Entangled in Lust

15. The Last Red Rose

The high school auditorium had a heavy smell. It mixed cheap hairspray, floor wax, and teenage sweat.

It was supposed to be the best night of our lives. The "Prom Night" banner hung a bit crooked on the stage. It sparkled under the disco lights. A DJ was blasting a remix of a popular song from three months ago. The bass shook the floorboards, and I felt it in my heels.

Everyone was screaming. Everyone was hugging. Girls were crying, ruining the makeup they spent three hours perfecting. Guys were loosening their ties, high-fiving each other like they just survived a war.

And then there was Lucas. He was the center of gravity in the middle of the dance floor. His suit was expensive—Italian cut, midnight blue—fitting him perfectly. He had one arm around my waist, pulling me close. With his other hand, he held up a phone for a group selfie with his futsal team.

"Smile, Babe!" he shouted over the music, kissing my temple.

I flashed my practiced smile. Click. Flash. "One more! Funny face!" Click. Flash.

My cheeks hurt. My feet were killing me in these stilettos. But mostly, my heart felt like it was somewhere else, wandering the halls, looking for something I had lost.

"I need to pee," I lied, pulling away from Lucas's grip.

"Want me to come with?" he winked. "Guard the door?"

"No," I laughed, pushing his chest playfully. "Stay here. Don't do anything stupid."

"No promises!"

I watched him turn back to his friends, instantly absorbed into the laughter. He was happy. He was glowing. And I was... I was exhausted.

I pushed through the crowd, dodging elbows and flying confetti. I didn't go to the bathroom. I slipped out the side double doors. I escaped into the quiet, dimly lit corridor. It led to the indoor basketball court.

The sudden silence was jarring. My ears were ringing. I walked aimlessly, the hem of my dress sweeping the floor.

In the last month of exams, called the "Silent Weeks," Dave and I learned to ignore each other completely. We sat three desks apart during finals and never once made eye contact. When we passed in the cafeteria, we looked at our phones. It was a cold war, and I was losing.

I pushed open the door to the basketball court. It was dark. The moonlight streamed in from the high windows. A faint glow from the stage lights filtered in from the main hall. And there he was.

Dave.

He wasn't wearing a tuxedo. He was wearing a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black trousers. He was sitting on the bottom row of the bleachers, spinning a basketball on his finger. Alone.

My breath hitched. He looked up. The ball stopped spinning. He caught it with both hands.

"Hiding from the paparazzi?" he asked. His voice echoed in the large, empty space. It wasn't angry anymore. Just... calm. Resigned.

I let out a shaky breath and walked toward him. "Something like that. It's too loud in there."

"It's a party, Cell. Supposed to be loud."

I stopped a few feet away from him. He looked different tonight. Maybe it was the lighting, or maybe it was the fact that this was the last time I'd see him in this school. He looked older.

"You didn't come to the ceremony this morning," I said quietly.

"Did," he shrugged. "Sat in the back. Grabbed my diploma. Dipped out before the photobooth madness started."

"Dave..." I fidgeted with my silver bracelet—a gift from Lucas. "About the other day... in the hallway..."

"Don't," he cut me off gently. He stood up, placing the ball on the bleacher. He dusted off his pants. "We don't need to do the autopsy of our friendship tonight, Marcella. It's graduation. Let's just... let it rest."

He was letting me off the hook. Again. Even when I broke his heart, he was still trying to make it easy for me.

"So," I swallowed the lump in my throat. "What now? Indo Uni? Or did you take that scholarship to UI?"

Dave looked at me. He had this strange, unreadable expression. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

"Actually... neither."

"Huh?"

"I'm going to Melbourne."

The world stopped spinning for a second. "Melbourne?" I blinked. "As in... Australia?"

"Yeah. University of Melbourne. Business major."

