The house had grown quieter, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of quiet that hummed with tension, an unspoken storm brewing just beneath the surface. Rose had started spending more evenings at home, yet her presence was anything but calming. She seemed more restless than ever, pacing the hallways, playing loud music, or losing herself in her phone for hours. It felt as though she was waiting for something—or avoiding it altogether.
Elise, as always, tried to bridge the gap between them. She busied herself with her jewelry business during the day, but her evenings were dedicated to awkward attempts at family bonding. Most of her efforts were met with Rose's sharp retorts or outright indifference. I kept to the sidelines, doing my best to support Elise while keeping my own thoughts about Rose buried deep.
One night, Elise announced she would be working late at the store for a big client meeting. She left dinner in the oven and a reminder for Rose and me to "get along." It was the first time in a while that Rose and I were truly alone in the house.
Rose came down to the kitchen just as I was setting the table. She wore a loose sweatshirt and shorts, her hair tied messily on top of her head. She looked surprisingly…relaxed.
"You cooked?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she inspected the food.
"Elise cooked. I reheated," I clarified.
She smirked, grabbing a plate and sitting down across from me. For a moment, we ate in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't exactly easy either.
"I didn't think you'd stay in tonight," I ventured.
Rose shrugged. "Clubs get boring when it's the same scene every night."
"That's…unexpectedly insightful."
She rolled her eyes but didn't reply.
After dinner, Rose lingered in the kitchen, washing her plate—a rare gesture of consideration. I leaned against the counter, watching her.
"Why do you do it?" I asked suddenly.
She glanced at me, frowning. "Do what?"
"The whole party scene. Staying out late, shutting people out… What are you running from?"
Her eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought she was going to snap at me. But then she sighed, setting the plate down and leaning against the sink.
"Maybe I just don't like being told what to do. Ever think of that?"
"I have," I admitted. "But I don't think that's all it is."
She gave a bitter laugh. "What are you, my therapist?"
"No," I said softly. "I'm just trying to understand you."
For a moment, her guard slipped. Her gaze softened, and something vulnerable flickered in her expression. But just as quickly, the walls went back up.
"You don't need to understand me, Daniel," she said coldly. "You just need to stay out of my way."
That night, I heard her leaving the house again. I stood by the window, watching her disappear into the night, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows.
She was a mystery—a puzzle I couldn't help but want to solve, even if it meant stepping into the darkness with her.