The Story of Blood and Roses

I had acquired a new name.

For once, I was glad that I was no longer Mia Vincent. She had suffered too much pain. Mia Vincent was strong, but she almost lost the battle. I won it. By a twist of fate, I survived and I had a new name. No one knew me. The organization had hidden my identity well. Half of the board members had no clue about my status. Billy Black and Jacob Hunt knew.

The Organization was a bad place, but it was the only thing that was left for me. My apartment had been demolished, I had found out. Everything was destroyed. Jacob sometimes came over and gave me letters. They were always in stark white envelopes and carried a small box with it.

Until that day, I had never dared to open them. I had a faint idea as to who had sent me these presents, but not even for a single moment did I want to entertain the idea that someone close to Anthony Murray knew that I was alive. Reading the letters would bring back the terror of living through my own death. I was not ready for it. I didn't think I would ever be.

"Marie," she called.

My eyes hurt. I had been staring at the black box for far too long. I looked up and saw Daisy holding a plate out towards me. I gave her a polite smile and took it from her.

She took good care of me.

She had installed some of the best security facilities around her apartment so that I felt safe. She knew that no one would come after me, but she took great care. She even installed a dim night light in the guest room so that I didn't have to sleep in complete darkness. Four months of staying at her place had made me grow fond of her.

"Do you want me to dump all the mail? You don't need to read them." I shook my head. "I know that you are tempted to read, and I support you, but please... think about it," she said as she patted my back. She plopped down beside me on the couch and then switched the television on.

She switched to an anime channel and nonchalantly proceeded to dig into her Chinese takeout. I kept my eyes at her as I chewed the noodles carefully.

According to the numerous specialists that were catering to my physical needs, I was supposed to go easy. That included eating my food slowly after masticating it, thoroughly. She even dropped a bottle of my favorite soft drink. She wanted to feed me nutritional food but ended up letting me indulge in my love for Chinese takeout.

I wonder if she ever met Ethan again.

The thought made my back stiffen. Pain radiated from my shoulders and down my back. She turned to me with a worried look when I let out a soft, breathless noise. The pain always managed to catch me off guard and render me incapable of breathing.

"Are you alright?" she asked, setting her plate down on the table in front of us. I tried my hardest to nod but felt the pain sharpen. The cramp grew worse and I could no longer breathe. Sometimes, my body just doesn't cooperate. That was what I had been left with. A sob tore through my lips as I tried desperately to ease my shoulders.

"I'll bring you the medicines," she gulped and then dashed towards my bedroom. Within seconds, I had a pill in my hand and a big bottle of water. She unscrewed it and tilted it towards my lips. I didn't resist her. I parted my lips and let her help me.

It took minutes before I felt better again.

"Sometimes the cramps can get worse and lead to thrombosis. Be very careful and always keep your medicines with you. I don't want you in the emergency room again." I remembered the doctor saying.

This was the seventh time it had happened. Physiotherapy sessions were the worst, the cramps were frequent, but nothing of this magnitude. It was once—the first time when it had turned bad and my therapist had to massage my back as we called in the in house doctor for emergency medicine. The incidents had grown worse every time.

.

"Marie, I need you to do three sets of this exercise," the therapist told me enthusiastically. I nodded, not looking away from my cuffed leg. Unlike before, physical exertion came easier. My T-shirt was soaked with perspiration and my breathing was hard. We hadn't even started working on the running part yet.

My throat constricted as I tried to push myself to pick my legs up a few more times. I couldn't give up, I wasn't that weak, I told myself. I wished I believed it, but even I could see that I would never be capable of recovering to the point where I was brand new. Physically, I would carry my failures with me.