I would live underground
In the dark with no fear
Send my soul to the floor of the deepest ocean
Put my heart in a safe place for no one else to see
Until you come to rescue me
And set it free
To be beside you
To be the one who
Gets to be right next to you
Be Mine
The first rose came on the one year anniversary of the red eye event. It was pale; the white standing out against the dark green of her door mat. Lisa almost stepped on it in her hurry out the door.
She was late, a recurring occurrence over the last few months. She pulled her foot back quickly. At first she was afraid. Her eyes searched up and down the street. She craned her neck as far as it would go around the side of her house. No one there.
Lisa crouched down. She reached out to pick up the flower but hesitated, her hand hovering over the stem. Where could this have come from? Who could this have come from? No one knew where she lived. She moved a couple months after the flight. She hated living in a place where she knew she'd been watched. She had even changed jobs, deciding to work as an office manager. Somewhere as far from the Lux as she could without being separated from her father and friends.
Finally she shook her head. What harm could there possibly be in a flower? It was something so simple. There was nothing wrong.
Lisa snatched it up, not paying attention if there were thorns. Her finger caught the edge of a piece of paper tucked under the soft petals. Her heart stopped. Before she could open it her eyes glanced at her watch.
"Shit."
She closed the door and raced to her car, the rose still in hand.
The rose was never forgotten. For the six hours before her lunch it was always at the front of her mind. The note begged her to open it. She wanted to read it. She wanted to know where it came from. When her lunch finally came she rushed to her office. Lisa stopped in her doorway, her gaze stuck on the simple rose resting on her desk.
She placed a hand on her jittery stomach and urged the butterflies to quiet. When Lisa crossed to her desk and picked up the flower her heart was pounding. Her fingers shook as she opened the note. She almost laughed to herself. Any normal girl would be thrilled to find a flower on her doorstep. Any normal girl wouldn't be hesitant to open a note from an apparent secret admirer.
Lisa's legs gave out when she read the note, sinking into the chair. Scrawled in lazy script were the words 'Happy Anniversary'. Her mind raced to figure out what else it could mean. She hoped it could mean something else. But she knew, deep down, that it could only be the red eye.
The day she saved one man's life and destroyed another.
When the second rose came the next year, she wasn't expecting it. A part of her wasn't surprised. But the other, logical, part told her that this shouldn't be happening.
Lisa sat in her doorway, the door wide open despite the cold, staring down at the white rose resting there. She hadn't phoned the police after the first one a year before. She had nothing to fear, she had told herself. It was just a simple flower. There was nothing malicious about it. And besides, if she had called the police they would have done nothing but destroy the gift. And why should she allow them to destroy something so beautiful in its simplicity?
Another note poked out from under the petals. Lisa tucked her chin into the palm of her hand and rested her elbow on her knee. She contemplated what she wanted to do. She could just get up and close the door, leaving the flower to wilt on her stoop. She could just pretend that it was never there. She could just ignore the possibility that the man who tried to kill her was sending her flowers on their 'anniversary'.
Possibly.
She could do that.
But she knew she wouldn't.
Lisa blew her hair out of her face in a long sigh. She picked up the rose, her fingers not hesitating, her heart giving her one hard thump. She touched the petals first. The satin feel embraced her fingers, her thumb brushing one perfect petal, her fingers trailing from the tip of the flower to the base of the stem.
Lisa brought it to her nose and inhaled the subtle fragrance, something she had done every day for a week after the first one showed up, even though she knew it could possibly kill her. But there were worse ways to go, she supposed. She would rather die by a flower than be strangled or shot or some other form of death he could think up.
She set the rose on her lap, untying the ribbon from the stem. With one more deep breath she opened it. 'Missing you.'
Lisa woke up early the third year, expecting the rose to be waiting for her when she woke up. She was disappointed when she swung open the door to find her step empty. Her eyebrows furrowed. When had she come to rely on the rose being outside her door every year? Had she really grown accustomed to finding it there?
Why did she feel so dejected?
Lisa drove to work in a haze; almost as if she needed to find the rose and the note every year to function. She needed to smell the sweet fragrance; needed to feel the petals between her fingers. Her day couldn't be complete without it.
Her coworkers greeted her and she gave half-hearted nods in return. She just didn't want to be there now. She had no reason to be there.
