Roots of The Rose (Prologue)

My car came to a screeching halt outside the bright building, decorated in dozens of posters showing their burgers and milkshake specials. Through the clear glass windows, the people inside moved like flies, buzzing between the large box at the front and back to man the fryers and stovetops.

Slowly, someone with a short stubble approached, and I froze, my hands gripping the wheel of my bright red Honda Accord. "Order number five, is that right. Andrews?" He questioned, shooting me a smirk as if he was relishing that I was in the drive-through of his job. 

I heard shifting in the backseat, followed by a small groan from the person back there. I had brought my younger sister with me to get food since our mom was still at work, and she didn't feel like lying on the couch all day. 

His hazel eyes glared into mine as he waited for a reply, and I nodded, gripping the wheel tightly enough my knuckles turned a bright white. I couldn't image what look was on my face, considering the way he was looking smugly, I guessed he already knew I was pissed. 

"It'll be ready soon, pull ahead to spot four," He instructed, and I reluctantly drove up, causing a deep sigh of relief to come from behind me. 

Had I known this was where he worked, I would have chosen any other location; hell, I would have driven fifty miles just to avoid seeing his face. My sister shifted again in her seat, placing her small hand onto my shoulder. 

It was supposed to be her fifteenth birthday, although it was small considering we didn't have much to spend at all. What income we did have went to electricity and water costs. 

"Alan, are you okay?" She asked, her face furrowed in a sort of pained expression. I was mad, and that fact I could get over, but her being worried was another concern far out of my ballpark. 

"Yeah, don't worry. Are you feeling okay?" I shot back, causing her to nod slowly and sit back against my leather seats. I got the car for cheap, it was about to be scrapped when the operator gave me a discount. Maybe he saw my expression and guessed I was having a bad day. 

The same boy from earlier strolled up to my car window, swinging the bags of food like they had just insulted his grandparents. My sister scowled visibly, but I put up with it and rolled down my window. 

"Here's your order. Make sure you eat it fresh," He spoke, putting an extra emphasis on the word fresh. I grabbed the bags, almost ripping them from his grimy hands, and put my car in reverse. 

I could see him mouthing something as I drove off, but I couldn't make out the words from his ugly grin. At most, I could see the word 'enjoy'. 

"Mind checking to see if all our food is there?" I asked, handing the bags back for my sister to take a look inside. 

I could briefly see her nod before the crinkling and crunching of paper filled my otherwise silent car, minus the sounds of the engines on the road and blaring of the horn in the next lane as a driver stared at their phone and ignored the green light. 

The driver in the bright green Volkswagen Beetle drove up ahead of me, allowing me to shift into the right lane and make it back to our apartment. We didn't live very far from the fast food place, but it still felt nicer to drive there.

Plus, if I wasn't trapped inside the metal tin can I loved driving so much, I would have dragged the bastard out the window and smashed his face in with my fist. 

My sister raised her closed fist next to my ear before popping up her thumb to signal it was all there so we wouldn't have to turn around. Probably better for him; one trip seeing his face was enough. 

"Has he been bothering you lately?" I questioned as I pulled into the parking space just below the fourth apartment building; ours was on the fifth floor. Squeaky, sure. Loud, most definitely, but it was the place we called home. 

She answered shortly as we piled out, "Not today," slamming the doors harder than necessary. I could always pour some hot water and get a suction cup to fix it if it ever dented anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. 

"Good, maybe he'll learn to stay away," I replied, taking a step up the long staircase. I also knew better than anyone else that he wouldn't stay away from her; he would always keep pushing his luck. Nobody ever punished him when he crossed the line, The principal decided she hated her job of making sure kids were safe, so she'd ignore problems too. 

The only reason he had left her alone was because he enjoyed beating the snot out of me a lot more.

The bruises on my side flared up, sending a spiral of pain up through my shoulders and down my thighs, stabbing into my ankles. The last time he had me play punching bag so he'd stay away, he did a standard karate back kick on me. It still hurt like hell, even after two days. 

We managed to get to the apartment in one piece. It was still relatively empty and smelled more like Vaseline than anything else. Musky, sometimes with a hint of mint or orange from the pinesaw I used to mop the wooden floors in the kitchen. 

My phone sat alone on the counter, and I quickly scooped it up to set the bags down. Our mom wasn't home yet, seeing as the Vaseline smell wasn't any stronger, nor was the scent of burning leaves. 

