Where the Rosemary Hides

My steps are steady as I walk down the deserted dirt road. Despite it being abandoned, the street lights still work. But it doesn’t matter. No one will see me but him, and I don’t care if he looks. There is nothing really to see.

The note said, “meet me where the rosemary hides,” and the fact that I know exactly what that means and exactly who it is from is nothing more than annoying. I’ve seen the news, I knew he would try and contact me, but I didn’t expect him to force me back here.

The echo of my boot’s heels against the rotten wood-covered concrete is the only sound as I finally enter the old barn, walking towards the middle to be illuminated by the moon shining through the broken roof panel. There is no reason to hide in the dark. Not anymore.

“Gonna tell me why you summoned me, Charlie, or are you gonna skip the supervillain monologue?” I say as I raise a brow towards the figure hidden by the shadows.

“Good to see you too, Jessica,”’ he says as he steps into the light dramatically. My expression doesn’t falter, and neither does my stance. He smiles as he notes that my body language isn’t defensive, but what he mistakes for trust is truly just indifference.

He looks the same as he did three years ago, albeit more muscular and less innocent. Gone are the boyish features I had memorized, now his jaw is chiseled and despite his youth, worry lines crease his forehead. But nothing stirs in me as I stare at the boy I used to love. The boy I considered family. The boy I lived for and the boy I would have died for. I make him sit in silence.

“So if I am the villain, what does that make you? The hero?”. He steps forward, but I don’t shrink.

“All I am is a casualty.”

His amused expression immediately hardens as his grin straightens and his bright eyes dim and narrow. I remain unaffected. There is no winning or losing for me in this. All I am is complacent. A pawn in whatever game people want me to play.

“What, you think I would hurt you?” He demands, and I don’t respond. In my heart I know he wouldn’t, but my mind is so blank I can’t think enough to give him an intelligible answer. The only thing I can think about is how I can still see traces of her around here. Her dried flowers taped onto the stable. Her moth-eaten teddy bear in the corner. Her blood-covered rag of a blanket left in a crumpled heap by the chicken coop. I realize I am not the casualty. I never have been.

“What do you want, Charlie?” I say, looking away from the discarded memories and back into his eyes that are furiously digging into mine. He just stares and stares, trying to read my expressionless face.

“Not this,” he replies after a moment, subtly gesturing to me, and I can’t help but let out a small laugh.

“What did you expect? A thank you?” I say, and he furrows his brows as I begin to laugh harder. It truly is comical, and my giggles turn into exasperated snorts as I continue.

“I couldn’t care less about any of them dying. Literally, it is impossible for me to care less. I mean good for you, I’m sure you planned your brilliant scheme and, for lack of a better word, executed it perfectly. And that’s great. Super happy for you. Now why am I here?”.

He inhales pronouncedly and he stalks towards me angrily before he puts his finger in my face, but I still don’t shrink.

“Don’t act so high and mighty you know you would have done the same for Rosie!”

“Yeah, well, Rosie is too dead to care now! It’s too late! They killed her!” I shout back.

He flinches at the truth I so effortlessly threw at him, but I don’t care. I don’t care that it’s my fault. I don’t care that she was too young to protect herself and too young to die. I don’t care about any of this.

“Yeah, but you’re not, Jess” he huffs out and grabs my shoulders. “I don’t know what kind of apathetic bullshit you are pulling right now, but you’re not dead.” He takes a deep breath before pulling me into him and resting his chin on my head. I don’t hug him back. “You’re not dead.”

We stay there for long minutes and he is trying to connect but it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to let it happen.

“What do you want, Charlie” I whisper into his chest. It's more of a statement than a question at this point, and he stiffens against me, squeezing me one last time, before swiftly pulling away in admitted defeat.

“I don’t want anything. You don’t have to thank me or love me or miss me or care about me at all,” he says coldly as walks to the wall to grab his old duffel bag. I absently wonder if it still smells like me. If he kept the secondhand sweaters from all those years ago.

And that’s when I feel it. There is a sharp but gentle tug right on my rib. It would have been barely even noticeable under normal circumstances, but when you’re numb any feeling at all is maximized. And this feeling hurts.

I can’t help but think back to when we packed that bag the first time. We threw our minimal belongings along with whatever we could manage to steal and we vowed to run away together. We would leave the group home, leave the monsters the state entrusted us to, take Rosie with us and raise her ourselves. We could take care of her. Protect her. Two 14-year-olds and an eight year old, the perfect conventional family. We were so damn naïve.

Charlie sees my shift but he doesn’t soften. It is hard for me to breathe, but there is nothing for me to say. He is the only one who needs to speak, and I ready myself for the blow.

“You don’t have to love me. But don’t you dare think for one second that I didn’t do this for you. All of it, I did it for you.” and with that, he leaves me alone in the husk of what used to be our heaven and hell.