A.N.: Don't worry, Tori, Finn's time will come, make no mistake about that! His time will come! But you know when you move to a new place or new school, you might hang out with a few people the first few weeks, then drift off to another group when you make other friends…that's kind of where Rose is at.
Okay, this chapter update is for Candy Couture, ST, Endless Chills, and B.w. Thank you for your ecstatic reviews!
Rose Amongst Thorns
Chapter Nine
Ice, Ice Baby
After finishing her math homework and the assigned reading for English and History, Rose washed her hair and scrubbed her face vigorously with her favourite fresh 'Sugar Face Polish'. It smelled of strawberries, and tasted like brown sugar, and made her skin so soft and clean.
It's going to be fine, she thought, exhaling quietly, glancing at her reflection in the mirror after rinsing her face. Water clung to her skin and eyelashes. Just because every time Doug looked at her she thought he was planning how best to murder her, didn't mean she'd wake up one night with him hovering over her with a pillow. She reached for a towel and heard voices through the wall. They were coming from Evan's room.
"This sucks," someone whispered. "Since when are they so big on us following the rules?"
"One guess," another voice replied. She tiptoed over to the door, opened it a crack, and listened.
"Look, I've never seen Mom and Dad that serious," someone else said. The voice wasn't familiar—Sean? "You monkeys better get ready for a big-time crack-down."
"We had this place wired tight, yo," Doug said. "Now the girl has scorched that. I say we ice her until she cracks. We make it so bad she'll be beggin' to leave."
"She doesn't have anywhere to go," someone said—Finn, Rose thought.
"So. She can find someplace. She can go live with that dude from North Carolina," Doug said, mimicking Rosalie's accent. Rose's eyes burned, and she kneaded the heel of her palm over her heart, her chest suddenly aching as much as her throat and eyes.
Did Doug think it her choice to move seven-hundred miles, away from the only place she knew? Away from the guy who had been her best-friend since she was nine years old, and the best friend she could ever have?
Wasn't anyone going to stick up for her? Didn't anyone realise it wasn't her fault?
"Did you know that the Yankees have appeared in thirty-nine World Series and have won twenty-six of them?" Rose smiled sadly, her eyes burning with tears that didn't fall.
"Yeah, we know that, dill hole," Doug snapped. His callousness to his brother made a shiver of dislike go up and down Rose's spine, and she glared at the door. "But who won in 2004?"
"The Red Sox. But—"
"And who did they kick the big, fat butts of to get there?" Doug asked.
"The Yankees, but—"
"Then why don't you just shut up?"
Rose retreated back into the bathroom, set her tub of face scrub in its height-corresponding place in the medicine cabinet on her shelf, changed into her pyjamas, folded her towel over the rail, and slipped out of the bathroom. She closed and locked the door behind her, took up her cell-phone, and curled up on the chaise with a pillow, waiting for Pogue to pick up.
He did, and Rose spent an hour on her cell talking to him, alternately crying and whimpering down the phone, listening to him abusing his McGowan cousins colourfully in a way only Pogue could and his advice on how to deal with the boys.
At 03:30 the next morning, Friday, Rose woke up, and couldn't get back to sleep. She never slept well when she was upset, which owed to her exhaustion the last few weeks. She tiptoed to the bathroom, and washing her hands, she shuddered at the state of the room.
She couldn't sleep, and so opened up the cupboard below the sink to check for cleaning supplies, found them wanting and tiptoed downstairs to check the cleaning supplies in the laundry room. She found what she needed, plus the Swiffer, dustpan and brush and a trash bag, carried it all upstairs quietly, got her iPod and went to work.
Listening to Aerosmith, Deep Purple, Whitesnake, Kiss, AC/DC, Mötley Crüe, Def Leppard and Van Halen, her knees screaming in protest, her back hurting, her arms tired, Rose cleaned her way through the whole bathroom. Cleaned the toilet, the sink, the drawers of the console, the medicine cabinet, threw out all the old, empty bottles, cleaned the mirror and window, scrubbed the countertop, windowsill, and around the edges of the bath, swept the floors, Swiffered them, scrubbed the shower door till it shone and was kneeling in the bathtub, scrubbing it down completely, to get rid of watermarks and caked on shower gel and shampoo residue and bubble-bath, when something touched her back. Yelling, forgetting that it wasn't more than five a.m., Rose jumped and twisted painfully, landing on her side awkwardly, staring up at Finn, her heart in her mouth, her adrenaline spiking.
He plucked her earphones out and sat down on the toilet, his eyes barely open, his hair tousled, and looking utterly adorable.
