TRIGGER WARNING: THIS CHAPTER FEATURES A SUICIDE ATTEMPT!
Title Song: "More Than You Know" by Frank Sinatra
Okay, I REALLY debated on the theme song for this chapter, but going over my playlist I decided on this one because it seemed to fit Alastor's current mindset on his infatuation with Tina.
Friendship was a foreign concept to Tina. Most people were put off by her brash behavior. Even in childhood, the connections she'd formed with other people were superficial at best. She would engage in occasional small talk with her coworkers, but not in deep conversations involving personal details. Neither hers nor theirs.
As a result, Tina had no one to confide in about her recent altercation with Ethan. She had to tell her boss, of course, to explain why she hadn't shown up to work that night, and about the restraining order so Ethan would be refused entry into the club. But other than that, she refused to let anyone know what had happened to her. That she'd been assaulted in the street, and all she could do was stand there, helplessly frozen. She didn't even have a therapist, which was probably a bad idea considering everything she'd been through, but she feared being judged for her actions.
However, she'd been unsettled ever since that horrible night. Not just because of the attempted rape, but because of the mysterious person who'd saved her. Her nightmares surrounding Ethan had been replaced by those red eyes, that distorted voice, those thin, cradling arms.
The more she replayed the scene in her head, the more confused she became. Where had that person come from? She could've sworn there hadn't been an extra set of footsteps. More importantly, where had they run off to afterwards? There'd been only one way out of that alley, and the cop hadn't seen anyone other than her and Ethan. It was almost as if she'd been saved by a ghost.
What was more, that feeling of being watched continued. It couldn't be Ethan stalking her, as he was in the hospital under police custody. And with it came other eerie occurrences she couldn't explain.
First, there were the flowers. The day after the assault, Tina opened her front door to find a single black rose on the welcome mat. No note was attached, only a simple red ribbon. This wasn't the first time she'd received something from a secret admirer. She did work at a burlesque club after all, and her hormonal male high school classmates used to leave notes in her locker all the time. But a black rose was an interesting choice. Normally, people went for the traditional red, sometimes pink or white. Tina shrugged it off and put the rose in a vase. She wasn't in a good place to start a new relationship, but she needed the cheering up after such a dreadful night.
More black roses appeared the next week. This time there were three, all tied together with the same red ribbon. Still, no note. Nor was there one in the bunch of four left there the next week. The fourth week, the mysterious sender left a full bouquet of nine black roses, arranged with lavender and red lilies. This one felt like the most thought out to Tina, as lilies were her favorite, and lavender was the scent of her favorite mousse.
The flattered feeling was short-lived, replaced by the realization that whoever was leaving these flowers seemed to know her personally. But how could that be? No one knew her that well. Not even the men from her previous romantic trysts had bothered to learn so much as her favorite flower or what kind of hair products she used. This further cemented her theory that someone other than Ethan was stalking her.
Flowers could be explained, but some afternoons, which were like mornings with her work schedule, she'd wake up to find her apartment tidied up. Clothes she'd tossed on the floor in the hamper, dishes she'd left out washed and cleaned on the drying rack, beer bottles she'd emptied in the recycling. Cleaning wasn't normally what she did while blackout drunk, and she didn't have a housekeeper, so her first thought had been a burglar. Not only did the bolted door and windows locked from the inside make this impossible, but nothing had been stolen. And who the hell would break into someone's apartment just to clean the place?
Every other minute something would send her on high alert. A strange noise here, a flicker of movement there, a sudden rush of cold air when all the windows were shut. Her paranoia had shifted so much into overdrive that she'd stashed a kitchen knife under her couch.
It was a few days before Christmas when Tina decided she couldn't keep all this to herself anymore. But who could she talk to without sounding crazy? Even a therapist might commit her to a psychiatric facility.
Based on what little she'd learned about her coworkers, there was one who might take her seriously. Candy, a redheaded dancer at the burlesque, was constantly inviting people to her tarot circle, or offering to read their palms, or telling them about their auras. Apparently, Tina's aura was very dark, suggesting inner turmoil. She'd figured Candy was just another one of those white girls teetering on the very thin line between spiritual curiosity and cultural appropriation.
