A Rose on the Grave

A Rose on the Grave


Starting senior year with your parents' deaths can't be easy. Neither can trying to keep your family together, thinking about colleges, and falling in love with a guy you've known all your life.


Chapter One: Beauty in the Breakdown

Goddamnit, she would not cry, Arlen Murry told herself fiercely, though the tears were stinging her eyes like crazy. Tears wouldn't help anything, and she didn't need any sign of weakness on this day. Instead, she bit her lip so hard that she could taste blood in her mouth. The physical pain helped numb the more gnawing one inside, and that brought a tiny sense of relief. She studied her reflection dully. What she was a too-skinny girl of eighteen, her face worm-white, her straggly dark hair dragging down a face that was just a bit too long. She needed a hair-cut, Arlen thought wildly.

Just a week ago, everything had seemed fine. Normal. Ryan Munday had asked her friend Mackenzie Stone out, and she had been over the moon. Her mom had taken Arlen and her brothers school shopping. Arlen had aced the math test she had been worrying about. She, Jesse, Matt, and Des had played Monopoly. Maybe it had been a sign. Nothing in this world could remain so balanced and perfect, and God being the twisted old fuck he was, had tilted her world a few angles. Well, Arlen hoped he was happy. She just hoped it had given him the satisfaction he so obviously wanted by ruining their lives.

Despite herself, a few stray tears dripped over the edge of her nose. Arlen remembered how casually her father and mother had kissed her goodbye. They had been all dressed up, Patrick wearing a suit and tie, Jessica wearing sapphire earrings, a peacock blue cocktail dress, heels, and a trendy bolero jacket.

"We're going out for a date," Patrick Murry had said, winking, his arm wrapped around his slender wife. "We figured you kids were old enough to stay alone for ONE night," he added teasingly.

Arlen had stuck out her tongue as she looked up from her chemistry notes. Jesse and Des had pretended to vomit at the idea of his parents on a date.

"We'll be back in a few hours, so no parties tonight," Jessica Murry had said, tucking a lock of her dark brown hair behind an ear.

"Aww, what a shame," Jesse had whined playfully. "We had strippers all lined up."

"Ha, ha very funny, Mister," Jessica had responded, swiping a hasty kiss on her son's cheek. "You know our cell phone numbers so if anything comes up, just give us a call or call Aunt Kristy."

"All right, Mom," Arlen had said. "Don't worry."

"We love you bunches," Patrick Murry had said as they finally left. "See you soon!"

They had never seen their parents again. When the doorbell had rung, it had been the police, wearing grim, sorrowful looks on their faces. Arlen had answered the door, wondering why her parents hadn't just used their key. She had fallen asleep, and went to the door wearing her favorite faded pale blue pajamas, barefooted.

"Why didn't you just use the key?" Arlen had asked grumpily, rubbing her eyes.

"I'm sorry, miss... Um, are there any adults in the house?" the younger policeman had asked nervously, and Arlen had snapped to attention, embarassed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were... No, my parents are out at the moment. Is there a problem?" she asked curiously, and with a growing sense of unease. Arlen had pushed aside the tangled hair from her eyes and looked at the two men on the front step.

"I-I'm afraid there has been an accident."

"No. What are you talking about?" Arlen had voiced loudly, eyes widening.

"Your parents' car crashed on the highway..."

The rest had been a nightmare. Arlen didn't care to recall it, but her mom's best friend Kristy Lowery had been called, and she had dashed over as quickly as possible. Everything had seemed like a strange, cruel dream, even familiar Aunt Kristy seemed unreal. The woman had wept profusely, holding Arlen and her brothers, all of whom were shocked speechless.

Over the next few days, casseroles and pastries arrived by the dozen, along with countless visitors who expressed their sympathies. Arlen knew it was common courtesy, but she felt like screaming at them. She supposed everyone felt the same at a time like this, but she hated that she had to keep up a facade of normality, accepting the food with a forced smile, a forced speech of gratitude.

And now this. She looked down at the black dress she was wearing. Aunt Kristy's dress. It was a little too loose, her mother's friend being more voluptuous than Arlen, and it looked pretty horrible on her. It screamed that this dress had been used for mourning, with the long ungainly sleeves, the hateful ugly modesty about it.

Suddenly Arlen couldn't take it anymore. She took off the dress with a quick, sudden movement, and threw it off. She couldn't bear the feeling of it against her skin, couldn't bear the sight of it. She pulled open her dresser, grabbed at random a thick faded hoodie, a pair of jeans. Sliding her feet into worn out white tennis shoes, Arlen ran out of the house, uncaring if anyone could see her.

She ran to the nearest hairshop, got her hair cut off in a cut that framed her face well, but it wasn't for the looks. It was for the sense of freedom. She relished the first slick cut as the scissors slashed through the thick dark brown hair that she had grown out for years.

As Arlen got out of the store, she immediately felt a strong hand clasp around her wrist. Shocked, she swung around and saw the familiar face of Jake Lowery. His normally genial, kind face was contorted with a mixture of anger, concern, and relief at finding her.

"Damn it, Arlie, you fucking scared me!" he snapped, his hand still wrapped around hers tightly, as if not wanting to give her a chance to run away. Jake's hazel eyes razed over Arlen, noting how her once waist-length sable hair was now curved around her oval face. It suited her, but he refused to let it get his attention. "If you wanted a haircut, couldn't you just have told us before going out like that?"

Arlen started, partly shocked that gentle Jake could be so abrasive, partly refreshed that someone was finally talking to her like a normal human being, not a fragile doll that might break if spoken to above a whisper.

"Why can't I do whatever the hell I want?" she shot back. "I'm eighteen, and you can't do anything about it!" Arlen knew she sounded bratty and annoying, but honestly she didn't give a shit. Her mom and dad were dead.

"Oh god," she whispered, her voice cracking and so full of grief that Jake's heart throbbed. "Jake... my parents are gone. I'm never going to see them again." Then, she sobbed, falling into his arms. For what seemed like hours, Arlen stood there in Jake Lowery's arms, her tears dripping into his shoulder, her sobs muffled into his neck, while he simply stood there. They didn't notice the rain that fell.