"What're you doing?" he grumbled.
Rose blinked. "I'm cleaning."
"I see that. It's five a.m. What're you doing cleaning our bathroom at five a.m.?" Finn asked, leaning his chin on his hand, his eyes closed.
"I can't sleep," Rose murmured. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No. I was gonna use the bathroom. But this is the cleanest this room has ever been, so I'll go downstairs," Finn said quietly, peeking his eyes open and giving her a sleepy smile. He stood up, left the bathroom, and Rose didn't see him again until breakfast. She finished rearranging the bottles and toiletries back into height-order, grabbed the bag full of dirt and trash and empty bottles and the cleaning products, turned the light off, and slipped downstairs. She tiptoed back up, needing to clear her head of the fumes from the bathroom surface cleaners she had used, grabbed a sports bra and a little pair of Cougar shorts, part of her cross-country uniform at her school in North Carolina, slipped her running sneakers on, pulled her hair into a ponytail, made sure the key was under the mat at the kitchen door, hooked her chip onto her shorts, plugged her earphones in, and went for a run.
An hour and ten and a half miles later, Rose ran back around the house and into the kitchen through the back door.
Regina stared at her, pouring herself a mug of coffee, still dressed in her pyjamas and robe, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail.
"Rosie!"
Rose was panting too much to talk, only nodded and waved, and, her breath blistering in her throat, she made her way upstairs. Finn's door was open, and Red Jumpsuit Apparatus was playing; Rose spied him changing into a paint-splattered t-shirt; he glanced up, caught her eye, flicked his eyes over her appearance, and quirked an eyebrow; Rose went to her room, stripped quickly, wrapped her towel around her and hopped into the shower. When she opened the door, wrapped in a towel, her hair up in a high, messy ponytail to keep it dry, Regina was in the hallway, blinking; Finn, dressed in his t-shirt and relaxed, perfectly broken-in jeans, shot Rose a smile and Regina shuffled over to the bathroom; Rose heard her exclamation of shock as she closed the bedroom door behind her.
She wasn't in the mood to dress pretty. The conversation she had overheard last night, which had made her cry on her phone to Pogue for an hour, had sapped all the good-will out of her. For the day. Rose didn't have the personality to bear a grudge. She went to her closet and picked out her favourite vintage Kiss t-shirt (it had belonged to her mom) which was black, fit so snug and tight, and embellished with KISS in diamantes. She pulled on a pair of lace-waist string bikini bottoms and her favourite black lace 'Love' Agent Provocateur bra, found the second-skin dark-wash denim jeans that moulded to her bottom, slipped on her t-shirt, and blow-dried her hair, so that it fell in softly tousled locks to her shoulders; she pulled it up in a loose bun so wisps framed her face, and forewent eyeshadow for a tiny line of black liquid eyeliner, a lashing of mascara, and rose-red lipstick that really complimented her fair skin.
Instead of her usual daytime perfume, Diptyque's 'Ofresia,' Rose brought out the bottle of expensive 'Bois de Violette' Serge Lutens perfume that she used on dates and for dances, spritzed some on her wrists and throat, and put the little purse atomiser in her bag. She tugged on her studded brown leather sandals, secured a pair of gold pyramid-stud earrings in, put on her mom's Hermés watch, her Dogeared 'Karma' bracelets, one of Pearl's beaded creations, and gathered everything for school, grabbed her running sneakers, her iPod (which she had charged during her shower), her black Speedo swimsuit and a beach-towel for swimming during gym, and slipped downstairs. The house was still quiet; Regina was no longer in the hallway; Finn's door was closed and his music louder; she grabbed her usual snacks from the kitchen, and a yoghurt from the fridge, refilled her water-bottle and slipped out of the house, into her truck, and was halfway to school before anyone in the McGowan house even realised she was gone.
She sat in her truck, the windows down and the breeze cool, sipping her water and eating her yoghurt, getting ahead on the reading for History, until people started filtering toward the school, a steady stream of cars trickling into the parking lots like ants to their underground networks. Rose climbed out of the truck, locked it, and was walking up the front steps when she glimpsed, from the corner of her eye, Hailey and her friends watching her.
"So…Chibs," Hailey said with a cruel smile, "I see you're no longer using my boyfriend as your chauffeur."
Rose, though not a girl inclined to be rude or bear a grudge, was still so upset by the conversation she had overheard last night that she paused, swung around, and stared at Hailey, straight in the eye, until Hailey's face fell. She jerked on the front door and entered the school. She stopped by the cafeteria to buy a bagel and cream-cheese and went to wait outside her History classroom.