So, as the two of them were changing into their sexy elf costumes for a holiday number, Tina dared to ask, "Do you believe in ghosts?"
Candy, obviously not used to someone else starting the conversation, let her Santa minidress drop to the floor with a gasp. "You bet I do! Did one of your relatives die? A parent? I know a gal who's great with séances! She can help you talk to them!"
Tina cringed at Candy's casual mention of death and the thought of letting some random woman with a battery-operated crystal ball into her apartment. "I-I just wanna know…is it possible to be…haunted?"
If Tina wasn't already used to communal changing, she would've been put off by Candy's still uncovered breasts as she took her hands and squeed like a teenager at a sleepover. "You think there's a ghost haunting you? Do they say anything? Tell me, tell me!"
After urging Candy to keep changing as they still had a show to do, Tina went on to tell her about the strange events occurring at her apartment, excluding the part about Ethan.
"Wow." Candy didn't act skeptical at all. "I've never heard of a ghost who cleans. Moving objects, sure, but usually they're pretty messy. And roses? You sure you don't just have a secret admirer?"
She pointed to a table in the corner with a cluster of flowers addressed to various dancers.
"Patrons don't usually send flowers to my apartment," Tina said.
Candy hummed as she put on her fake pointed ears. "Maybe one of your neighbors? Landlord?"
Tina gagged. "My landlord's seventy."
"Didn't say it had to be a young admirer."
"That still doesn't explain how they're gettin' into my apartment. Even if they have a key or picked the lock, I always deadbolt the door. And it's still bolted when I wake up."
Candy shrugged as she put on her green jingling hat. "Certainly strange, but I don't know if it's necessarily supernatural. I can refer you to my medium friend, if you wanna make sure."
"No thanks." Tina turned so Candy could tie the laces of her corset. "Maybe it's all in my head and I really am cleanin' the place in my sleep."
"And the roses?"
Tina sighed. "Like ya said, could just be a friendly neighbor."
They continued their conversation after their elf number, this time changing into reindeer.
"What kind of roses are they?" Candy asked. "And how many?"
Tina scrunched her nose as she unlaced Candy's corset. "Why?"
The redhead picked off the fake ears. "Flowers have certain meanings, including how many are in the bouquet."
As they helped each other change, Tina described the four separate gifts of roses. Apparently, flower language was another obsession of Candy's.
"Ooh." She bit her lip excitedly as she clipped on her deer tail. "Okay, so one rose makes sense for the first time. It usually means something like 'love at first sight.' That's probably when your admirer started liking you. Three roses means, 'I love you.' Pretty simple. Four means, 'nothing will stand between us.' Nine is pretty serious, because it means the person is swearing their eternal love, wanting to spend the rest of their life with you."
Tina was so thrown off by this notion that she put her antler headband on crookedly. "Y-You're probably readin' too much into it."
"Then why would they send those roses in different numbers on separate occasions if they didn't know what they were doing?" Candy reached out to adjust Tina's antlers. "As for the flowers themselves, red lilies signify passion, while lavender equals devotion. But the fact that the roses are black…"
She bounced on the balls of her feet. "Ooh, baby. Either this admirer of yours is really into you, or wants you dead."
Tina blinked. "Why are you so giddy about this?"
"Black roses are manmade. They usually signify death because they're so dark and unnatural, but in terms of romance, they send the message, 'you forever belong to me.' So, this could mean your admirer loves you so much, they'll continue to love you in death." Candy balled her fists over her chest. "Isn't that thought romantic?"
More like creepy. The person didn't have the gall to leave a note. How could he be so confident in his feelings to swear something as abstract as eternal love, but keep his name a secret? Tina checked herself, realizing that Candy hadn't been referring to her admirer as a "him." It could very well be a woman, or an enby, which could explain the anonymity. If that were the case, Tina would hate to have to break her or their heart, as she was pretty sure she was straight.
