Page 189 of Wallflower

With any luck, I’ll be far away before that happens.

There’s nothing left to do now but find Rose.

I move with renewed energy across the room, leaving a slow trail of crimson circles along the way. My hand reaches for the lock, fingers landing against the metal, prepping to twist it. Trepidation has me pausing. What if I’m insane? Could this all be a weirdly coincidental dream, and I just murdered a bunch of innocent people? Could past trauma have twisted my psyche so catastrophically that I conjured all this up after a rambunctious dino sparring session? It’s the last memory I have that feels concrete. Maybe Kyle knocked me too hard in the head, and that’s why I fell asleep at such an odd hour.

No.

Don’t do that, I scold myself.

Don’t whittle down the memories that are driving you forward. I could punch myself for debasing such a meaningful relationship that happened somewhere else.

I have to find her.

It’s the only way I’ll know.

My fingers flick the lock open. Hand moving down to twist the knob, I take a steadying breath. Chest heaving with a mix of nervous energy and excitement, I pull the door open and step out. The dark coloured carpet will hide the slowly falling blood drops especially well since the orange geometric pattern pulls your eye.

The sign next to the door states the elevators are down the hall, and I have to rein in my desire to sprint the distance.

The further my mind descends into panic, the faster my feet move.

As I come upon the silver double doors, my heart rate hits a new thundering beat. My thumb smashes theDownbutton as Rose’s laugh pierces through my brain like a railroad spike.

Will Chelsea be in the room with her? If they’re even still there… Pulling out my phone, it’s nearing ten p.m. I don’t know what time the dance starts, and I’m kicking myself for not reading the sign taped to the dining room door. Too driven by frenzied thoughts of how to off Michelle, and make it hurt.

The elevator dings, shiny doors opening to welcome me inside. My thoughts don’t stop as I step in, they spiral further. The400button blurs in and out of focus as I battle my hysteria, searching for the peace Rose can offer me in turmoil of her making.

I press the button, and it illuminates. My head lies back against the wall, eyes falling shut as the elevator doors close. The claustrophobic box shudders to life, taking me lower into the ship.

Since laying my obsidian gaze on that addicting little bloodflower, every plan I’ve concocted has been derailed. Passion’s in the driver’s seat, and it’s fucking up my usually controlled demeanour.

The gallon of sticky blood plastered across my body proves that. It’s seeped beneath my clothes, cold and suffocating,binding itself to me like a rotting cocoon. Every movement drags and scrapes across my skin, a constant reminder I’m trapped within it. Like an insect caught in a Venus flytrap, forced to watch its own incarceration, I am forced to endure the slow, and potentially inevitable approach of my own demise. This blood may be my downfall, leading the authorities right to me.

The elevator dings, pulling me from the thoughts of impending doom. My somber mood stares back at me. Then the reflective doors slide open, bringing with it a tug in my chest.

Hope.

Despite the well I risk drowning in, I start my ascent to climb out of it, taking my first step out of the mechanized box.

A wooden sign sways above, catching my eye. Staterooms are to the left, and there’s an indoor pool to the right.

I’m torn between taking off full tilt, or walking a lap to get a grip on myself. However, my feet are frozen in place because of my inability to make a fucking decision. Pulling inward, I give myself an embarrassing pep talk.

Come on, Rip. You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life. You face everything head-on, never faltering, never breaking. She’s just a person—a woman, who could hold the very thing you thought you never wanted in her resilient, toxic claws.

The worst that can happen is she doesn’t know you, and you’ve planned for that.

I’ll make her mine, no matter what, so I don’t know why I’m floundering like a fucking moron.

But the unknown is damn terrifying and unsteadying.

A couple approaches the elevator, clearly having come from the pool. “Going up or down?” the older gentleman says, forcing me to communicate in the midst of an internal crisis.

“Uh, neither,” I gruff. “Just waiting for someone.”

He nods, and I start to move down the hall toward the rooms. The decision to get going being made for me in order to keep this interaction as brief as possible.

I take the long way, starting at room 499 and working my way around to 437.