CHAPTER 9: THE TOWN
1520 Words
ELIAS POV
I don’t like people.
Vesper knows that.
That’s why I come at six.
Six is safe. Six is quiet. Six is her.
But on November 5th, six wasn’t enough.
Because the town was talking about her.
`Black Petals.`
`Calder’s girl.`
`Elias’s girl.`
I hated the last one.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it was right.
And I wasn’t ready for Ashford Bay to have her.
November 5th. 5:45PM.
I was early.
I stood across the street.
Watched her shop.
The sign: `BLACK PETALS`
`NOT FOR SALE`
Her handwriting.
She’d done it herself.
Five people were outside.
Taking pictures of the alley roses.
She was inside.
She didn’t look up.
Good.
At 5:58PM, I crossed.
The bell rang at 6:00PM.
Like always.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi.”
She was pruning. No gloves. Thumb bleeding again.
“Stop,” I said.
“What?”
“Bleeding.”
She looked at her hand. Like she forgot it was there.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
I grabbed her hand.
She didn’t pull back.
I pressed my thumb to the cut.
Held it.
“Elias,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“You’re early.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because they were looking at you.”
Her eyes went wide.
“Who?”
“The town.”
She exhaled. “I don’t care.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re deciding if you belong here.”
She pulled her hand back.
“I don’t need their permission.”
“I know,” I said. “But you’re getting it anyway.”
November 6th.
I didn’t go to the shop at six.
I went to the cafe.
Where the town talks.
Maren was there.
“You’re not at six,” she said.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to hear what they’re saying.”
She slid me coffee.
Black. No sugar.
“They like her,” she said.
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
“Even the ones who called her ugly?”
“Especially them.”
I didn’t drink.
“Why?”
“Because she didn’t beg,” Maren said. “She threw out the lilies. She planted roses. She bled and kept going.”
I nodded.
“That’s Vesper.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And you’re the i***t who sits with her.”
I almost smiled.
“Almost,” she said. “Don’t.”
November 7th.
6:00PM.
I came with news.
“The paper wants an interview,” I said.
“No.”
“Vesper—”
“No,” she said again. “I’m not a story.”
“You are,” I said. “But you don’t have to be theirs.”
She stopped pruning.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if you talk, you talk to me first.”
She stared.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want them to get you wrong.”
She nodded. Once.
“Okay.”
That was it.
No interview.
November 8th.
The town hall meeting.
Not about her.
About parking.
I went anyway.
Because she was there.
In the back.
Black coat. Arms crossed.
Calder wasn’t there.
But his men were.
They saw her.
They didn’t speak.
Good.
At the end, the mayor said, “And thank you to Black Petals for bringing life to Bay Street.”
The room clapped.
She didn’t.
She just stood.
Walked out.
I followed.
“Why did you come?” I asked outside.
“Because I wanted to see if they’d clap,” she said.
“And?”
“They did.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” she said. “It means I’m not hiding anymore.”
November 9th.
She didn’t open at 9AM.
I panicked.
I was at the door at 10:30AM.
Locked.
“Vesper?”
No answer.
I knocked harder.
The door opened.
Her hair was wet. Eyes red.
“I slept in,” she said.
“You’re okay?”
“No.”
I stepped in.
She didn’t stop me.
“I don’t know how to be liked, Elias,” she said.
“You don’t have to be.”
“I have to be something.”
“You are,” I said. “You’re Black Petals.”
She cried.
Not loud.
Quiet.
I didn’t touch her.
I sat on the floor.
She sat next to me.
We didn’t talk.
November 10th.
6:00PM.
She was normal again.
Sharp. Cold. Pruning.
“Where were you yesterday?” I asked.
“Here.”
“You were hiding.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because being seen hurts.”
I sat on the cot.
“Then don’t be seen,” I said. “Be with me.”
She looked up.
“Is that enough?”
“It is for me.”
November 11th.
A man came in at 2PM.
Suit. City. Not town.
“Miss Ashvale,” he said. “I’m from Whitestone Holdings.”
I was there.
I didn’t hide.
“What do you want?” I said.
“She’s not for sale,” he said to me.
“I know.”
He looked at Vesper.
“We’d like to feature your roses. Nationally.”
“No,” she said.
“It’s exposure. Money.”
“I don’t want it.”
He left.
She turned to me.
“Did you call them?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“The town.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
November 12th.
It rained.
I came at 6:00PM.
Wet. Again.
She didn’t say anything about it.
She just handed me a towel.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome.”
We sat.
“The town’s quiet,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Too quiet.”
“I know.”
“Are they waiting?”
“For what?”
“For me to fail.”
“No,” I said. “For me to leave.”
She looked at me.
“Will you?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“I don’t promise,” I said. “I stay.”
November 13th.
Maren texted me.
`She’s scared of you leaving.`
`I know.`
`Then tell her.`
`I did.`
`Say it louder.`
So at 6:00PM, I did.
“Vesper,” I said.
“Yes.”
“I’m not going back to the city.”
“What?”
“I extended my stay.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely.”
Her shears stopped.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the town is yours now,” I said. “And I’m not leaving mine.”
She didn’t answer.
She just nodded.
November 14th.
The town threw a market.
“Black Petals Day.”
Stupid name.
But she went.
She had a stall.
Black roses. $40 each.
Sold out in two hours.
I stood in the back.
Watching.
People came to her.
Not to me.
Good.
At 6:00PM, the market ended.
She was tired.
I walked her home.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“Because the town is yours,” I said. “And I’m yours.”
She stopped walking.
“What did you say?”
“I said I’m yours.”
She didn’t say it back.
She didn’t have to.
November 15th.
6:00PM.
She was waiting outside.
On the step.
Like on day twelve.
But different.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“I told the town something today.”
“What?”
“That six o’clock is ours.”
My chest hurt.
“Good,” I said.
“They clapped again.”
“Good.”
She patted the step.
I sat.
Next to her.
“The town,” she said. “They’re not bad.”
“No.”
“They’re just white.”
“Yes.”
“And we’re black.”
“Yes.”
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
For a second.
Then she pulled back.
“Don’t get used to it,” she said.
“Too late,” I said.
November 16th.
I went to the city for one day.
Paperwork.
I hated it.
At 6:00PM, I wasn’t there.
I texted her.
`I’m not coming today.`
She replied in 2 minutes.
`Okay.`
Just that.
I drove 4 hours back.
Got there at 9:30PM.
The shop was dark.
I knocked.
She opened.
In pajamas.
“You’re here,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I said I would be.”
She let me in.
We didn’t kiss.
We slept.
On the cot.
Together.
November 17th.
The town saw us.
Leaving the shop together at 7AM.
They didn’t say anything.
They just nodded.
At 6:00PM, I came.
Like always.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
“The town knows,” she said.
“I know.”
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re not Calder.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
We sat.
Hand in hand.
The town was watching.
And for the first time,
I didn’t care.
*END OF CHAPTER 9*
- Writer
