Keeping Their Dark Rose by Jessica & Jane

Chapter 1

~Rose~

“Mom, I’m home.” I call out as I walk through the front door. Swinging the door shut, I move through the foyer to the kitchen to show my mother the grade I got on my test.

“Mom?” I call out. “I passed my English-” my words cut off and die in my throat when I see feet on the floor and blood pooling on the white tile.

“Mom!” I shriek in horror. My bag falls off my shoulder, my paper slips from my hand, and I rush toward her only to slip on the slippery crimson substance. My body crashes into her, and I see the gun not far from her hand. My mother is face down and motionless, surrounded by a pool of her blood.

The crimson liquid on my trembling hands seems surreal, too vibrant, and surreal to belong in this world. I desperately try to look away, to escape the reality in front of me, but my gaze is drawn inexorably to my mother’s lifeless form sprawled on the floor. Her skin is a ghostly pale, her once warm and lively blue eyes now staring blankly at the ceiling, frozen and unseeing. The blood, her blood, is everywhere, seeping into the fabric of my jeans as I kneel beside her in a growing pool of red.

My heart races with panic and confusion. How? How could this happen in our home?

I roll her over to reveal multiple shots to her chest. “Mom, please, you’ve got to wake up,” I beg, my voice breaking as I reach out to shake her, hoping against hope for any sign of life. But she remains still, unresponsive, her gaze fixed eternally upwards.

A part of me knows the truth, but I’m not ready to accept it. Not yet. When my step-father walks in on the phone, he sets his down on the counter and walks over, and stops, peering down at me. His eyes go to me, then my mother, and lastly, the gun. He reaches for it, but in my fear and panic, I notice the gun on the floor. I sna tch the gun.

“Give me the gun, Rose,” he says slowly.

“Get back!” he looks at me funny, his eyes darting to my mother when he makes a strange sound like a whimper and takes a step toward her, however, it’s too late. My finger slips on the trigger, and the gun goes off. He snarls, his aura coming out as he lunges at me.

We struggle for it, my stepfather and me. His hands are on mine, trying to pry the gun away. Desperate, scared, fighting for my life. Both of us slip on the blood that coats the tiles as we struggle. Hearing the front door open, Marcus, my stepfather, calls out. “In here!” he screams and hot tears streak down my cheek, knowing if I let the gun go, I will be lying beside my mother.

Ethan must have heard the commotion. Bursts into the room, his eyes taking in the scene before him. “F**king grab her!” his father yells, while Ethan peers at us in shock. For a tense second, I peer back at Ethan, petrified he’ll do as his father says, when Marcus rips the gun from my hand, sending me sprawling onto the floor beside my mother. I clench my eyes, waiting for the bullet I know is about to come.

However, it must have looked like his father was attacking me.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ethan is on him, pulling him away from me. They fight, a tangle of limbs and fury. The gun is now forgotten in their struggle as Marcus drops it, and it is now within Ethan’s reach, but his father is stronger. He sna tches the gun from where it falls, but it is quickly knocked from his hand. His father punches him. Ethan’s head bounces off the floor.

“You dare go against me!” his father snarls, grabbing his throat. He hits his son, and in a moment of panic, I reach for the gun. It’s slick in my hands as I fumble with it before taking aim. My hands tremble, and I close my eyes, pulling the trigger. The bang is loud and seems to echo, my hands jolting from the sheer power of it. Gunpowder reaches my nose and I open my eyes only to gasp.

My stepfather falls, a look of surprise etched on his face as he crumples to the floor. Blood pooling beneath him, joining the blood of my mother. I gasp, dropping the gun and clutching my mouth with my hands in shock. I killed my step-father. Ethan, seemingly in shock, gets to his feet, and sta ggers back.

The next second, the sound of a familiar voice shatters the eerie silence. “Rose, where are you? Why did you catch the bus? You knew we were coming to get you after practice,” Max, my stepbrother, calls out, his voice laced with concern. I can’t form the words to respond.

I should run, hide, do something, but my body refuses to cooperate. I’m frozen in place, tears streaming down my face, blurring my vision. I can hear Max and Colt’s footsteps approaching, a sense of dread building within me.

“Do you smell that?” Max’s voice is filled with an underlying worry, a sharp contrast to his normal relaxed.

“Blood,” Colt’s softer tone replies, a hint of something unsaid lingering in the air.

They’re close now, just outside the door. My heart pounds against my rib cage, threatening to burst. Ethan turns to look at me drenched in blood, the gun at my feet.

“I’m sorry, he was going to kill you,” I murmur. He stares at me for a second like he doesn’t recognize me and then takes a step toward me. I close my eyes, knowing he will hurt me. Ethan could be just as brutal as his father occasionally.

“Oh g ods, Rose,” Max gasps as he enters the room. His eyes move from our parents’ bodies to the blood staining my hands to Ethan. “What have you done?”