Chapter 11

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Chapter 11

     Two hours pass before my anger fades, guilt filling me in its place. Its teeth gnawing at the back of my mind as its talons sink deeper into my heart, holding it in a painful squeeze. I curl tighter into a ball as shame flushes over my face. Those ugly words I had spat at Mitchell replaying in my mind as I try to justify my actions. 

     I was angry. I was scared. I was...I shouldn't have said those things. 

    The blue rose still lies upon my bed, nestled in the sheets. It's luscious petals holding an otherworldly beauty to them, clashing sharply against my white sheets. Frowning I stand and walk over to the flower, picking it up delicately between my forefinger and thumb. An almost sickening sweet smell rises from its center when I press my nose to it, the petals soft against my lips. This...this is just another hallucination right? This can't be real. 

     But, then why could Mitchell see the mushed one downstairs?

     Ignoring my voice of reason, I quickly walk over to my window and lift it up to throw the flower out into the trashcan filled alley. My hands begin to shake as I push the window shut and lock it. Taking a deep breath to clear my mind, I make my over to my door and slowly open it. Mitchell's door is shut and when I don't hear any noise downstairs, I let out a sigh of relief before quietly exiting the room. I don't want to run into Mitchell again quite yet—at least, not unprepared. Luckily, I happen to know his one weakness. 

     Peanut butter cookies. 

     Making my way down the kitchen, I quickly pull out the necessary bowls and utensils before walking over to the pantry. A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I grab the peanut butter. Mitchell has always loved peanut butter sweets. It was the first thing I discovered about him, the single event that allowed us to meet. It had been back in middle school whenever I had signed up for a home ec class.

      Our first assignment after learning the utensils and their names was to bake a batch of brownies with an assigned partner. Mitchell had loomed over everyone in the class, his developing body too skinny and limbs too long. Brown hair had hung in his face over his eyes, and I had looked no less awkward with my baby face and boney hips. 

     I had sent him to gather the necessary ingredients from the pantry in the classroom while I got the bowls and utensils ready to use. But, instead of returning with chocolate for brownies the lanky teen had brought back a jar of peanut butter. When I had pointed out that we were making brownies, Mitchell had calmly replied that we were given a different assignment to make a batch of peanut butter cookies. I hadn't believed him of course, but when the teenager still didn't change his tune I finally decided that he was telling the truth. 

     How naïve and silly of me. 

     I remember how anxious I was, excited for the 'A' I was sure I would get only to have my excitement crushed when the teacher asked where our brownies were. Mitchell hadn't seemed bothered in the least by our lack of a grade and from there the rest is history. 

     I never got anything above a 'C' in that class, thanks to Mitchell being my partner and always lying about what we were to really bake just to feed his own sweet cravings. But, after school we'd always share our successfully made creations and Mitchell would let me keep the leftovers to take home. Even in high school we had continued to bake together, often making a mess at each other's house and getting scolded for not immediately cleaning up after ourselves. 

     Smiling I place all the cookies on a plate before making my way to his door; the sound of loud metal music drifting through his closed door. The kind of music he only plays when angry and upset. Clearing my throat, I lift my hand and rap it lightly on the door.   

     The music instantly quietens down and taking a deep breath I say, "Mitchell, please open up? I'm sorry for yelling at you like that." 

     An unease tension begins to fill the air as I stand there and hear no reply, and just as I'm about to retreat in defeat the door slowly creaks open. Brown eyes peak at me from between the crack. The usual soft features unreadable, this mask covering the emotion he holds.

       "Hey Mitch," I chuckle awkwardly, causing those eyes to narrow at me. Clearing my throat I hold up the plate for him to see, "Forgive me?" 

     His eyes gaze at the plate before looking back up at me. "Are those peanut butter cookies?" 

     I nod and Mitchell glances at the plate once more before opening the door further. Gray pajama pants hang loosely tied around his hips, a pair dull green boxers peaking out. He's shirtless, a single line of curly brown hair starting from the middle of his chest and trailing down. I can't help but smile. Though he's defiantly filled more out along the arms and torso, Mitchell still holds a bit of that lanky form that followed him all through puberty. Even now, I can make out the faint lines of his ribs as he breathes.

     Almost hesitantly, one of his hands reaches out and grabs a cookie from the plate. The young man holds it up to his face, examining it before biting into the sweet. With a mouthful he states, "Forgiven." 