Gym-class convened outside the swimming-pool locker-rooms. Miss Smith assigned them temporary lockers for the unit and they all changed; Rose bought a swim-cap for a dollar in the office, covered her hair, and remembered to bring her mini hair-dryer to school tomorrow. She spent the hour swimming laps, avoiding Finn's gaze, and thinking. It was going to be a long two years. Maybe more…
Miller was already sitting at his preferred table in the courtyard when Rose walked out there later that afternoon, carrying her tray and pushing her sunglasses on. She glanced at her favourite table, and then at Miller. From Regina, she had learned that if she wanted to help Miller feel comfortable about her being around her, she would have to make the effort to get to know him and show him she was here to stay. Whether she was or wasn't was irrelevant, and while she could have sooner stabbed Doug than avoided him, she saw no point in being needlessly cruel to Miller when he was so often alone already.
Now didn't seem like a terrible time to start building a relationship with him.
Nervous about invading his bubble, Rose walked over to his table and sat down at the far end of the opposite bench, as far as she could possibly get without sitting at another table. He already had his headphones in place and his radio on; the tinny sound of the announcer was a little annoying but Rose was going to listen to her music anyway, not anticipating a flood of conversation from Miller.
Miller looked up and stared at her, his eyes blank.
Blushing under his unabashed gaze—and those clear, sharp pale-blue eyes—Rose looked down at her tray and started organising it. Water bottle, juice-box, yoghurt, apple, chocolate brownie; she kept the bowl of baked macaroni-cheese in front of her, and when she had finished, she glanced up at Miller for approval.
He smiled.
She blinked. His smile was beautiful. He had obviously had braces, and his teeth were lovely and white, but when he smiled, it was from his eyes; they kind of glittered the way Regina's did when she was happy, lifting up at the corners slightly. It lit up his whole face, and he looked so much more like his handsome dad when he smiled. Rose smiled back, cheeks flushing, pleased, and he returned to his game and his lunch, and Rose pulled out her new book; Gone With the Wind. She put Jeff Buckley on and was still reading when the bell rang; only Miller packing away his radio alerted her to the start of afternoon lessons. She went off to AP English thinking of how true gentleman should act.
After cross-country practice, Miss Smith called them into a huddle.
"Before you hit the showers, I want to remind you all about our long run tomorrow, so meet up out front at eight a.m. We're also gonna be electing our new team-captain soon," Miss Smith said, "so start thinking about what kind of person you want to have leading this team." Almost everyone looked at Hailey. Clearly she had a lock on the captainship. Rose thought of her cross-country team in North Carolina. While she wouldn't have made captain, she would have enjoyed practices a lot more, teasing and laughing with her friends. She loved running, of course; nothing could stop her loving it, not even Hailey and her not-so-subtle attempts to incapacitate her. She just wished it was more fun. Jake caught her eye and winked. She smiled sadly back, and attempted a smile when Aimee and Pearl caught up with her, Pearl showing Aimee her new styles of bracelets, Aimee muttering about how much she hated her big-sister.
Rose showered quickly, shoved her clothes on, said goodbye to Pearl and Aimee, and headed off for her truck. She would vote for Hailey, she guessed, if no one else was elected. She reached her truck, wrinkled her nose at the state of it, and when she got back to the McGowans', she commandeered a bucket, car-wash, a sponge and the hose, quickly changed into the sports bra and shorts she had worn for her run this morning, and spent a good deal of time washing her truck till it gleamed—as best a twenty-six-year-old truck could gleam. Since Evan's old Saab was parked beside her truck, she washed that too. She showered again, briefly, finished her math homework, her English reading, made notes from her History textbook about Henry VIII's six wives and his children, wrote an entry in her journal, which made her upset again, and when she had nothing left to do, wrote an email to Pogue, looked on Facebook at the hundreds of photos she had been tagged in from Darnell's birthday party, added the Friend Requests and saved some of the photographs to send to PhotoBox for printing.
