had turned up out of the blue, asking to use the bathroom. Her expression was almost one of disdain.

She set the water in front of me. “Your father will be home soon. What's this about?”

Great. Now she sounded annoyed. I swallowed the anger bubbling inside me, forcing it back down. I needed to focus right now. I reached into the folder and retrieved the birth certificate.

Eve Wilson. Born on January 2, 1994. Then I passed her the death certificate. Died October 18, 1996. Cause of death: Accident.

I watched as Mom’s face went white. She stared at the documents, her eyes wide, as if she didn't dare look at me.

“I had a sister,” I said, matter-of-fact.

Mom nodded slowly. Shock rushed through me. I'd been expecting it, the evidence was right there. She couldn't exactly deny it, but seeing her in agreement it made it all the more real.

“How did she die?”

Silence.

“How did she die?” I repeated, anger seeping into my tone.

Mom cleared her throat. “Rose, it was an accident.” Her hand rose to her mouth and covered it as tears began to well in her eyes. “How did you even find this?”

“How I found out isn't important,” I replied.

I wiped my sweaty palms on the rough fabric of my jeans, trying desperately to regain control. There was one final document, but it was the hardest one to confront her with. The pounding in my chest became so loud and so severe that I could feel it pressing against my rib cage, as though my heart was going to explode out of my chest. I grabbed the document and slapped it down in front of her. No words were necessary; it was all there in black and white.

Her face screwed up as she read the coroner's report on my sister's death. I closed my eyes and read along with her, the words from that report forever imprinted on my mind.

“ . . . two-year-old Eve Wilson died after ingesting a fatal cocktail of sleeping pills and antidepressants on the afternoon of October 18, 1996. Rose Wilson, aged five, was found alongside her sister, barely conscious. It is the opinion of the coroner that the overdoses were accidental after the Rose and Eve discovered an open bottle of sleeping pills on their parent’s bedside table. The pills had been left open and unattended by the children’s’ mother, Alison Wilson.”

“ . . . accident that could have been prevented . . . ”

“. . . tragic event that was foreseeable . . .”

Mom shook her head and pushed the papers back towards me. “I don't want to talk about this. Talking about it is not going to change anything. It won't bring her back, and it won't change you.”

“We
are
going to talk about this. How could you keep something like this from me?”

My mother laughed. She sounded almost cold. “What exactly was I supposed to say, Rose? At what point was I supposed to work that into the conversation? Between your numerous suicide attempts, maybe?” Her tone was mocking. I glanced at her, confused.

“You blame me. You blame me for her death,” I mumbled. Suddenly everything began to fall into place.

“I don't blame you, Rose. Don't be ridiculous,” Mom huffed.

It was an accident. It had happened, and it wasn’t my fault.

 “Rose
. . .
”

“I mean, who leaves pills lying around when they have small children? Isn’t that the first rule of child safety? Did you leave the poisons out too?”

“When I walked in, you were holding the bottle. Eve was lying on the floor next to you. She looked like she was sleeping,” Mom said softly.

“You think I found them and gave them to her? Is that it? If it wasn't for me, she’d still be here. That's what you think, right? You take
no
blame whatsoever.”

“Of course I blamed myself, Rose! I had a problem back then. Forgetting to put those pills away…I blame
myself
every day for Eve’s death.” She stopped, her sad eyes sweeping over me. “After she died, you were taken into foster care. You were away from us for nearly two months. Child Protective Services led an investigation to see if any criminal charges should be laid…against me. The end decision was that the loss of my daughter was something I’d punish myself for more than anyone else could.”

“So you faced no ramifications?” I asked in disbelief.

“I lost my daughter.” Her voice broke. “And I had to complete an addiction program to avoid charges. It was only then they allowed us to have you back.”

“Foster care? Why…why can’t I remember any of this? Why wasn’t I told earlier?” I was repeating myself, but I needed answers. Foster care? My sister dying? Surely something that traumatic I would remember.

“They told me it was best not to tell you until you remembered things for yourself. Then you never did. It became like it never happened. Only, when you started trying to…when your attempts started, I couldn’t bare losing another child. It was easier to push you away. You’ve no idea what it was like for me, having to bury my baby,” she sobbed.  

She never understand how much I craved her love and attention. It was easier for her to shut off than to support me when I needed it most. Even now, this was about her. How
she
feels. What
she
lost. This had been my mother for the last seventeen years.

“Did it ever occur to you that my attempts might somehow be related to Eve’s death? Was that such a huge thing to link?”

 “Stop it, Rose. For god's sake, stop being so selfish. It's always been about you. You and your goddamn struggle to live. I'm sick of it. I got sick of it a long time ago.

“I think about Eve every day. I wonder what she would be like, today, if she were alive. And then I think about why she isn't here, and what I could've done to prevent it. And then, there is you. You're so determined to rid yourself of this world, yet Eve never really had a chance to live in it. How is that fair?” she snapped.

“Because of you,” I said softly. “I was a god dammed
child
, mother. You were an adult.”

Silence. There was always silence when I needed her most.

“I'm sorry Rose; I don't know what you want from me. I don't know what to tell you,” Mom said.

I shoved the papers into the folder and pushed my chair back. As I stood up, I looked at her. For once
I
felt sorry for
her.
I pitied her and her attitude. She'd not only lost Eve seventeen years ago
—
she’d lost me, too. I stormed toward the front door, well aware that Mom hadn’t moved from her seat.

Outside I took a deep breath, desperate to fill my lungs with the cool fresh air that surrounded me. I didn't know if I felt better or worse. I got into my car and made my way off the property. I felt weird. I'd never felt so free.

Or alone.

And that scared the hell out of me.

#

Back home, alone yet again. I paced the apartment, trying to relieve some of the anxiety I was feeling. I was not in good shape. If I was smart I would’ve called someone. But who? The only person I really wanted there was Jack.

I stripped out of my clothes and ran the shower. As I stepped under the hot steaming stream of water, I tried to think about the positives in my life, which kind of left me feeling emptier. To be honest, there weren't that many of them. Apart from Darcy I had no real friends, no future and no family. I was beginning to think my mother was right. I was so desperate to end this life, while thousands of people who wanted to live, died—and for no reason.

Like Belle and Eve.

I wrapped my bathrobe around me, not bothering to dry myself. My damp hair fell loosely around my face as droplets of water slid down the strands and splashed onto the tiles.

I walked into the bedroom and curled up on the bed. I called Darcy. No answer. Then I called Alex. It rang out, and then did it again the next three times.

I slid my finger along the screen until I came upon Jack's number. My fingers shook as they hovered over the entry. One press. That's all I needed to do. One press, and I could hear his voice. Even if he didn't answer, I'd still get to hear him on voicemail.

My whole body was trembling, now, shaking uncontrollably. I felt sick, like I was going to throw up. Sitting up, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I reached inside my nightstand drawer until my fingers touched the cold metal of the razor blade. I didn't know what was going through my head. All I knew was I wanted the pain to end. And, for once in my life, I wanted to get something right.

I held the razor delicately between my thumb and middle finger. The sharp edge glistened in the light from the lamp. I swallowed, hard, as I brought the edge of the blade down onto the thin layer of skin that covered my left wrist.

I ran the blade along next to the raised scar that was already there. I was with it enough to know that cutting the existing scar would be too hard.

I began to cry as I watched the bright red blood seep out of the open wound and trickle down the palm of my hand, past my fingers and onto the floor. I dropped the blade, suddenly feeling woozy.

I lay back down on the bed. Curling my knees up to my chest, I continued to watch the blood flow. I don’t know how long it took—maybe it was minutes, or maybe it was hours—but eventually I fell sleep.