Aurora stands so frozen among the roses, she might as well be a gargoyle. Eddie breaks one and touches it to her bud-shaped lips. “Don’t they smell nice?” he asks in a quiet, nonthreatening voice. It’s the one he uses with his students, fragile ones like Chloe Winthorp who often became frustrated with her reading. A soft voice is a dam for a flood of tears.
She doesn’t make a sound. He presses the flower more firmly to her mouth. “Smell it.”
Her delicate shoulders move beneath her oversized black sweatshirt. He hasn’t seen that thing since … well, he’s seen it, just not on a human frame. It’s been in Aurora’s closet among the other things she can finally wear again. He leans toward her and breathes her in. Her scent makes his eyes roll to the back of his skull, rattling loose old memories.
A small Eddie and Aurora watching cartoons together on Saturday mornings; the way she used to lie with her head on his torso, using him as a pillow. Eddie cooking macaroni and cheese for them while their mother worked her evening job; Aurora crushing up saltines and mixing them in with the cheese to make it go further. The two of them exploring the tannery for the first time, crawling through a broken window and climbing all the way up to the rooftop. Aurora standing right here, right where she is now, and proclaiming she would make a rose garden when she had the means. Then there would be a spot of brightness in Black Harbor, something beautiful.
Now, here she is, standing in the midst of the oasis he has created just for her, and what does she do? She won’t even stop and smell the fucking roses.
His knuckles connect with her jaw. She falls. The wound in her cheek has opened up. It bleeds onto the concrete.
Eddie massages his hand. There’s a streak of blood from her teeth having scraped across his knuckles. “You always were an ungrateful shit,” he spits at her. “I’ll never know why Mom loved you most.”
Shakily, Aurora stands. She goes to him, untethered, her chain swaying at her back. “I’m sorry, Eddie,” she cries as she hugs him tight.
The anger inside him dissipates. He’s like a pot that has boiled over. Everything simmers now. “It’s okay,” he says as he strokes her dark hair. He sets his chin on top of her head and breathes her in. “It’s you and me against the world, kid,” he says.
“Like always,” she agrees. Then, she takes his hand and leads him down one of the paths around the fountain. The sun piercing through the petals bathes everything in a pinkish glow. His heart swells, threatening to burst at the seams. This is everything he’s dreamed of.
From below, the creak of the double doors announces Rowan and Axel’s entrance. In just a matter of moments, they will be up the stairs, on the rooftop, and he will be forced to kill the last people who dared hurt his sister.