She Gave Him Roses But Left Me Thorns

I had a severe pollen allergy. Even the slightest exposure could leave me struggling to breathe. By some coincidence, my girlfriend happened to be a renowned luxury floral designer. On the fourteenth of every month, she would come home with a bundle of greenery. No flowers, just leaves and bare stems. I kept them in glass propagation vases for three years, convinced she had chosen them especially for me so I could still enjoy something beautiful without putting my health at risk. Then, her floral studio was hired for the wedding of the century. I stood well outside the venue and watched as tens of thousands of exquisite roses filled the entire hall. The groom was her childhood friend, Alec Scott. He posted a photo online of the most flawless bridal bouquet I had ever seen. [She knows how sensitive my skin is, so she personally removed every thorn from all ten thousand roses. She wanted me to touch nothing but the softest petals.] I enlarged the photo. Beneath those roses were nothing but short, neatly trimmed stems, stripped completely bare. Suddenly, I thought of the stems she had been bringing home to me, month after month. They had always been covered in uneven little nicks where something had been clipped away. So, that was it. What I had treasured as proof that she loved me in her own special way was nothing more than the scraps left behind to make sure Alec would never prick his fingers on a rose thorn. When I got home, I snapped every last stem sitting in those glass vases and threw them into the trash. “Your roses turned out so beautiful. You can keep them, and you can keep your love too.” Chapter 1 At eight that evening, I heard the electronic lock disengage at the front door. Lindsay Payne stepped inside carrying an elegant white cake box. As soon as she walked in, the living room filled with the overpowering scent of roses. It was so sharp that I could not help coughing. I remained on the couch. She set the cake on the kitchen island and headed toward the sink to wash her hands. The instant her eyes landed on the trash can, she froze. “Ivan, what have you done?” She turned toward me with a deep frown and pointed at the green stems snapped into pieces in the trash. “Just clearing out some junk.” My voice was calm as my gaze dropped to her long, slender hands. After working through the night with countless flowers, she had two or three Band-Aids wrapped around the tips of her index fingers and thumbs. “I pick out these eucalyptus stems and decorative greenery especially for you every month! Do you have any idea how expensive imported foliage is? What is wrong with you?” “I passed by the wedding at the Olnsea Hotel today.” The room went completely silent. Her hand stopped halfway through unbuttoning her coat. I looked at her. For a split second, her expression stiffened. It was not guilt. It was the look of someone caught off guard when a secret they thought was safe suddenly came to light. “What were you doing there? You know you’re allergic to pollen. What if you had a reaction?” She tried to hide her panic behind concern. “I saw Alec’s bouquet. There were over ten thousand roses, and you had personally removed every thorn.” “That was what the client asked for! This wedding is one of the biggest jobs my studio has had all year. I’m the lead designer. Of course I had to handle it myself,” she retorted immediately, speaking twice as fast as usual. “The client asked for it?” I scoffed. “Alec spelled it out pretty clearly in his post, Lindsay. Every one of those stems you brought home to me was covered in fresh cuts where the thorns had been clipped off.” She fell silent. Lindsay took a step back and leaned against the edge of the kitchen island. She patted at her pockets as though she were looking for something, then stopped when she came up empty. Lindsay always did that when she had something to hide. “For three years.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Every month, what you brought home to me was just what you cut away so Alec wouldn’t get pricked by a thorn.” “I was putting it to good use!” Her voice shot up, sharp with the anger of someone who had been backed into a corner. “You’re allergic to pollen. You can’t even be around flowers. I brought home the greenery I trimmed off because it was better than throwing it away, and it gave you something decorative too. What’s wrong with that? “I even took the time to choose the nicest stems for you! If you insist on seeing them as trash, that’s on you!” There it was again. Whenever she could not defend what she had done, she made it about me “choosing to see things that way.” I got to my feet and walked over to the trash can. Then, I pulled out the bag and tied it shut. “Don’t throw those away!” She reached for it. Irritation was creeping into her voice. “Do you have any idea how many all-nighters I pulled for this wedding? The second it was over, I went and stood in line to get you your favorite chestnut cake. Can you please not start a fight with me right now?” I looked at the branded cake box and found the whole thing utterly absurd. “I don’t even like chestnut cake. Chestnuts upset my stomach.” She froze. Her hand was still suspended between us. “Alec is the one who likes chestnut cake.” The silence stretched on. It lasted so long that the scent of roses clinging to her began to tighten my throat. “You’re clearly upset tonight. We both need to cool off.” She pulled her hand back. Her expression darkened as she turned toward the study. The moment the door shut behind her, I picked up the cake box and tossed it into the hallway along with the bag full of thorn-covered stems. Chapter 2 Three days later, Alec Scott moved into our apartment. Apparently, a pipe had burst in his rented place and flooded the floors, so he needed somewhere to stay for a week. Lindsay brought him home without even discussing it with me. “He’s on his own, and he hates staying in hotels. Besides, the guest room is just sitting empty.” As she spoke, she moved several pots of allergy-friendly ferns I kept by the guest-room window to make space for Alec’s three enormous suitcases. I leaned against the doorframe and watched her. “So, he gets to move into my home just because he doesn’t like hotels?” “Ivan, don’t be such a jerk. He’s been my friend since we were kids, and he’s my muse. We’re all friends. What’s wrong with letting him stay for a few days?” Her muse. She said it as though there was absolutely nothing strange about that. The next evening, I sneezed the moment I walked through the door after work. Alec was wandering around the living room in an oversized T-shirt Lindsay had bought him. In the middle of the dining table sat an