"Someone left something on your desk," her assistant, Alma, said, glancing up from her computer, the screen reflecting in her half-moon glasses.
Lisa stopped in her tracks, her breath stuck in her throat. "Who?" She managed to squeak out.
Alma shrugged. "It was there when I got in."
Lisa felt her heart quicken. He couldn't have. Her hands were shaking as she opened her door. The moment she entered her office, Lisa's eyes had already found the white rose sticking out of the cup she kept her pens in as if it had been there all along.
The blue note was tied around the thin stem with a deep red ribbon. Lisa felt a smile cross her face despite the trepidation she felt as she made her way across the room, her heels sinking in the plush carpet. Why the hell was she smiling?
She stood in front of her desk, her entire body quaking. What if he was doing this to distract her? She wondered. He could be sending the flowers as a way to make her love him; as a way to get her guard down. To finally deal the final blow.
Maybe.
Probably.
More than likely.
"Are you going to read it?"
Lisa jumped at the voice behind her. It was Alma, poking her head through the doorway to watch Lisa's reaction.
Lisa picked up the rose wordlessly, her fingers brushing the petals on reflex and flipped open the note. Her breath caught. 'I will never leave you.'
The fourth rose came in a way she didn't expect the next year.
Lisa didn't wake when her front door opened a little after midnight. She didn't stir as footsteps sounded on her linoleum floor. She didn't move when her bedroom door creaked. She did wake, however, when she felt the bed shift under her. She did stir as the body that sat down by her legs didn't disappear.
Lisa's first instinct was to keep still; to try and fool her visitor into believing she was still asleep. Maybe she could force him into making his move and then she would surprise him with an attack of her own.
Her second, stronger, impulse was to scream. If she made as much noise as she could, someone would hear her and perhaps call the police.
Lisa's second impulse won out when he leaned back, his fingers brushing her covered legs. His hand covered her mouth before the scream could really break out. His chest pressed against hers; his hip touched just the edge of hers. When her eyes flew open, she saw the street light glinting in his steely eyes.
Lisa thrashed under him. Her arms tore free from the sheets to push against his chest. She kicked at him even though she knew it would do no good, her padded legs doing no damage. She heard him grunt as one of her fists hit his ribs.
His fingers slipped from her lips as he struggled to stop her flailing. Lisa bit down. She heard him curse, his head dipping low for just a moment to study his fingers in the dark. Lisa's head shot up at its sudden freedom, her forehead slamming into his with as much force as she could muster.
Through the stars the head butt caused her to see, Lisa saw him sit up straight. She pushed him off the bed with one last good shove.
Lisa slid off the bed, the sheets tangling around her legs and making her stumble. Lisa thrust her hands out when she felt the floor drop from beneath her. She felt a pain course through her arms at the impact. It was only when Jackson slid on top of her that she realized he had kicked her feet out from under her. The breath pushed from her lungs as his added weight broke her already weakened stance. She swung her elbow up, slamming the tip into his temple.
Lisa propped herself up as he fell back, her hands fumbling across her nightstand trying to grab the lamp, but instead wrapped around the glass jar which sat next to it.
Jackson grabbed her by the shoulders, flipping her over easily. His belt buckle bit into her knuckles as he pinned her left hand between them. His other hand gripped the wrist of her right hand, pushing it against the floor to try and break her grip on the glass. Lisa twisted her wrist in some half forgotten move she learned from a self defense class after the attack in the parking lot. Her arm slipped free from his hold and she took advantage of the sudden opening to swing the jar up to his head.
Jackson blocked the attack, pushing his forearm against hers. He held her gaze for a moment. His eyes flicked to the jar she held and then back to her. He nodded at the jar.
"What the hell is that?"
Lisa glanced at what she held from the corner of her eyes. She felt a blush spread across her cheeks and was thankful she had not been able to turn on the light. The jar held the carefully preserved petals of each of the three roses. They settled on the side of the jar, each crisp item piled on top of the other.
"I just couldn't part with them, you know?" she didn't meet his gaze, turning her head slightly to stare at the glass. "I looked it up and found a way to preserve the petals."
"And to hold any evidence of me." He finished.
Lisa's gaze shot up to his. "At first, yes," she spat. "I would have used it against you if I had to. Some crazy psycho stalker man who tried to kill me sent me a flower." She said sarcastically. "It scared the crap out of me."
