Violet Rose Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by Renny Abbas

  All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved. Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Violet Rose

  Gay Romance

  By Renny Abbas

  Table of Contents

  Violet Rose

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Special Bonus Story

  Best Friend

  Violet Rose

  Chapter 1

  Rough, gunmetal smoke clung to his nose and mouth. He choked and spluttered on it, trying to draw breath. His ears rang with loud, piercing echoes. He couldn’t hear his own coughing. His head was swimming wildly but as he looked around, the world began to right itself. He was on the ground, on his side. His cheek flush against the hot earth and his body spread like shattered glass. As he blinked and attempted to shake the strong ringing sound, he became intensely aware of a burning sensation across his chest, stomach, left arm and thigh. And the more he noticed, the more it burned. Hot, red blood seeped through his now tattered clothes. They’d been ripped and torn by something. And looking down, he saw at the base of his ribs, under his heart, a piece of blackened metal jutting out of his side.

  He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. There was only heat and pain and the ringing. The smoke consumed him and the pain burned him. He felt himself scream. Throat raw, lungs on fire, and mouth open wide. He bellowed out for the pain to stop. For the flames to recede. But he heard nothing. Nothing but the constant ringing. It was too much. The fire. The smoke. He couldn’t take it. He wanted to run but he couldn’t move. His body was littered with white hot flames. All he could do was scream without hearing. Without knowing if anyone was screaming back. He screamed and screamed. And he burned and burned. The flames consumed him finally and darkness took him.

  Charlie Atwood bolted upright in bed. Breathing hard, scream dying in his throat. His body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his bed sheets were tangled around his legs. The images of his dream began to fade, slowly, but the ringing remained, fainter now but still as persistent. He shook his head and ran his hands over his face. He sighed. It had been a while since he’d last had the bad dreams. He hadn’t missed them.

  He untangled himself and swung his legs out of bed. Standing, he walked out of his room and into the bathroom. He knew there was no use trying to sleep again now. All that waited for him there was more pain and screaming and he had no desire to go back to that. Instead he turned on his shower radio, then the shower itself, then removed his underwear and stepped under the steady stream of hot water. The sound of it rushing over his head and ears, mixed with that of the garbled early morning radio, was enough for him to tune out the ringing for a little bit. Allowed him to clear his head.

  Dotted all over the muscles that rippled across his chest and stomach, were thick purple lines and spots – scars that ran down his left arm and up his left thigh, across his side, chest and stomach, all coming together with one large swathe of scar tissue under his heart. He refused to look at them. He looked at the condensation forming on the glass door instead as he washed himself. He could still remember with vivid detail what it felt like to have that shrapnel sticking into his body. Most people Charlie knew probably couldn’t tell him what the worst day of their lives was but he could. It was that day. The day he lay there and screamed and bled on the ground. And he was reminded of it every day with his scars and every night with his dreams. He’d left the war behind and his body had healed but truthfully, he was broken. Part of him was still there. At least when that worst day had happened he hadn’t been alone. He was now. In his experience people weren’t a fan of ghosts and that’s what he felt he’d become. A ghost of a man with little more than a body full of scars and a head full of nightmares.

  Charlie quickly shut off the shower and climbed out. He was thinking too much. He always got more negative when the dreams got bad. He took a few deep breaths, dried himself and headed back to his room to get dressed. He needed coffee. Coffee and a walk. That always helped.

  It was only later as he grabbed his keys and wallet to head out into the early morning light that he remembered what day it was. Saturday. He smiled to himself and as he opened the front door to his apartment he glanced back to a vase of flowers that sat by the window. Some of the petals were beginning to curl and brown with age, and fallen leaves were now dotted around the windowsill. Yes, it was Saturday. And he needed new flowers.

  Chapter 2

  He left the house around 7:30. Crisp, morning air pricked the skin of his cheeks and nose and he breathed it in as deeply as possible. He had some time to kill before he could get his new flowers and the thought of coffee guided his steps away from his apartment block and towards the centre of town.

  There wasn’t a great number of other people around as he walked. The spring had hit perfectly; cool, fresh and just warm enough. Trees that lined the streets had small pale pink blossoms littering their tops and the only other people that were around to see it were a few runners and dog-walkers.

  Charlie didn’t spare much attention for them. He focused instead on the pound of his feet against the sidewalk. A few cars trundled past but he scarcely heard them, he just made his way down the familiar streets of the town he’d called home his entire life and found his way to his favourite coffee house.

  Even with the doors and windows closed, the strong smell of warm coffee poured out to him and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile as he made his way inside.

  A well-known face greeted him as the door swung shut behind him. Krista, a handsome faced, blonde-haired woman, presented him with a broad, toothy smile. The shop was relatively empty with just one or two other people sitting at various tables throughout and Charlie was free to go straight to the counter where Krista waited.

  “It’s been a while since you’ve been in this early, Charlie.” Krista said, a very slight German accent hanging to her vowels.