     Smiling, I hand Mitchell the plate of cookies. He instantly takes them in one hand and pulls me in for a hug with the other. Wrapping my arms around his middle I close my eyes and breath a sigh of relief; reveling in the warmth that radiates from his skin. Something clatters to the side and soon Mitchell's other arm wraps around me, holding me so tightly that it hurt. Slightly bending down, he whispers in my ear, "Don't try to push me away again, Shae. I just want to help. It...it hurts me to see you like that." 

     I nod and feel my eyes begin to burn. The familiar wet sensation of tears beginning to pool around my rims. "I'm sorry," I whisper, feeling his hands begin to rub comfortingly along my lower back, "You'll always be my friend." 

     Mitchell's hands pause for a second before moving towards my upper back. A shaky sigh escapes his lips but the young man doesn't reply. Seconds tick by into minutes as we continue to embrace each other. I refuse to let go of this comfort, but eventually Mitchell pulls away and I look up with a soft smile. 

     Brown eyes glance off to the side, the young man's cheeks tinted pink as a red flush runs down his neck. His hands run back down my back before they fall back to his sides. Scratching his five o' clock shadow, Mitchell says, "Let's go to the kitchen and get some milk. We can't eat these without it." 

****

     The rest of the evening passes by blissfully as we stuff ourselves full of my homemade sweets. The uneasy tension from before fully dissolved as we make jabs at each other before settling on the couch for some late-night Kung Fu films. But as the clock ticks away to 10pm, Mitchell pauses the movie and says, "I'm off to get a shower. I have another job tomorrow so keep it down if you're going to stay up." 

     I stick out my tongue at him childishly and taunt, "What a loser. Having to work." 

     He raises an eyebrow and replies, "Hardy ha-ha. Your leisure time is almost up little missy. Tick-tock. Tick-tock." 

     As he turns and hurries up the stairs I become tense. 

      "Tick-tock the clock has set." 

     With a jerk I bolt out of my seat over to the counter top, eyeing the medicine bottle that sits at the end. She...the old lady was just mentally sick. Not all there. Shivering I reach for my medicine, hurriedly unscrewing the top and dumping out a pill in my hand. 

     The man of blue...is he real or fake? Mitchell had seen the flower but it's true that roses are grown at this apartment for appearance. Could I be imagining the odd colors and not remember getting it myself? No one but I had been able to see the blue cookies or the monster that haunts my thoughts. Throwing the pill into the back of my throat I dry swallow it and run upstairs back to my room. 

     Rushing over to my vanity mirror I reach for my brush, but stop short when I gaze at the reflective glass. A note is tapped to it, the paper the same as that with the roses. I snatch it off the smooth surface and open it to find the same elegant handwriting reading, 'Tick-tock.' 

     Quickly, I drop the paper and shuffle back a step staring at the phantom note on the floor. It's not real. It's not real. 

      "I smell sweets on you," a gruff voice resounds in my room followed by the undeniable sound of sniffing, "but not the ones I gave you." A growl sounds from behind me, my eyes widen in fear. 

     Please, no. 

     Claw-like nails suddenly dig into my shoulder and in the blink of an eye I see him standing behind me in the reflection of the glass. Those pitch black eyes burn into mine and with a wide toothy smile the monster leans over to growl in my ear, "Got something to say for yourself, love?" 

     The side of his mouth lifts up showing off his predatory sharp teeth as he takes a step forward, his arms on either side of me with both hands flat on the mirror. His head pressed next mine and mouth buried in my red hair. 

      "Next time you eat a cookie it will be one of the blue ones I give you," he hisses, "Do you understand me?"    

     Shaking, I weakly nod and as if by magic the creature pulls a hand back to reveal a blue cookie in his hand. With a low chuckle he presses the sweet against my lips. 

      "Eat, love."

     Fear begins to claw at my mind and without thought I obediently open my mouth and begin to nibble on the treat. It's so sweet, almost too sweet. The monster behind me lets out another chuckle before shoving the rest in my mouth, covering my lips with his cold boney hand. Cold lips press against the side of my head and affectionately he coos, "Good girl." 

     I quickly chew and swallow the remains of the treat as the cold kisses begin to trail down my cheek to my ear. 

      "Tick-tock dearie. Tick-tock." The coldness begins to fade, and through the reflection of the mirror I watch him melt away.

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