I bring them to her every day.
She stands at hostess podium in the restaurant , red hair piled on her head, or covering her face, depending on the bruises.
She has the saddest blue eyes I have ever known.
I have been stealing roses from gardens in a radius of her work.
I think people are getting suspicious.
The roses have to be stolen,
and I have to bleed on them,
otherwise the charm won’t work.
I have different blood, it’s an unusual color.
I always hear the lab tech gasp when the vial attached to my vein glows purple.
Even dark and dry, it still shimmers in the light.
The roses I bring have speckled purple and green stems.
She never asks why my hands are bleeding, she just smiles and arranged the roses on her podium.
My girlfriend hates that I am doing this. Bringing stolen roses to the girl with the sad blue eyes.
The first time I kissed my girlfriend she told me she had taken a vow of chastity,
she was a nun.
So I kissed her again, and again.
We slept together every night for a month , dreaming the same dreams,
generating a heat that warped the floorboards.
Then we had sex.
Her order is going to catch on, we will be caught,
And She will choose her church, and close the door in my face.
So I don’t care how she feels about the roses.
She tells me what I’m doing is wrong.
And I’m thinking
Shit, I’ve been fucking gods girlfriend, how much more wrong is breaking up an abusive relationship?
And she tells me the problem is I’m doing it for the wrong reason, and besides, she likes it. The girl with the sad blue eyes likes being hurt.
That’s something I already know.
I hand her another bloodstained flower, and Her eyes flick across the restaurant.
He is in the room, watching.
Her cheek is bruised and tears hang like diamonds in her eyes.
He thinks I’m pathetic with my ragged bloody roses.
He thinks I’m a creepy stalker bothering his girlfriend
He thinks I’m a joke.
I’ve known her for several years.
We have the same circle of friends.
I have never asked her out.
I just bring her stolen roses, and we talk.
I reach out and pluck a diamond from the corner of her eye.
It’s the first time I’ve ever touched her.
The diamond balanced on the tip of my finger mixes with my blood,
shining like a ruby in the afternoon light.
When I lick the ruby from my finger, her pupils dilate,
her face flushes.
And I know the spell is cast.
The sound of her setting the petals on her podium crashes in his world like Mozarts Requiem Mass.
He doesn’t know she will arrive on my doorstep tonight, soaked and out of breath from running in the rain.
He doesn’t know the kiss will go through her and find roots deep in the planet.
He doesn’t know that with one kiss I will vanish in the air forever,
and she will wake to a pillow covered in diamonds.
Even if he fell to his knees and collected all the diamonds from her face.
They will never glow like Rubys in the afternoon sun.
He is finished forever.
Because my kiss is a thousand times more cruel than his fist could ever be.