The fire in her eyes dimmed as she turned her gaze back to the petals. "But after staring at it day after day; after watching it slowly open, I realized it was too beautiful to give away, despite the possibility that you might have put something in it to kill me."
Lisa didn't flinch as Jackson relaxed his grip on her wrist and slowly sat up. She didn't flinch as his callused fingers brushed the trickle of blood she hadn't paid attention to from her forehead. He settled back onto her legs without saying a word.
In fact, he had been oddly quiet the entire time he had been there. Lisa figured he would have had something snide to say when he was trying to kill her.
It was unsettling.
Lisa pulled the jar to her chest but didn't look up at him. "Why did you come here Jackson?"
Jackson sat up straighter. "I wanted to give you something."
Jackson moved off her legs, settling against the bed. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a single red rose, slightly rumpled from the tussle, and held it out to her. Lisa sat up, looking at him, her gaze holding his.
Jackson was watching her, studying her. He was waiting to see what she would do. She was staring at him, looking for any sign that he was going to do something when she reached for the flower.
At the slightest raise of his eyebrows, Lisa took the rose between her fingers, her pinky brushing his thumb. She pulled it from him and scooted away, her back hitting her nightstand.
"What were you going to do when you gave this to me?" she asked, her nose already buried in the rose, the scent enveloping her senses.
Jackson shrugged. "I don't know."
"Would you have killed me?" Lisa asked bluntly.
He shrugged again, his eyes going to the window across the room. "I don't know," he repeated.
"Killed me with what?" she asked, staring at him from over the red petals. "You're bare hands? A weapon? Poison?"
Jackson just shook his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long plastic object. Lisa's eyes widened as she took in what he was holding.
"Are you serious?"
"Seemed fitting. You tried to kill me with it."
Lisa stared at the pen, taking in the big monster head and sharp point on the end. She remembered when that tip had been buried in his throat. Lisa shivered. It was a feeling she had never forgotten; the feel of the pen tip sliding through the skin and muscle of his neck. Her eyes flicked to the shadowed hollow at the base of his throat.
"Is that the same one?" she asked, nodding at the pen, her fingers unconsciously touching her neck.
A grim smile crossed Jackson's lips as he looked down at it. "Yes."
Lisa was dumbfounded. "How-?"
He lifted his hands and twirled the pen between his fingers. "I have my connections. Didn't want any evidence of my being there."
Lisa stared at him, silent. She wasn't sure what to say. How morbid did you have to be to keep something you'd been stabbed with? Eventually she asked, "Does it still write?"
Jackson's head shot around. His mouth dropped open at her question as if he wanted to retort. Then a bout of laughter burst from his mouth. "That's the first question you ask?"
She shrugged, her eyes wide in innocence. "Seemed like a good enough question."
Jackson shook his head in wonderment. "And that's why I love you." He said with a breathy chuckle.
Lisa stilled. "What?"
"You're just so logical. You ask questions about how I planned to kill you, if I plan to kill you, and yet you're unfazed by it. I don't know how to handle you," he paused, running his fingers through his hair. "You're a puzzle to me. I come here with my old thinking; thinking nothing but finally getting revenge. I was going to take you out but now I don't know what to do with you."
"So you just come to the conclusion that you loved me?"
"I don't know. I just don't know what happened. And you have to trust me when I say I always know how to deal with a situation."
"But you love me."
Jackson sighed, exasperated. "I guess."
"You love me." She repeated, still trying to wrap her mind around the thought.
Jackson glanced up at her. "Are you going to repeat that all night?"
Lisa blinked. "But you tried to kill me."
"Four years ago."
"And what about now? You tried-"
Jackson shook his head. "You freaked out. All I was doing was making you be quiet."
"What the hell did you expect me to do?" she shouted. "You were sitting over me while I was sleeping. For all I knew you were going-"
Jackson was on her again, his hand covering her mouth. "Like I told you before, I couldn't figure out what to do with you. I was going to leave when you decided to scream. Would you have listened to me if I had told you that I wasn't here to hurt you?" He stared at her, waiting for a response. Lisa shook her head. "I didn't think so. Do you promise to just listen to me if I remove my hand?"
Lisa stared wide-eyed at him. She nodded.