She remembered the enormous pile of laundry that needed ironing downstairs, tucked her iPod into the pocket of her shorts, opened the ironing board in the living-room, filled the water canister of the steam-iron, and set about depleting as best she could the four-foot-high pile of shirts, t-shirts, shorts, pants, Regina's tops, skirts, pyjamas, sheets, pillowcases, sports uniforms, dishtowels, cooking aprons and tablecloths. Regina's clothing was easy to sort into a pile that she took upstairs and laid on the chaise at the end of her and John's bed, as were John's shirts; he was a little wider in the shoulders than his sons. She hung his shirts on hangers and put them in his closet. Finn's t-shirts were characterised by their being splattered with paint; she had never seen Evan out of Hollister or Abercrombie; Doug wore 'gangster' clothing brands, and anything featuring A Rod or the New York Yankees went into Miller's pile. She organised his pile in size order and took it upstairs for him; he was listening to the radio and doing math homework when she knocked on his bedroom door and entered. Everything in the bedroom—he shared with Doug—was neatly organised in height order, and there were neatly-tacked posters of the Yankees and Miller's favourite players on the walls, and photographs of him with his mom and dad.
He blinked at her when she put the pile of ironed and neatly-folded clothes onto what was unmistakably his neatly-made bed; she offered him a little smile and retreated, after dumping Doug's clothes on the end of his messy bed. She glanced at Miller, and didn't wonder that he couldn't bring himself to tackle the mess of his brother's half of the room.
She went back downstairs and found Caleb digging around in a brand-new cereal box for the toy it promised on the front; Rose cleaned up after him, found the toy, handed it over, and went back to work. By the time John got home from work, she was down to the last three inches in the clothes basket, ironing one of his shirts. He set his briefcase at the foot of the stairs, loosened his tie, hung his smart jacket on the banister and froze, blinking, as he stared across the back-end of the grand-piano at her.
When Regina arrived home, having picked Ian up from ice-hockey practice, and having bought boxes full of Mexican takeout from the restaurant down by Jim's Diner, Rose had finished with the ironing and was reading Gone With the Wind in her bedroom. She still hadn't unpacked her cardboard boxes. Mostly because she had no bookcase. She made a mental note to ask Regina—or Sean, whom she saw with a book in-hand every time she saw him.
She was quiet during dinner, speaking only when directly asked a question. Miller sat next to her again instead of the other side of Doug. She had helped Miller load the dishwasher the way he liked it, and took out the trash before remembering it was Ian's chore, and then went for a short, five-mile run. After a brief cold shower, just to rinse the sweat from her skin, she turned on Iggy Pop and picked up her book.
Near Caleb and Ian's bedtime, Regina knocked on the door and entered, smiling.
"John says you're the magic fairy who did the ironing," she smiled, coming to sit on the side of Rose's bed. Rose plucked her earphones out and nodded slightly, her cheeks warming at the look on Regina's face.
"Rose, you don't have to do that, you know," she said softly, smiling with her eyes. "I don't expect you to clean up after my boys. Finn said you were up at five cleaning the bathroom this morning."
"Three-thirty," Rose mumbled, and Regina laughed softly.
"And you washed your truck and Evan's Saab," Regina said, bewildered wonderment in her voice. Rose nodded.
"Sweetie, it's not your responsibility to clean this house," she smiled sadly, eyes roving over Rose's face. "You don't know what you're doing here, do you?" Rose looked down at her hands, fiddling with her fingernails. She had taken off the old nail-polish, trimmed and filed them earlier. She was running out of things to do to avoid going downstairs to hang out with the boys. She knew she wasn't welcome, and that made it all the more difficult for her to face the idea of doing so. She tucked her feet under her butt when Regina stood and came to lower herself into the other half of the chaise. Regina looked over her face and reached out to tuck a lock of Rose's hair behind her ear, smoothing her thumb over her cheekbone.
"You can come to me, sweetie," she said quietly, her voice sounding choked up, "about anything. You do know that, right?" Rose nodded, licking her lips nervously. "It's my boys, isn't it." It wasn't a question; Rose shifted one shoulder up and down. Regina sighed heavily and shook her head, her expression darkening. "What've they done? John and I will talk to them."
"Please, don't," Rose said agitatedly, her cheeks flaming. She didn't want the boys thinking she was a tattler. And she didn't want John and Regina thinking the boys were making her unhappy. Regina was already so worried about her, and rightly so, but Rose didn't want her to think it was her boys' fault that she felt worse and worse each day knowing she couldn't call her mom or get a hug from her daddy.
Regina watched her for a moment, then sighed. "Okay. Whatever it is that's their deal, I'll let you guys work it out between you," she said quietly. "But, Rosalie, if they're making you unhappy—"
"My parents are dead," Rosalie said softly. She had only said it a few times; it still tasted strange on her lips. "I'd be unhappy anyway." Regina's face softened, and her eyes grew moist. She stroked Rose's hair and leaned in to kiss her forehead. A great swell of heat rushed into her eyes and throat and Rose stifled a sob; Regina heard it, anyway, with the motherly intuition she had honed looking after seven kids, and Rose was enveloped in a crushing, motherly hug.