"Since when?" My voice rose an octave. "You never told me you applied there! We made a pact to go to college in Jakarta together! We promised—"

I stopped. The word 'promised' tasted like ash in my mouth. I had no right to talk about promises.

Dave gave a sad, lopsided smile. "Plans change, Cell. I applied three months ago. Got the acceptance letter last week."

"Three months ago..." I whispered. That was right when I started getting close to Lucas. "When do you leave?"

Dave looked at his watch. A cheap Casio digital watch I gave him for his 15th birthday. "My flight is at 2 AM tonight."

"Tonight?!" I screamed. "You're leaving tonight? And you weren't going to say goodbye?!"

"I'm saying goodbye now, aren't I?"

"That's not fair!" tears pricked my eyes instantly. "You're just... leaving? Just like that? running away?"

"Look who's talking about running away," he shot back, soft but sharp. He sighed and took a step closer. The distance between us felt infinite, even though he was right there. "I can't stay here, Cell. I can't stay in Jakarta and watch you... watch you be with him. I'm not a saint. It hurts too much."

I stared at him, tears finally spilling over my cheeks. "So you're punishing me?"

"No. I'm saving myself."

He reached behind the bleacher seat and pulled out something he had hidden there. A single red rose. It wasn't a fancy bouquet like the one Lucas gave me earlier (which was currently dying on a table somewhere). It was just one stalk. Simple. Dark red. The thorns had been carefully removed.

He held it out to me.

"Happy graduation, Marcella," he whispered.

I looked at the rose, then at his face. "Red?" I choked out. We had a joke about roses. Yellow for friendship, white for apology. Red was for... I love you.

Dave didn't say it. He didn't have to. "Take it," he said. "Before it wilts."

My hand trembled as I took the flower. Our fingers brushed for a split second—a spark of electricity that made my chest ache.

"Why didn't you fight harder?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "Why did you let him win?"

Dave looked deep into my eyes. His gaze was intense, stripping away all my defenses. "I didn't let him win, Cell. You chose him. There's a difference."

He stepped back. "I hope he makes you happy. I genuinely do. Because if he breaks your heart..." Dave's jaw tightened. "Well, I won't be here to fix it this time."

"Dave, please..."

"Take care, Marcella."

He turned around. He walked toward the exit door that led to the parking lot. The "Exit" sign cast a green glow on his white shirt. He walked away just like he did in the hallway weeks ago. Steady. Sure. But this time, I knew he wasn't coming back next semester.

"MARCELLA!"

The door to the main hall burst open behind me. Lucas came running in, his tie undone, looking frantic. The loud music from the party flooded into the quiet gym.

"Babe! There you are!" Lucas jogged over to me, grabbing my shoulders. "I've been looking everywhere! They're announcing the Prom King and Queen! We have to go up!"

He looked at my tear-streaked face, then at the single red rose in my hand. "Whoa," he frowned. "You okay? Where did you get that?"

I looked at the exit door. It was swinging shut. Dave was gone. Then I looked at Lucas. He was here. He was warm, he was loud, and he wanted me. He was the choice I made.

I wiped my tears quickly with the back of my hand. "I'm fine," I forced a smile. "Just... some random junior gave it to me. Said congratulations."

Lucas laughed, relieved. He wrapped his arm around me possessively. "Hah! Even the juniors know who the Queen is. Come on, throw that away. I bought you a giant bouquet, remember? That one looks sad."

He tried to take the rose from my hand. My grip tightened on the stem. "No," I said. "I'll keep it."

"Do what you want," Lucas said, kissing my cheek. He pulled me back toward the noise, the lights, and the future I had picked. "Let's go! Our song is playing!"

I let him drag me back into the party. But as I stepped through the doors, I looked back one last time at the empty basketball court. It felt cold. I held the single red rose against my chest, shielding it from the crushing crowd.

Dave was on a plane to Melbourne. I was here, dancing under the disco ball. A boy beside me thought red roses were just flowers, not a goodbye note in blood.