"Good," he moved his hand and sat back. "Yes, I did try to kill you four years ago, but only because you tried to kill me first. Something in me snapped when you stabbed that pen in my throat. All of the emotions that I said were your weakness overrode all of my control. All I wanted was to see you pay for what you'd done.
"After everything that I told you. After telling you that I never lied to you, you still tried to kill me."
"You were threa-"
Jackson pressed one finger to her lips. "I asked you to listen. Just listen. I watched you for eight weeks and I could never figure you out. I thought I had you. I thought I knew your weaknesses. I thought I knew what I would need to force you to do what I wanted. I thought I knew you inside and out. But I was wrong.
"The first time you lied to me, and I'm not talking about the bay breeze, it hurt." He sighed, tipping his head back to rest on the edge of the mattress. "That's the best way I can describe it. I felt like a kid who had just been told there was no Santa Claus. And seeing that scar on your chest. . .I don't know. It pissed me off. I wasn't sure why at the time. I put it down to me not knowing everything about you like I thought I did. I convinced myself that I was angry because I didn't do my job.
"When you finally made the call and then started telling me about your attack I thought we were making a connection; maybe you were finally beginning to trust me. That maybe you believed me when I told you that it served no purpose for me to lie to you.
"It was when I was recovering that I began to go over the events of the flight in my mind. And go over every minute leading up to the flight. I had six months to figure you out. And then six more months to figure out what to do with you. I left the first rose on a whim. I wanted to freak you out; to let you know that I was still out there and that I was watching you. I was going to get rid of you after that but I never worked myself up to it. Same thing for the next two roses. I found myself making excuses for not taking you out. I would find another job. I would do something, anything, that would get me away from you.
"When I was buying this rose," he nodded to the one in her hand, "I picked up a red one by mistake. But it seemed fitting. It was then that I came to the conclusion that I must have some form of feelings for you if I put off killing you for four years. Anyone else who had bested me would have been taken out within a month." He paused and looked at her. "So, yes, I came to the conclusion that I loved you."
Lisa stared at him over the rose, the jar still pressed against her chest. She was taking in everything that he said, everything he had told her. But what kind of response was she supposed to give? If she denied him, if she told him he was a fool to even think that she could love him, would he kill her? She didn't think it was likely that he'd just walk away
But part of her jumped when he confessed. Part of her, the emotional part, soared when he explained the last four years. It thought that perhaps the man that she had met in the bar could have actually been real. And then the logical part told her that there was no way a killer like him could actually love her and there was no way she could love him.
There was a trickle. Something telling her that he was telling her the truth. Something that was telling her that maybe he wasn't as bad of a guy as she thought he was. And she had grown to see that over the last four years.
Plus, he still hadn't killed her.
Lisa sighed, her breath ruffling the petals. "Are you hungry?" she finally asked.
Jackson's gaze shot to hers. "What?"
Lisa stood up and placed the jar back on her nightstand. She gripped the edge of the table and after a minute she turned to him. Taking a deep breath she asked, "Do you want some eggs?"
He stared at her for a moment before a grin slipped across his lips. Everything was going to be okay.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Hopefully.
Just say that you'll be mine
And I'll run away with you
Together we'll make it through
No matter what they say
I never felt this way
For anyone before
We'll make it through the storm
Together we're safe and warm
Just say that you'll be mine
AN: This had to be written. It got stuck in my head and would not go away before it was completed. You guys can blame the movie Beastly entirely for this. The roses came from the movie and the song that inspired it came from the soundtrack. Awesome song and awesome band. If you haven't heard them before you should definitely check out Kristina and the Dolls.
For those of you waiting (patiently) for an update for Always, I am trying my hardest to get it written. I seem to keep getting stuck on parts of the chapter. I know where I want it to go, but my muse won't let me get there. I will try to get it posted soon, hopefully no later than the end of the month (at that point I have a concert, medicine and a wedding to go to). I am attempting to write like a crazy person to get it written. Hopefully now that Be Mine is done I can focus on Always. Send me a lot of good luck. I'll probably need it.
And now a big, huge heartfelt thanks goes out to my friend Meaghan for beta-ing this for me despite having work, school and two novels of her own to write. You're awesome (wow I'm saying that a lot!) to help me out with all of this and couldn't ask for someone better. She was there from the inception of this story (when I was writing it in the car dealership on my phone) through to the end when I wrote and rewrote it at work for five hours. What more could a writer ask for?