Rose was beautiful. Just like the flower. Her long flowing auburn hair glistened in the sunlight and her large brown eyes captured her true innocence.
I first saw her at the book store on the corner of Clarence and Kipling Street,
almost a year ago to the day. She was
stunning, her long, lean legs climbing high up her black skirt. I stared intensely through my sunglasses at
her. She was perfection.
I made my move the following week, ‘accidently’ bumping into her while trying
to flag down a taxi. Apologizing the
best I could, I offered to buy her a cup of coffee. Hesitantly she agreed.
Walking down the street with her to my favorite coffee shop, I could smell the
scent of her shampoo and her perfume colliding.
It was intoxicating. If I wasn’t
careful, I knew that she was the kind of woman I could fall hopelessly in love
Over coffee I got to know her more. I
learned that she was an only child of divorced parents and that she worked for
a music label as a receptionist. She was
quirky in her musical tastes and loved old black and white movies. As luck would have it, the local cinema was
hosting an old movie marathon the following weekend.
As soon as I mentioned it, her dark eyes lit up and it became official. I had scored a first date with Rose.
For the next year, Rose and I dated. We
saw old movies, ate at some of the finest restaurants the city had to offer and
took long walks through the park. I had
met her mother when she visited the city and had spoken with her father when he
called to check in. Both were very
accommodating to their daughter’s new boyfriend.
But things didn’t seem to be going so well at the beginning of the next
year. In fact, Rose often cancelled
dates, saying she was working late or that she had a headache.
As Valentine’s Day drew near, Rose became more distant, pulling away from me in
public, refusing to hold my hand. She
wouldn’t even say she loved me anymore.
Instead she got really quiet whenever we were out, staring off into the
distance, her eyes showing a hint of sadness.
Then came the phone call I was expecting.
She said she wanted to break up.
She was no longer happy with our relationship, that I was smothering her
and felt that it was better to cut the ties now before I became even more
invested in her.
I sat in silence, listening to her explanation, all the while wondering if
there was another man. I told her that
it was alright but I warned her that I had already gotten her a Valentine’s
gift that would be sent to her apartment on that day. She sobbed into the phone, calling me sweet,
before hanging up.
The morning of Valentine’s Day came. I
stood outside her apartment, a giant teddy bear in hand along with two dozen
red roses and a large box of the most expensive chocolates. It wasn’t original, but seeing as it was my
first Valentine’s Day with a girlfriend, I decided to go with something I knew
I knocked on the door, holding the bear up to my face so she couldn’t see who I
I heard the door open and a startled gasp.
“Oh, my. He really did go all out. John.
John, come have a look at what my ex got me.”
I could feel my face turning red with rage.
There was someone else. I peeked
around the bear to see John McGavin from her work standing in the living area
in a pair of boxer shorts, his bare and toned chest on display.
“Sign here,” I said gruffly, handing her the bear and pulling my cap down over
Rose took the form from my hand and signed with her usual flourish. She seemed so touched by everything, smiling
broadly as she took in the sights of the 24 long stemmed red roses and the box
I snatched the form back from her and left the apartment.
Standing in the hallway, I listened through the door. I couldn’t hear all the conversation but I
did hear the words “Sucker” and “Pathetic.”
I could feel my blood boiling and I knew that I had to do something.
Boldly, I removed my cap and jacket, discarding them into the garbage shoot,
before banging on her door.
She opened it, her eyes widening.
“W-w-what are you doing here?” she asked, her lip trembling.
I forced a smile to face, hoping that she couldn’t see how infuriated I
was. “I just wanted to make sure you got
my gifts,” I told her, pushing past her and strolling into the apartment.
John stood up, folding his arms across his chest. I gave him a dismissive glance before turning
back to Rose.
“Twenty-four roses for a single beautiful Rose,” I said, touching the velvet
petals lightly. “I’m glad to see that
they’re all nice, decent roses. None of
those half-sprouted buds, which just look terrible. These are all nicely in bloom.”
Rose gave me a tight smile, straining to understand what I was doing
“So, this must be the new man. Or is it
the old man that you were seeing behind my back?” I asked, facing John.
Rose lowered her eyes. “I didn’t mean to
hurt you,” she said timidly. “It just
“Nothing just happens, Rose,” I said, not taking my eyes off John. “You either want it or you don’t. Like now.”
I pulled a gun, complete with silencer, out of my pocket and shot John
point-blank in the chest.
Blood poured from the gaping hole in his chest.
His hand clutched it, trying to prevent from bleeding out.
I watched in satisfaction as he slumped to the floor, the crimson stream
running down his body and staining the carpet.
It took me a second to realize that Rose was screaming in terror. I wrapped my hand around her mouth. “Shut up,” I hissed, my lips brushing her
ear. “I have other plans for you.”
I dragged her by her hair, kicking and screaming, into the bedroom. I felt her twist and pull, trying to get
away, but she was no match for my strength.
Grabbing her robe’s cord I began binding her hands, wrapping it around the
wrought iron bed head, making sure she was completely securing.
She was crying now. My beautiful Rose
had a tear stained face and was struggling to get air. She was apologizing but I was no longer
interested in anything she had to say.
“You told me that I was smothering you,” I said, bringing my face down to
hers. “You left me a week before
Valentine’s Day. That’s not good, is it
She shook her head, pleading with me to release her. “I’ll never leave your side,” she promised,
wiggling her body on the bed so that her nightgown rose up her thigh. “I’ll never leave.”
“You already have,” I told her, brushing a strand of her hair away from her
face. “You told me I was smothering
you. I guess that means I should.”
Before she could protest, I grabbed a pillow from her bed and placed it over
her face. Her muffled screams were music
to my ears as she thrashed about on the bed, struggling to get air into her
I watched with glee as she bucked beneath me, kicking wildly at the air, trying
to break free. I knew her lungs would be
burning from lack of oxygen and that her screaming would be causing her throat
to get sore.
The screams faded and soon her body was still.
I kept the pillow over her face for a little while longer, just to be
When I removed it, she was dead. Her
eyes were wide, her mouth parted in a scream of terror. But she was still beautiful. My beautiful, sweet Rose.
I stood up, untying her wrists from the bed head. I closed her eyes, kissed her forehead and
wished her a very happy Valentine’s Day before producing a small pocket knife
and cutting out her heart.
Oddly enough, after that, I never had another girlfriend tell me I was
smothering them. That’s probably because
I’ve never had another girlfriend. But I
always look back at that Valentine’s Day with fond memories.
The police were baffled by the murders. I
eventually was caught after a neighbor ratted me out. But due to a technicality, I was walking free