enormous crystal vase overflowing with freshly cut flowers. There were Lisianthus, tulips, and several champagne roses that still carried traces of pollen. My throat immediately began to tighten. “Ivan, you’re home!” Alec turned around with a bright smile. “Lindsay said the place looked too plain and could use some color, so I brought some flowers home from the studio. Aren’t they gorgeous?” I said nothing. I just walked over, picked up the vase, and dumped the flowers into the kitchen sink, then shoved them down the garbage disposal. “What are you doing?” Alec shouted. Tears welled up in his eyes. The front door opened at that exact moment. Lindsay walked in with grocery bags. “What happened?” Alec moved behind her and pointed at the mangled flowers in the sink. “Lindsay, I was only trying to brighten the place up, and Ivan destroyed all the flowers.” Lindsay’s expression darkened. She strode over and switched off the garbage disposal. Then, she turned and glared at me. “Ivan, what the hell is wrong with you?” “I’m allergic to pollen.” My tone remained flat. “Those are low-allergen flowers! I treated them myself! You didn’t even touch them, so how could they possibly trigger your allergy?” “This is my home. I don’t want pollen anywhere in it.” “Alec didn’t know how severe your allergy was. He was only trying to do something nice! Did you really have to make such a big deal out of it?” I watched her shield him with her arm. Suddenly, I lost interest in the whole argument. “Fine. I’ll be the bigger person.” I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Lindsay made dinner. The three of us sat around the dining table in an awkward silence. Lindsay picked a piece of baked sea bass, carefully checked it for bones, then placed it on Alec’s plate. “You always somehow manage to choke on bones. Be careful.” “Thanks, Lindsay.” Alec smiled, then spooned some couscous salad onto my plate. “Here, Ivan. Have some.” It was covered in chopped cilantro. I had a mild allergy to cilantro too. Eating it would leave me with a rash. Lindsay and I had been together for three years, yet she could never seem to remember that. She remembered that Alec choked on fish and that he loved chestnut cake. She remembered that his skin was too delicate for rose thorns. I stared at the cilantro in my bowl and left it there, untouched. I set my fork down and stood up. “I’m full. Enjoy your dinner.” “What’s your problem now?” Lindsay hissed behind me. Without turning around, I walked straight to the bedroom and shut the door. I did not argue. I knew better. You could not win a fight with someone who had already picked a side. I opened my laptop and started putting together my handover documents. Chapter 3 Alec could tell I was giving him the cold shoulder. For a man used to commanding everyone’s attention, being ignored got under his skin far more than any screaming match. He was used to being the center of attention and having Lindsay revolve around him. So, he kept provoking me to reassert his control and see just how much I would tolerate. On Friday evening, an urgent project kept me at the office until nine. The moment I opened the door to my apartment, an overpowering floral scent hit me. It was not perfume. It was the thick, cloying scent of lilies. I immediately covered my nose and mouth, but it was already too late. Alec’s jacket was lying on my usual spot on the living room couch. Its collar and cuffs were smeared with yellow lily pollen. My airway suddenly constricted. My breathing turned fast and labored. Each breath scraped my throat raw. My legs gave out. I went down on the carpet. “My meds…” I crawled toward the coffee table. My emergency allergy medication was in the second drawer underneath. My vision started to blur. Angry red welts spread rapidly across my exposed neck and arms. The welts itched so badly that it felt like my skin was crawling from the inside out. The study door flew open with a bang. Lindsay came out with a sketch in her hand. “Ivan? You’re home?” When she saw me on the floor, clawing at the carpet in agony, alarm flashed across her face. She rushed toward me. “What’s wrong? Are you having another allergic reaction?” Just as her hand was about to touch my shoulder… “Ow!” A cry came from behind her. Alec stood beside the kitchen island with a pair of pruning shears in his hand. A bead of blood no bigger than a pinprick had formed on the tip of his finger. “Lindsay, I’m hurt!” Lindsay’s hand, which was reaching for me, stopped dead in midair. She turned around. Alec held up his finger. His eyes were wet with tears as he looked at her. His body was trembling slightly. “I accidentally pricked myself on that rose thorn you left on the counter. I’m bleeding.” Lindsay’s body moved before her mind caught up. She sprang to her feet and crossed the room to Alec in a few quick strides. Grabbing his hand, she examined it with a deep frown, unable to hide the worry in her voice. “How could you be so careless? Is it deep? Did the thorn break off inside?” I was still on the carpet. My vision was blurred by involuntary tears, but I could still see everything unfolding before me with perfect clarity. My throat had closed too tightly for me to speak. I could only clutch the edge of the carpet. I was digging my fingers in so hard that my nails nearly bent backward. “Help... me...” I forced the words from my throat with the last of my strength. Lindsay turned and glanced my way. For a moment, she seemed torn. Then, her hesitation gave way to a cold certainty that she was doing the right thing. “Ivan, Alec has a hand-modeling shoot for a luxury jewelry campaign tomorrow. He can’t afford to have a scar on his hand. “If this gets infected, he could face an enormous contract penalty. I have to take him to the ER and get the wound treated.” As she spoke, she grabbed the car keys from the entryway table without even making a move to help me. “Your allergy medication is in the drawer. Just take a pill, and you’ll be fine in no time. I’ll be back later.” With that, she placed a hand on Alec’s shoulder and guided him toward the door without looking back. “Lindsay, Ivan looks really sick. He keeps gasping for air.” Alec’s feeble voice drifted over from the doorway. “He always gets like this when his allergies flare up. He’ll be fine after taking his pills. Your hand is more important. Come on.” Bang. The door slammed shut. The entire apartment fell deathly silent, broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing echoing through the living room. With the last of my strength, I pulled open the drawer. My hand closed around the familiar plastic pill bottle. It felt too light. My hands trembled as I opened it. It was completely empty.