Page 81 of Roses & Ruin

In the following days, when we’re not making love with each other, he shows me the rest of the mansion, securing weak spots, ensuring doors and windows are all bolted shut.

“One thing to remember is that while the kitchen exit is an option, it should be the very last one. But just in case, it’s in the pantry. The back wall is false. Pull down the sconce and it’ll open into a staircase that…Are you even listening to me, Rose?”

“Yes, Hayden, yes.” I slam the fridge shut, spin to the kitchen table, and slap a slice of bread on the open face of my tuna sandwich. Feeling childish, I smush it down with my fist. “I’ve been doing nothing but! Dress warm at all times so I can evacuate at any moment. Take the flask of holy water with me to pee. I know the exits, I know the drill, I—I know that I could die at any moment, Hayden, can I just eat my tuna sandwich?”

Hayden leans back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. His face has fallen stonier with each word out of my mouth until it’s a familiar cold mask. I know I’m being unfair. So unfair. This is agonizing for him in more ways than one.

“I’m sorry,” I sigh, rubbing my eyes. Hayden lets out a deep breath, remembering himself.

“Don’t be.” He steps into me and pulls me tight and perfect against him. “This is fucking awful. I hate that we have to talk about this. I just need to make sure we—”

“Do everything humanly and inhumanly possible,” I echo. “I know.”

Hayden kisses my forehead. “Let’s not worry about it for now,” he says. “Just eat your sandwich. I’m going to double-check the windows that face the back garden again. I found one blown open this morning from the wind. I nailed them all shut, but now I’m paranoid.”

I know that’s not the only thing that’s got him paranoid.

Today is my last day as an eighteen-year-old.

He gives me another lingering kiss on my forehead before sweeping out of the room. I try and shove the dread out of my stomach and fill it with tuna fish instead.

I’m two bites into my sandwich when I hear a rustling noise from the dining room. I freeze, mouth full of tuna and bread, as my heartbeat skyrockets. Of course. When Hayden’s on the other side of the house, this happens.

I swallow hard and listen. Nothing. But then: skittering, scratching noises on the hardwood floor, coming closer.

“Hay—” I start to scream.

A little black blur hops on the table and zeroes in on the discarded butter knife covered in tuna fish and mayonnaise. A tiny pink tongue starts lapping at the knife. When the knife is clean in record time, the fuzziest head in the world lifts to me, and I’m staring into two wide yellow eyes.

The little black cat meows.

A painting flies off the wall when Hayden rushes into the room, eyes bulging.

“Rose! You okay? You safe? I heard you…” The fear on his face dissolves into shock. “What is happening right now?”

“I think the universe just gave me a birthday present,” I coo, gazing at the kitten in my arms, who has my sandwich tucked between both his paws, nosing between the bread to chomp ravenously on the tuna. When I look up, Hayden’s watching me with a conflicted expression. I swallow hard, give him a look of pleading. “I’ve always wanted a cat,” I whisper, and his face fractures.

We’ve all been treating my birthday like the apocalypse. For a tiny moment, I try to pretend to be like any other eighteen-year-old girl: a girl who’d been looking forward to a day where something good was bound to happen.

Hayden turns to the fridge, pulling the freezer open to stare into it for a long moment.

“Must have gotten in through that window. Guess some stray cats stowed away the last time the maintenance barge came. He was probably born out here.” Hayden shoots a discerning look back at us before grabbing a pack of frozen chicken and kicking the freezer shut. “Looks like he might be about six months old. He’s too skinny.”

“And so cold.” I tuck the kitten’s soft little body inside my sweater as he continues to eat. His purr warms my chest, slows my heartbeat to a sweet, calm rhythm. Hayden pulls out a huge pot from a low cabinet, starts to fill it with water. “As soon as we get back to Payen,” I say, “I’m buying him a heating pad, a super-soft bed, catnip, a wand toy, a crinkly tunnel, all the best wet foods. Is there a vet close to campus? Oh, and a little collar!” I blink down at his sooty black fur, weighing my options. “He’ll look good in any color. Is it too much for him to have several to fit his mood?”

Hayden doesn’t reply. I look up, find his eyes flicking between the kitten and my face. I hold my breath. Please, I think. I need this hope. Hayden drops his eyes to the half-full pot in the sink, carries it to the stove. When it’s lit, and the water is just beginning to boil, he rips open the package of frozen chicken breasts and dumps them into the water.

“You sure you wanna buy him a bed? He’s a cat. He’d probably prefer the box it came in.” Hayden’s eyes slide to mine. “But sure. We can go crazy on the collars. Pink, purple, orange. One for each holiday. There’s a little pet store in downtown Fairford. I’ll take you when we get back.”

I’m so overwhelmed with love, it takes me a minute to speak. “Sounds perfect,” I croak. I clear my throat, frown at the pot of boiling water and chicken. “Making dinner?”

“Yes. But not for you.” He smirks down at the kitten. “Sorry.” For a moment, this tiny little moment, despite everything, life is perfect.

—

“Settled on a name finally?”

It’s the first time Hayden’s spoken since the sun set hours ago. He’s leaning against the balcony outside our bedroom, scanning the horizon maniacally. The French doors are thrown open, and swirls of snowy wind grace the bedroom carpet.