a rose with poison thorns
The clinking of cutlery against china was a familiar, comforting sound, yet tonight it felt hollow. Nine-year-old Lily Evans, perched on her chair, picked at her peas, her eyes straying to the empty seat opposite hers. It was Petunia's seat, and it had been empty for weeks now. Ever since Petunia had woken from her coma, everything felt…off.
Petunia, her usually quiet, withdrawn older sister, had become someone Lily barely recognized. The strange things she said about their parents, about wanting to live with their grandmother, about being neglected…it didn't sound like the Tunny Lily knew. Still, Lily clung to a stubborn hope. People made mistakes, she reasoned. And people could fix them. She believed, with all her heart, that one day Petunia would forgive their parents, come home, and everything would go back to the way it was.
Taking a deep breath, Lily decided to break the silence. “Mom, Dad,” she began, her voice small.
Her mother, Rose, looked up, a gentle smile gracing her lips. “Yes, darling? How was school today?”
“School was alright,” Lily replied, her mind already shifting focus. “Mom, Dad, there’s going to be a competition next week.”
Her father, Harold, puffed out his chest, a familiar pride shining in his eyes. “Is that so? That’s nice. Are you going to compete, Flower?”she secretly liked the nickname flower that her father gave her.
Lily shook her head. “No, Dad. Actually, Petunia’s going to compete.”
The room fell silent. The clinking of the silverware stopped. Lily’s words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. She continued, oblivious to the tension that had suddenly filled the space, “Did you know that she’s playing the violin? I never saw her play a violin before.”
Her parents exchanged a look, a mix of confusion and something else Lily couldn't quite decipher. How could Petunia, who had never shown an interest in music before, suddenly be a violinist?
Rose finally broke the silence, her voice a little too high-pitched. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Petunia never played the violin in her life.”
Lily shook her head, her brow furrowed. "But it's true! She said she's going to compete." She hesitated, then added, "I was thinking, maybe we could watch her play?"
Harold shifted uncomfortably in his chair. They couldn’t tell Lily the truth – that Petunia wasn’t Harold’s biological daughter, that they had neglected and even harmed her. They were terrified of the changes they saw in the eleven-year-old, the strange, unsettling confidence. He hummed, trying to sound casual. "We'll think about it, Flower."
After dinner, Lily kissed her parents goodnight. As Rose tucked her in, Lily asked, her voice filled with a childlike hope, "Mummy, you’re not mad at Petunia, are you?"
Rose shook her head, trying to sound reassuring. "No, darling, I’m not mad at your sister."
"You know, Mummy," Lily continued, "if we go to the competition and see her perform, you can say sorry to her and she might come back. I’m sure Tuney will forgive you and come back."
Rose just sighed, her expression troubled. "Your father says we'll think about it. Now, good night, Lily." She kissed her daughter's forehead and left.
Out on the porch, Harold was already nursing a beer, the smoke from his cigarette curling into the twilight. Rose joined him, cracking open her own bottle.
"Looks like our eldest daughter is going to compete," Rose said, her voice laced with a bitter amusement.
"How is that even possible?" Harold muttered, taking a large gulp of his beer. "Not once in my life have I seen her playing the violin."
Rose took a long drag of her cigarette, the end glowing red in the darkness. "Harold, do you think… what Petunia said about us ruining her life is true? Does she really hate us that much to cut us off? Harold, I think she needs help."
"And how are we going to help her?" Harold retorted, frustration creeping into his voice. "She's living with Mom now, and Mom won't let us near her."
"Listen," Rose insisted, her tone urgent. "There’s a psychiatrist. He specializes in special cases with children. Maybe if we took her there, we could find the root of all this. Maybe we can fix things."
Harold sighed heavily. "Rose, Petunia isn't crazy. Yes, she's angry at us, and she has every right to be."
"She can get angry at us as much as she wants, I don't care," Rose retorted, her voice rising, "what I do care is that she mentioned that she has a husband for God sake, she's just 11 year old little girl. And if there was someone lying to her or manipulating her, we need to find him and stop it!"
Harold shook his head slowly. "I don’t think that’s possible, Rose. If we did this to her, she won’t even hesitate to tell Lily the truth and Petunia’s friends Emma and Yvonne already know that she’s not related to me by blood. What do you think will happen if we even mention to Petunia that she needs to see a psychiatrist?"
Rose fell silent, her mind racing.
"Let me tell you what will happen," Harold continued, his voice bitter. "She will be singing to the entire town that I'm not related to her. That's what she's going to do. We messed up, Rose, and now we have to live with it."
"Harold, Petunia mentioned that someone by the name of Raven is her husband," Rose said, her voice desperate. "Don't you think we should do something about it? Let’s at least talk to Daisy, she could convince her."
Harold sighed. "Alright, I will talk to Mom tomorrow about the psychiatrist. I will try to reason with her."
Rose nodded. "Alright, I will start to look for the psychiatrist and I will try to take an appointment."
Harold had nodded, and left her sitting alone.
Now, she was alone, with the taste of smoke and beer coating her tongue, and the ugly truth bubbling to the surface. She threw her cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it under her heel. “Fucking shit! Fuck you, Petunia! Fuck you all! My hard work went down the drain because of you, you little brat!”
She took another long drag from her cigarette, the smoke a bitter accomplice to her fury. “How did she figure out that she’s a bastard? Huh? And above all, she thinks she has power over us, to use Lily against us. Damn it!”