"Well, whoever they are," she said, "stalker or no, they're gonna be pretty disappointed to find I ain't relationship material."
"Aw, don't say that!" Candy took her hand. "Here. I'll give you a free palm reading."
"I don't believe in that—"
"Hmm." Candy traced the lines of Tina's palm, obviously not asking permission. "Your life line suggests you get easily tired or exhausted, like you're currently in a rut. Your head line shows you're very creative. But that's obvious, given you're the best singer here. As for your heart line, it's pretty straight, indicating you're not interested in a romantic relationship at the moment."
Tina rolled her eyes. "I literally just told you—"
"Aw." Candy tsked. "Your past relationships have been real rocky. But look!" She pointed to a seemingly random spot on Tina's palm and squealed. "There might be a tall, dark stranger in your future! Ooh! I bet it's your secret admirer!"
Again, these were all things the redhead could've inferred.
"And at least one possible marriage! Ooh, looks like it's gonna be a tough one, but worth the turmoil! Now, as for how many children you're gonna have…" Candy frowned. "Huh."
Tina bristled at the mention of children. "What?"
Leaning closer, Candy squinted at the palm. "Never seen a line like that before."
As skeptical as Tina was, she was a bit curious. "Like what?"
After a minute, Candy shrugged and dropped her hand. "I'm still new at palmistry. If you wanna swing by my place later, I could ask my tarot cards about this admirer of yours."
"Nah, it's fine." Tina waved a hand. "I'll just figure it out on my own."
The truth was it didn't matter who this secret admirer was, or whether their intentions were innocent or nefarious. She'd given up on finding a serious relationship long ago. Even if this person was sincere, they would be disappointed to find who they admired wasn't worth the hassle.
Sinsmas was around the corner, and in the spirit of the hellborn holiday, Rosie would spruce up her emporium with some festive carnivorous flora. But as she stepped into Cannibal Town's flower shop, she was surprised to find a familiar face at the counter.
"Another bouquet, Mr. Radio Demon?" the florist said. "More black roses?"
"No. Something more in the spirit of the season." Alastor leaned onto his palm as his eyes wandered. "Something that says, 'I'm thinking about you during the holidays.'"
"Our biggest seller right now is the classic flytrap bouquet. Very popular with the gluttons."
The florist gestured to an arrangement of red, single-stemmed flytraps, which snapped at her fingers.
"Tempting." Alastor fiddled with a display of green roses. "But I think my darling would appreciate something with less teeth."
"Well, classic holiday colors are green, white and red, if you'd like one or a mix of all three."
"Why not? Oh! And could you put a few lilies in? She seemed to like those. White this time? I think that'll make it seem more…wintery."
The florist beamed. "This must be some special lady for you to be offering me so much business, Mr. Radio Demon."
A small blush dusted Alastor's cheeks. "Yes, I suppose she is."
He'd initially wondered if leaving her flowers would be too forward, considering they'd never met. But he worried if he didn't express his affection in some manner, he would implode. The flowers certainly scared her less than his tidying up the place while she slept. Besides, letting his darling know there was someone out there who admired her would make her less inclined to accept the advances of someone else. Especially with the other demons still being drawn to her.
This infatuation made him giddier than he'd felt in decades. His work as an Overlord had become mundane, and even the trips to the living world had lost their novelty. To think something as simple as a woman could inspire such wild schemes.
It'd been a surprising thrill, seeing Tina's reaction to his little gifts. The light in her eyes, the small smile that would grace her lips, even the suspicious scrunch of her nose endeared him. Funny how the more he watched her, the more things he found he liked about her.
Alastor wasn't much of a Christmas man. In his childhood, his mother would present him with modest gifts like handmade clothing or a bag of lemon drops. But since his fall to Hell, he'd assimilated into the Sinsmas festivities of hellborns. Not so much the ugly sweaters and tacky decorations, but the celebratory massacres and cannibal feasts. But seeing how lacking in friendships his darling was, and no sign of immediate family, he figured she might appreciate a holiday themed bouquet.