"It's been a stressful week, huh," Regina said, rubbing her back comfortingly.
"Yeah," Rose whimpered, crying into Regina's shoulder. "It was a b-bad d-day today." She choked and cried a little more, and just being held made her at once more upset and soothed. When she had calmed down, Regina tucked her hair out of her face and dashed the tears from her cheeks.
"If you keep cleaning my house when you're upset, maybe I should just let my boys do their thing, huh," she teased softly, and Rose laughed a little bit; she managed a weak smile. "You want some hot cocoa?" Regina asked.
"That'd be nice," Rose sniffled; Regina smiled and went downstairs, and Rose reached for the box of Kleenex on the bedside cabinet and wiped her face. She would go to bed early today and stay in bed tomorrow morning. At least until six a.m.
When Regina returned, Rose was already in her pyjamas; the hot cocoa Regina had mentioned was mounded with whipped cream from a canister and mini-marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles. Rose blinked tears away and smiled tremulously as Regina came and sat down on the other side of the bed, with her own mounded mug. "These are from my secret stash," Regina said, her eyes glittering the way Miller's did when he smiled. The same way Lori Alexander's eyes twinkled. Rose accepted her mug with wide eyes, a small thank you, and glanced at Regina.
"I didn't know Lori was your sister," she said quietly; Regina had handed her a spoon to eat the whipped cream and marshmallows, and they both sat on top of the bed, legs outstretched, ankles crossed, enjoying a secret treat.
"We didn't speak for a very long time," Regina sighed heavily. She glanced at Rose. "We had an argument about our mom's jewels when our parents died. Sounds stupid, doesn't it? Pogue was a stranger to me when I arrived in North Carolina last week." Rose nodded and sipped her hot cocoa. It was rich and creamy, and strong; she had seen the Green and Black's jar of hot-cocoa powder in the kitchen, and it smelled divine.
"Pogue says he doesn't even know all his cousins' names," Rose said quietly. "I had to show him pictures from when we were little."
"Mm," Regina was drinking her hot cocoa and snapped her fingers, licked her lips and smiled. "I was looking through old photo albums a few nights ago, and I found the most adorable photographs of you and the boys from when you were babies. You can have copies, if you want."
"I'd like to see them," Rose smiled. See if the mini McGowans concealed their devilish personalities as well as the adolescent ones did.
"So…how d'you like your room?" Regina asked, settling back against the neatly arranged pillows, looking around the room. Truth be told, Rose hadn't really changed much about it, save inside the closet and drawers; her makeup was scattered on the dresser with some photographs, and she had made the desk her own, but the majority of her stuff was still in boxes. "You still haven't unpacked."
"I was going to ask you about that," Rose said quietly. "Um…Regina, do you know if I could get a bookcase in here?" Regina sipped her hot cocoa.
"Yeah, sure. We'll see if we can find you one—actually, you know, there's a charity furniture sale at the Farmer's Market tomorrow," Regina said, her eyes lighting up. "If you wanted, we can head downtown to the market and see what they've got."
"Tomorrow?" Rose bit her lip. "Is it in the morning?"
"Eleven till three, I think," Regina frowned thoughtfully. "Unless the stalls sell out of their stock. Why?"
"I have a cross-country run tomorrow, but it's early in the morning," Rose said, smiling slightly. The meet was early in the morning so they didn't have to run in midday heat.
"Okay, well, good; as soon as you're finished with that, we can head over to the Farmer's Market," Regina smiled. "I'm sure the boys all need something or other for their rooms too. Sean always needs more storage. You might want to ask him to borrow his books, if you ever get tired of rereading these. He must have his own mini library up there." She jabbed her thumb at the ceiling, above which Rose knew was Sean's bedroom, because she heard his mattress springs creak whenever he flopped down on his bed of an evening, right above her.
After her little cry, Rose felt a little better; she had just needed someone to give her a hug, really, to acknowledge they knew she was upset and to comfort her. She and Regina talked quietly for a little while, until the volume of Doug's music drove Regina to bang on his door and then have an argument over the music with her son about waking the little ones. Regina took Rose's empty mug, kissed her goodnight, thanked her for cleaning the bathroom and for doing the ironing, and left Rose alone.
Rose fell asleep within moments of her head hitting the pillow. She could get used to the sound of the crickets and the bubble of the brook down at the end of the garden.
A.N.: We've all had days where we just needed a hug!