  “Good to see you too.” Charlie smiled.

  “Same order?”

  “As always.”

  She set about preparing his drink and he leaned against the counter, riffling through the money in his wallet and placing some down in front of him.

  “So, how have you been?” Krista asked. The sounds of the coffee machine whirred loudly and Charlie flinched slightly as it bounced roughly off the ringing in his ears. She didn’t notice.

  “Yeah, good.” He lied. “You know, just getting by.”

  “Mm, ‘just getting by’. Sounds so exciting.” She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “When was the last time you had some fun, old man?”

  Charlie laughed. “What do you and your three cats know about fun?”

  “It’s four now. We adopted a new one a few weeks ago.”

  “Tell Jamie he needs to learn how to say no to you.”

  “Hey, this time it was his idea.”

  Charlie rolled his eyes but watched with grateful eyes as Krista poured his coffee and hot milk into a Styrofoam cup. Steam rose out of it before she clipped the lid over the top and he felt his mouth water. He had a real problem when it came to coffee. He understood why people called it an addiction. She handed it over to him and he slid the money closer to her. She took it but gave him a stern look.

  “Listen, I joke about it but I really think you need some more human i
nteraction,” she said, “it can’t be healthy for you to keep yourself cooped up all the time.”

  “Krista, I’m good, honestly.”

  “Charlie,” she raised her eyebrows again, “I’ve known you for how many years now? Eight? I know you’re lying. And, look, I’m not saying you need to be some mad party animal just try and be with your friends every so often. Like this evening for example, there’s an open mic happening here. A few locals are planning on performing and Jamie and I will be here as well a few others. You should come join us.”

  “I don’t know Kris, there’s just a lot going on.”

  “Just think about it and if you do come and you can’t bear it, you can leave, no one’s gonna stop you. We just want to see you.”

  Charlie nodded slowly, taking it all in. The day had barely started and already it wasn’t turning out at all like he’d expected it to.

  “Okay,” he said, “I’ll think about it.”

  Krista grinned. “Excellent.”

  “Thank you for the coffee.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Thank you for the tip.”

  Charlie started to walk away but at the door he turned back.

  “So, when exactly does this thing start tonight?” He asked.

  “6:30.”

  Charlie nodded. “Alright then.”

  And with that he left. The sun had fully risen now and the path was bright and dappled by the blossoms and branches. He made his way to a park just a few blocks down and sat at one of the benches. He sipped his coffee slowly, the heat of it warding against the still cool morning. He watched the town come more and more to life around him. The local stores getting ready to open, the birds singing the world awake in the trees, and, directly in front of him, across the road from the park, a man in blue jeans and a white t-shirt set up a sign outside a storefront that boasted rows of beautiful flowers and greenery. Small succulents and large blooming bouquets of lilies. Orchids of all colours and hanging baskets on either side of the door bursting with lavender, rosemary and mint leaves. It would be open in half an hour. And Charlie smiled, his dream dissipating into the recesses of his memory as he sipped his coffee and watched the familiar man continue to prepare his store for the day.

  Time clicked slowly by and Charlie finished his drink. Usually he went into the flower store at approximately 10 every Saturday morning. Today he was a little early but he felt eager to get inside now, he’d had enough of the fresh air. It certainly had nothing to do with the man. Absolutely not. Charlie swallowed back an all too familiar lump that had begun to rise in his throat.

  You’re just buying some flowers. He thoughts to himself. You don’t have to talk about anything much. It’s just a normal day.

  Faint images from his dream flickered across the back of his mind but he pushed them away as he got to his feet and started making his way across the street towards the florist’s.

  Prior to his retirement from service, Charlie hadn’t even known this store existed. He’d never been one for flowers or other trivial things. He liked things that had a purpose, that could function and actually do something other than just sit and slowly fade away. But, after everything that happened, after all the pain of that final tour, his thoughts changed. Now it was a habit. Every single week he came in, he bought a bouquet and he sat it on the windowsill in his living room. He dared not wait any longer than a week. He hated to watch things die. But a week was just long enough. And the flowers instead reminded him of life and all the good and beautiful things in it. He didn’t exactly know why he now believed that. All he really knew was that it had something to do with that particular store. Because no matter what, he always went back to the same place and he couldn’t bring himself to go anywhere else. Try as he might to stay away sometimes.

  Charlie crossed the street that was still nearly empty of cars and walked into the shop without pause. As soon as he entered, and the door swung shut behind him, he found a small bundle of crisp white daisies, delicate purple roses, and long, fragrant stems of lavender strewn across the counter top. All collapsed together in a manner of organised chaos as a pair of well-practised, soft and pale hands danced across them, positioned them and repositioned them, scooped them into a bouquet and repositioned them some more before, finally, tying the stems off with a piece of frayed, tan twine.

  “You’ve outdone yourself,” he said. Finn’s gaze jumped up, having not even heard the door open and close, and his fingers fumbled with the knot. Charlie smiled.