"Well, I'll be hanged!"
Rosie's voice skidded Alastor's musings to a sharp halt. He straightened up, his ears flattening as she approached.
"Seems you took my advice after all!" She ruffled his hair. "There is a heart under that cold, dead exterior of yours!"
Alastor groaned, his claws digging into the counter.
"Come now, Alastor, don't leave me in the dark." She clapped her hands. "Who's the lucky woman? She must be real charming to be tying a free-spirited bachelor like you down!"
If she uttered another syllable, Alastor was sure he would rip her tongue out, but that would be unwise. Although Rosie didn't control him anymore, she was still far more powerful than he was. Not to mention they were in her territory. He should've known better than to shop in Cannibal Town, but it really did have the most decent florist in the Pentagram.
Of course, Alastor couldn't tell Rosie the truth about his intended. But she wouldn't stop pressing him if he didn't give her some tea to sip.
"Her name doesn't matter," he said through his teeth, "as it is highly unlikely you two shall ever meet."
"If the name's not important, what's the harm in telling me?"
She had him there. Luckily, a shred of truth was just enough to convince her to drop the matter.
"I have many enemies, Rosie. Do you think I'm so careless that I'd announce to the world I'm sweet on someone, therefore placing a target on her back?"
She caught his pointed look, hinting that she was among those enemies. "So, you finally admit you're sweet on this mystery girl?"
"And so what if I am?" He crossed his arms. "My business isn't yours anymore."
Rosie frowned. "You might not believe me, Alastor, but I do care about you. In my own way. It's nice seeing you so happy. Really happy."
The florist returned with Alastor's arrangement. Ignoring Rosie, he assessed the bouquet, nodding in approval. Rosie's eyes widened. She was familiar enough with the language of flowers to infer the intentions behind this bouquet.
"Oh my stars, you are serious about this woman."
Without responding, Alastor left the money on the counter, scooped the bouquet in his arms and disappeared into his shadow. Rosie shrugged.
"Fine. Keep your secrets." She turned to the florist. "How much do you wanna bet he'll be sending out wedding invitations within the year?"
Even in New York, hardly anyone went clubbing on Christmas, so Bindy's Burlesque was closed tonight, allowing employees to spend time with their families. Not that Tina had any family to go to. Her father had been shot by a white cop when she was only three, and her mother, who she'd been estranged from since she'd moved from Birmingham, had passed away two years ago.
As such, Tina didn't see the point in a Christmas tree. No one was going to see it, and she'd stopped believing in God when it was clear, if He did exist, He cared nothing for her. No one did.
So, she slept through most of Christmas. When she woke, it was five in the evening and already dark out. Her Christmas dinner was a convenience store turkey sub and microwave mashed potatoes. The movie that happened to be playing when she turned on the TV was It's a Wonderful Life, right when the angel showed up to stop Jimmy Stewart from jumping off a bridge. She immediately changed the channel. Now it was some Hallmark movie with a blonde chick that blended into the snow struggling to save her aunt's bed and breakfast or something in a small town while falling in love with a generic white guy. The next channel had Home Alone 2, which she would've stayed on if she didn't know a certain future president's cameo was coming up.
Seven channels later, it was a scene of the Virgin Mary with baby Jesus that convinced Tina to switch off the TV, not bothering to check Netflix. She started on a bottle of beer but stopped when the taste became too dull. Nothing seemed to excite her anymore.
A peculiar series of knocks at the door caught her attention. One long knock, four short and two long. Who would be knocking on her door on Christmas? Surely not her landlord. Untangling herself from the mess of blankets, she dragged her feet to the door.
Another bouquet sat there. This time the roses weren't black, but a mixture of red, white and green, white lilies poking out sporadically. Tina looked up and down the hall, hoping to finally catch a glimpse of her secret admirer, but it was empty. She knelt and examined the bouquet in the crystal vase. This time, there was a note attached to one of the stems by a red ribbon. Written in elegant cursive was no name, but the words: Joyeux Noel, Mon Amour. Tina remembered enough from French from high school to understand that much.