Rose looked at the moon, a chilling smile spreading across her lips. "Tell me, my daughter, what will your reaction be if I told you that I was raped, and then conceived you? What will you do when you know that you are one big mistake where are you going to go when you find out that you were an unexpected gift in this world?" She chuckled, the sound hollow and devoid of mirth. “Oh, I can imagine that you would go mad. Then maybe you will end up in a psych ward, and I will have to put the past behind me. Then no one will ever find you, Petunia.” She laughed again, this time, the sound had a hint of madness to it. “Stupid girl. There was a good reason why I named you Petunia, that’s because these flower means anger and resentment. And you are born to be hated by everyone, including your imaginary husband. You will never be loved. And I will make sure of it.” The last of her words were lost in the rising smoke, a promise whispered to the uncaring night.
Meanwhile, miles away in Daisy Evans' house, Petunia, and her friends were hunched over a table, the air thick with anticipation. “Ok, listen up guys” Petunia said, her voice firm. “I’m going to perform the violin. I will be the last contestant. Yvonne, did you bring your dress? I need something to wear on stage.”
Yvonne grinned, holding up a long black dress. “I got it right here. However, it’s a funeral dress.”
Petunia's lips curved into a dark smile. “It’s alright. I’m just going to play a tragic script . And I already picked one.” She looked at Emma, noticing her unease. “What is it, Emma?”
Emma bit her lip. “Tunny... I don’t want to scare you, but what happens when your parents show up?"
Petunia’s face hardened. “I won’t be surprised if they come. Lily will pester them to come.” She stared at her black violin, her eyes glinting with an eerie light. “As for my lovely mother Rose, she will regret ever bringing me into this world." She chuckled, a cold, humorless sound. "Honestly, Rose is a fitting name for my loving, so-cold mother. She pretends to be sweet and kind. Yet, she has poisoned thorns that can kill you.”
Emma looked at her, a strange mixture of concern and awe in her eyes. “Why do I have a feeling you inherited those poisoned thorns from your mom?”
Petunia turned, her gaze sharp. “You’re wrong, Emma. I didn't inherit them. I just experienced them, and I’m going to give it back to her tenfolds.”The shadow of vengeance flickered in her eyes, promising a storm yet to come. The young girl, with her love for her grandmother, and her dark heart, was ready for the storm that would start brewing and nothing would stop her.
The next day, the weekend sun rose on a scene of domestic normalcy. Lily, bright-eyed and brimming with youthful optimism, tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Mummy, can we go and visit Petunia? I really missed her.”
Rose, still reeling from the night’s dark thoughts, saw an opportunity. Perhaps she could manipulate Petunia, lure her back home. “Okay, Lily, we can visit her after breakfast. How about that?”
Harold, witnessing the scene, pulled his wife aside. “What are you doing? This wasn’t the plan. I was supposed to talk to Mom about Petunia’s mental well-being. You can’t just take Lily there.”
Rose put on her sorrowful face, her eyes glistening with false tears. “I know, but I also want to talk to her face-to-face without anyone interfering. Maybe Lily might be able to convince her to come back.”
Harold sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Alright, but be careful.”
Rose kissed him quickly. “Love you.”
Lily, already at the door, practically vibrated with impatience. Grabbing her mother’s hand, she pulled her out into the sunshine. As they approached Daisy’s house, Rose rehearsed her manipulative script, the smile of a woman with a hidden hand in a game.
But when Rose knocked on the door, it was Emma who answered, a picture of disgruntled sleepiness in her pajamas. “Hey, who the bloody hell knocks the door at 9 AM in the morning on the weekend?”
Rose plastered on a fake smile. “Hello, Emma, it’s good to see you again. Is Petunia here? We came to see her.”
Emma just nodded, a reluctant acknowledgment of their presence. Lily, without waiting for an invitation, dashed inside, eager to see her sister. Rose started to follow, but Emma stood firm in the doorway, a subtle warning in her eyes. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come and see Petunia now. How about this? Leave Lily here for a few hours and we will make sure that she comes back home safely.”
Rose’s smile faltered. “Listen to me here, you little girl. Don’t think because your father is a police officer that you can stop me from seeing my daughter.”
Emma chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. “Wow, just yesterday we were talking about you, Mrs. Evans. Oh, how I wish you were here to hear what your daughter has been calling you behind your back. Oh, wait a minute! I should tell you that in person. She called you a rose with poisoned thorns that can kill anyone.” She continued sarcastically, "Which is true, in every way I see it.”
Rose’s eyes narrowed, an icy rage replacing her fake pleasantness. “You don’t know the half of it, Miss Frost. I suggest that you let me talk to Petunia right now. You have no right to stop me from talking to her.”
Yvonne appeared at Emma’s side, her stance equally unyielding. "Mrs. Evans, let me give you a heads up, as Petunia’s friends. You can talk to her, but be careful. She will chew you up and then she’ll spit you out. So, for our peace of mind, and for your safety, please leave.”
Rose stood, rigid with fury, not moving from her spot. Emma sighed, resigned. "Fine, but don't say we didn't warn you." The air thrummed with the anticipation of the confrontation to come, the stage set for a battle of wills between a mother consumed by hate and a daughter fueled by the wounds of the dark future that is yet to come.