  “You’re early,” Finn returned the smile, “this was supposed to be ready before you got here.”

  “I could leave again and come back and we could pretend this never happened?”

  “Maybe take a walk around the block?”

  “Deal.”

  Charlie turned back to the shop door and his fingers were on the handle before Finn spoke up again.

  “Or…” Charlie turned slowly and Finn continued, “you could just come over here and tell me if there’s anything you want me to add before I finish up?”

  Charlie smiled again and wandered over to the counter. Finn showed off the bulk of the bouquet and the scent of lavender drifted lazily up from the flowers and mixed with that of soil and sawdust. Gentle sunlight spilled through the large windows and brought all the colours in the store to life; reds and yellows, greens and purples, pinks and whites. The soft echo of trickling water framed the entire space and Charlie took a deep breath in while Finn rambled about the bouquet.

  “See I’m thinking maybe it needs a little more yellow to go with the daisies, right? And maybe some more green? Just a few bits of Bush Honeysuckle would probably do the job perfectly. What do you think?”

  Charlie nodded. “Sounds good.”

  He didn’t know a lot about flowers. He just liked them. And in Finn’s presence he was happy to accept any kind of bouquet at all. The lump in his throat receded a little more with each passing second and he started to relax a little more. The taste of coffee lingered on his tongue and he felt markedly more at peace now he was inside the store. He closed his eyes for half a second as Finn set about fixing the bouquet and he focused on the water and the lavender and the rustling of Finn’s fingers through the Bush Honeysuckle. When he opened his eyes again, Finn had started wrapping the bouquet in a light purple tissue paper, twisting it around the stems and taping a small sachet of plant food there.

  “Beautiful,” he said.

  Finn glanced up with a half-cocked smile. “Thank you.”

  “How much?”

  “Same as always.”

  Charlie nodded and reached for the wallet in his jacket’s inside pocket. He pulled a few bills free and handed them over.

  “Keep the change.”

  “Same as always.” Finn took the money. The same half-cocked smile. And Charlie returned it.

  “Force of habit, I suppose.”

  And it was. He was a man of habit and living his whole life in the same town made things incredibly simple for him.

  Finn nodded and tucked the money into the register while Charlie gently gathered up the bouquet into one arm.

  “Well then, thank you.” Charlie smiled. He was hesitant to leave the peaceful interior of the store, and Finn’s presence was more and more calming the more Charlie came in. But he also knew he had to go. And the lump in his throat was growing stronger again. So, with one final smile and a small sigh, he turned around and headed for the door.

  “Hey, Charlie?”

  For the second time, he turned back. Finn stood with his palms flat against the counter top and his body leaning forward, warm and opening. He wore a plain, sky blue apron over his clothes that clung close to his body. His hair, dark and tussled, tickled his brow, and deep hazel-green eyes lit up with his smile, gazed softly over at Charlie, his bouquet, and his newly quickened heart rate. Charlie blinked once, twice, and quickly cleared his throat. They had never once talked about anything other than flowers; he wasn’t sure what to expect in this moment.

  “Yeah?
”

  “Who are the flowers for?”

  “What?”

  “Who do you buy the flowers for? It’s gotta be someone pretty special for you to come here every week.”

  “Oh… no one. I just like them.”

  Finn raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Charlie swallowed hard against that lump. There was an excited look glittering in Finn’s eyes and it frightened him. He needed to get out of there.

  “So, no one special in your life then?” Finn wandered around the side of the counter while he spoke, coming to rest on the other side of it and leaning back casually. Charlie’s hand was still on the door, ready to go. His stomach jumped and coiled. He couldn’t speak so he just shook his head.

  “Are you okay?” The smooth, easy tone of Finn’s voice gave way to concern and Charlie took a deep breath, grip tightening on the door handle.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. I um, I need to go,” he lifted the bouquet, “thanks again.”

  Before Finn could respond, Charlie pushed the door open and took several quick strides away from the store.

  Chapter 3

  He got home and let out a heavy breath into the closed door. The scents coming from the bouquet in his arms calmed him and with one more breath he turned from the front door and into the rest of his apartment.

  As he manoeuvred around the open plan kitchen and living area, replacing old flowers with new in a vase by the window and gently pouring in fresh water with the plant feed, Charlie mulled over his interaction with Finn. He’d overreacted, he knew. Finn just asked simple questions; just trying to get to know him. But that’s just it, Finn was never supposed to get to know him, not like this. If he found out too much… well, everything was just too complicated. Even simple questions weren’t so simple anymore.

  Charlie thought about Finn’s movements and the way he’d leaned against the counter and lightly crossed his arms. That cocky half smile that reached up into his eyes. Charlie caught himself smiling. He shook his head slightly and ignored the small twinge in the pit of his gut. Yes, Finn had been flirting. But he couldn’t – shouldn’t – and Charlie would just have to learn to be okay with that.