Guess I got a Christmas gift after all.
She brought the bouquet into the house, filled the vase with fresh water from the kitchen sink and set it beside the two vases with the other flowers she'd received over the past month. One vase held the eight black roses from the first three weeks, while the previous bouquet had its own vase. Tina counted the roses of the latest arrangement. There were four green, four white and five red, thirteen in total. Giving into Candy's obsession with flower language, Tina did a web search on her phone. Apparently, green roses, along with being associated with the holidays, stood for hope and rejuvenation. White roses meant purity and innocence, as did white lilies. Red roses, unsurprisingly, had to do with love and passion. Thirteen roses represented a secret admirer, which made sense. She checked the other numbers, in case the number of different colored roses had been intentional. Four, she confirmed, meant, "nothing will stand between us," and five expressed care and love. After counting all the roses together, she found that thirty indicated faithfulness, but maybe she was reading too far into that one, as there was no way anyone would plan that far in advance.
Putting down the phone, she stared at the three vases of flowers. Who in the world would go through so much trouble for someone like her? It had to be someone who didn't know her very well. The lavender and lilies could've been a coincidence. Maybe they were someone who worshipped her from afar. Adoring her appearance but not knowing what lay underneath. And if they were a stalker, surely they knew what kind of work she did. If that were the case, they probably thought being an exotic dancer made her an easy target.
Tears prickled her eyes. Neither scenario sounded promising. If they were a stalker, she'd be in danger. If they were innocent, she was only going to break their heart. No one could ever love her as she was.
It wasn't like she wanted to be this way. Once upon a time, Tina had dreamed of breaking the mold through her performing, be an inspiration for black women everywhere. Like Whoopi Goldberg, Wanda Sykes, or her middle namesake, Eartha Kitt. She'd thought she'd make it through stand-up, but people seemed more interested in her singing and dancing. She liked singing, of course, but at the burlesque, it felt like she was performing less for herself and more to pay the bills. Besides, no one went to a burlesque just to hear singing. Not even that part was fun anymore. Nothing was.
That's why she'd started taking antidepressants. Which reminded her, she hadn't taken one today. No wonder she felt so drained.
After fetching a glass of water, Tina made her way to the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and picked up the orange bottle. She set down the glass and twisted off the white cap. She shook the bottle over her palm, too forcefully that it caused five pills to fall out. She was about to drop four of them back in but paused.
Once again, the darkest of thoughts invaded her mind. A cloud she'd battled with for so long, she couldn't remember what the light looked like.
What would happen if she took the whole bottle? Would anyone miss her?
No. Her parents were dead. What few friends she'd made had long abandoned her. All her love affairs had ended in heartbreak and hurt. There was no one left to miss her.
She glanced back at the flowers in the other room. Well, maybe her secret admirer would miss her, but they were better off pursuing someone else. They'd get over her soon.
She held the bottle over her palm once more, allowing the rest of the pills to fall. She stared at the tiny white mound for a long while.
Echoes of the past weighed her decision. Her mother, scolding her for trying to take her prescription drugs. Her father, on the day of his death, telling her he would see her at dinner. Her pastor's sermons on suicide being a sin. The doctor's news that had changed her life. And the doctor's later news that had put her on antidepressants.
Every time before, her will to live had prevailed. But that will had burned out like a candle, reduced to a useless puddle of wax.
Tears dripped down her cheeks as she raised the pills towards her mouth. Maybe it's better if I…stop trying.
Suddenly, a dark hand snatched her wrist, another swiping her palm and scattering the pills across the tiled floor.
"I can guarantee, my dear, those little pills will not fix your problems!"
Yeah, sorry. If you read the myth this is based on, you'll find that Psyche consistently has suicidal thoughts throughout the story, only to be stopped by divine intervention (I mean where do you think we get the word "psyche" from?).