Of Thorny Roses
Published on HivePostify by @gabmr · Mon Mar 23 2026
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Of Thorny Roses
I’ve already drunk more than half of the last Heineken in my fridge, and I still haven’t gotten over what happened last night. It’s a shock that still sticks in my throat whenever I write on the blog. Will anyone believe me? It doesn’t matter. Anyway, in a world full of liars, nothing is as “fake” as a surprising truth.
This girl from Roses District was beautiful. Her curly, bouncy brown hair fit perfectly with her tall, athletic figure. She used to wear tight-fitting floral dresses that highlighted her explosive figure even more. Not to mention when, instead of seeing her around the neighborhood, she was running a mini-marathon.
I felt like just looking at her made me part of a marathon, too.
In any case, we never spoke more than a “good morning” or a “good afternoon.” It was only five days ago that I ran into her on Nuvo Street, and her grocery bag broke because it was so heavy.
“No, no, it’s okay, I can handle it,” she said in a hurried voice and silly gestures.
“I’d be the worst neighbor if I didn’t become your human shopping bag right now,” I replied, as I gathered up the bread, fruit, and oil.
“You’d be the first good neighbor,” she laughed heartily.
“When’s the picnic?” I asked jokingly.
“I think tomorrow at Central Park,” she replied, looking very embarrassed as she seemed helpless against my move.
“You’ll have to give me your tips on living a healthy life,” I added before tucking the last orange in my arms.
“It’ll be a picnic with lots of food and conversation,” the beautiful girl confirmed.
“Excuse me, what’s your name…?”
“Bea!” she said, holding out her hand to me.
“Will,” I replied, unable to shake her hand except with my elbow because my arms were full.
From walking to her apartment to sharing a pleasant afternoon at the picnic later, nothing much happened beyond some fairly trivial conversation and the occasional furtive glance.
She told me she was a painter and ran marathons. She didn’t cook much, and her favorite hobby was dancing on TikTok.
At that point, I got bored. I barely managed to mention that I wrote, worked at a music store, and saw her at all the races in the city.
I didn’t think there’d be a second date given how superficial the first one had been, but she surprised me by calling me the day before yesterday, a little late at night.
“Yeah, yeah, I want you to come over my place tomorrow,” Bea invited me enthusiastically.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. There’ll be something special for dinner,” she teased me.
“You’ve already won over my stomach,” I confessed with a chuckle.
After I hung up, it struck me as odd that she, who didn’t cook much for herself, would want to cook for someone else.
“Is this the power a fool has over a beautiful, passionate woman?” I remember asking myself last night in front of the bathroom mirror before heading out.
Saturday night arrived after a monotonous afternoon at the music store. I dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and some joggers. Horrible. Zero expectations.
To my surprise, that run-down apartment I went to the other day belonged to her grandmother, not her. Bea literally lived in a crystal-clear skyscraper. Thirty-fifth floor, few walls, spring scent, lots of colorful canvases, and 2000s Chicago house music.
The only thing more impressive than that spacious apartment was the way she was dressed. Her toned figure was stunning in a tight, sheer silver sequined dress that barely covered her buttocks.
When she greeted me, she planted a cherry-red kiss on my right cheek and offered me champagne right away.
“Are you trying to get me drunk that fast?” I asked before returning her warm greeting.
“That’s how Bar Bea welcomes its special guest today,” she smiled, a little nervous.
Honestly, the view was breathtaking. The city lights were like fireflies twinkling through the apartment’s spotless windows, while the cars down below looked like ants moving slowly from the top of that artificial tree crowned by a golden waning moon. It was the perfect mating scene.
“And I painted that picture last year. I got inspired by the park we went to yesterday,” Bea explained to me.
“It looks like the trees are dancing,” I added, not knowing what else to say that sounded interesting.
“You and I can dance, too,” she said after giving me a devouring look.
“I don’t see dinner anywhere. You lied to me.” I stopped her right away.
“I said we’d have dinner, but I didn’t say I’d cook it,” she replied before throwing herself at me.
It seemed like I was dinner after all. In fact, we almost had our first kiss, but the doorbell rang and she jumped in fright.
“The pizza!” Bea exclaimed, running like crazy toward the entrance.
As I watched her open the door and pay the delivery guy, I couldn’t help but think how strange it all was. A luxurious place, me practically broke, a beautiful girl who, though shy, was already trying to kiss me on a second date.
“I had to get lucky sometimes,” I told myself.
“What are you still doing there?” Bea asked me from the dining table with her arms outstretched.
She opened two boxes of pizza, and to tell the truth, neither one looked as good as Bea. I wanted to seem enthusiastic, but I wasn’t very good at pretending.
“Don’t you like pizza?” she asked me with teary eyes and a pout.
“Actually, I’m a big fan of pizza, but…” I tried to reply before I saw something even worse.
One of the windows reflected a familiar female figure walking toward me, behind my back. I looked at Bea and then back at that frantic woman.
“So good to see you again, Will. Have you missed me?” a shrill voice blurted out.
I turned around, and it was none other than Cecilia. My ex had appeared there with a gun, pointing it at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Bea, and she just gave me a scornful look as she turned off the music.
“It was too good to be true,” I lamented, frowning at Bea.
Tags: #fiction#writing#inkwellprompt#theinkwell#flashfiction#drama#lies