The Gift

The rose was spinning. Silently. Sharing the anticipation of the holder’s hand. Fallen dew had pervaded its pedals, yet the flower remained lusterless. No difference, save a streak of tears.

The door weakly opened.
“I, I brought a gift.” Stuttered the boy.
He handed her the maroon specimen, to which she treated with no less care or estrangement.
“Come in Chris, you look drenched.” She said, leading him into the house. Then she noticed the vehicle.
“You brought a limo.”
“Was it a bad idea?”
A small hesitation, as he stared in fright.
“No, it was very considerate of you.”
Her present in return was a wan smile, full of sincerity.

“What happened to your tie?” She asked, pointing to his open collar.
“I took it off. Felt a bit suffocating.”
“Well put it on. We’ll be leaving soon.”
She walked into her room to apply some mild makeup. He took a seat on a stiff couch outside. The flower, placed in a tall vase.
“So what happened… what happened to the car?” She asked the mirror.
A short pause, before it responded.
“My… parents are dealing with it.”

Suddenly he got up.
“Look, Sarah. I—”
“I don’t want to hear—.”
“I don’t think I’m going.”

She turned around.
“What?”
He looked at the ground and repeated himself.
“I’m not going. All those people, I just don’t think I can handle it.”
“Chris. You’re going. Put on your tie.”
“I really don’t think—“
“Put on your tie!”

They both stared at it now, the charry tie he had held in his other hand all this time.
“You know, sometimes, I… I just wish I could’ve traded places with him.”
She walked up to him.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody thinks that way about you. It wasn’t your fault.”

They locked eyes now, both facing each other, both standing underneath the doorway to her room. Gently. Ever so gently, he leaned. Slowly, Closer to her face.

The hand was faster. She slapped him, hard enough to make him wince. Her black dress fluttered as she stampeded out the door, without a glance back.

It was just him now, alone in her room.
He surveyed the surroundings, just noticing how lavish the room — how lavish the house was.
Everything except for her bed, a chaotic array of wildly folded blankets. And the nightstand beside it, on which lied a single portrait of the couple. He took the rose and placed it in front of the other man’s face. No difference now, save a streak of tears.