I handed my sister her food, and she nodded before setting the table, placing napkins and the drinks down on top of the paper towels. 

I barely managed to place mine down and threw my mom's in the fridge before pausing. There was another scent, a new one. My head turned toward the food on the table, and the smell got stronger, the odd, misplaced taste of salt was hanging in the air.

My sister opened her burger as I stood above her, looking down toward the location of the smell. She shrugged and took a bite before promptly spitting it out and yelling so loud I had to cup my hands around my ears. 

"WHAT THE FUCK!" She yelled, throwing the burger across the table and immediately going to the sink and rinsing out her mouth. 

I was about to ask what was wrong before stopping, pieces were connecting, and not in good ways. The fact that our food took longer than normal, the words he mouthed as we drove off, the scent of salt in the air, and now she spat it out and was furiously scrubbing out her mouth. 

A sharp heat shot up my spine, clouding over my eyes as I stared down at the open burger. I could see a thick, murky white liquid sitting atop the pickles, similar to the look of mayo, yet more runny while simultaneously thicker. 

"Are you fucking serious?" I mumbled, clutching my fist as I realized what it was that she had taken a bite of.

I didn't wait for her to reply, although I could see tears streaming down her face and slapping into the sink. I had a sickening, stomach-churning feeling that this wasn't the first time they had pulled something like this, even after I had agreed to take the beatings instead of her. 

I lightly pulled her closer, clutching her shoulders as tears escaped onto my chest and tightening my linen shirt around me. "Let it all out, sis. It's going to be okay, don't worry. I'll make sure this never happens again, okay?" 

I wiped a tear from her cheek as the flame inside my chest got hotter, sending waves of intense red through my body, stunting my vision enough for me to barely see her face.

"Liz, rinse out your mouth with mouthwash. Go to your room and call the police. Tell them to send an ambulance to the fast food place."

Her mouth hung open as I slammed the door shut and stomped out, throwing myself down each flight of stairs and landing without a scratch. I couldn't see much; it was more of blind luck that I didn't trip, but I kept running, even ignoring my car. 

I saw the place come up not far into the distance, and he was sitting outside talking to his friends, the ones who often helped beat my ass. I could see his hair floating up and down in response to the wind, going in tune with the trees swaying. 

I rammed into him, sending him tumbling back with a satisfying crash. "You better call a fucking ambulance, because when I'm done, you'll be needing it!" I yelled, slamming my fist into his face as he tried to recollect himself as to what was going on.

His friends fell out of their stupor, finally charging at me while I banged my fist into their precious leader's face.

Thick droplets of blood flung out, spewing around the concrete and slapping against my face as I continued my beatdown, struggling to stay in place as his crew furiously tried to throw me off.

Finally, they succeeded in throwing me off, but not before I had dented his nose so out of shape it was purple in all the wrong places, fragments sticking out of the right side, most likely his bone. 

It wasn't that I wasn't strong enough to beat them up, I chose to take the beating so nothing would happen to my sister, but they crossed that line, in fact, they fucking destroyed it. 

I shrugged off the other two's hands, grabbing onto one of their arms and twisting until I heard a snap, but even then, I kept going. A loud crack, followed by another scream, shot through the space as his bone poked loosely out of his skin. 

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Andrews!" The boy I had already beaten to a pulp shouted in unison with the friend whose arm I just snapped in two. 

"Then hurry the fuck up, because I'm ready to do it to you!" I retorted, kneeing the other in the balls as he tried to rush me. 

He fell on impact, leaving only the leader and me standing. His nose was beyond broken, out of shape, and leaking so much blood it could fill a sink. But I didn't focus on that. He punched me in the face as my vision faded to pure red again, and I grabbed the brick he was sitting on when I had approached. 

"W-Wait, Alan! It was a joke, a joke, okay?!" He pleaded, but I brought down the brick into his skull without listening. A devastating crunch shot through the alley as he fell over, his eyes bloodshot and already fading. 

I wasn't done yet.

"Get the fuck up, now!" I shouted, lifting the friend whose arm I had already broken and slammed the brick into his jaw, shattering his teeth in one blow. 

Fragments of enamel flung through the air, landing and sticking to my already blood-drop-filled face. I slammed the brick into his neck, letting his body fall like a paper ball as I turned around and saw the boy whose balls I had just kicked in a few moments ago start to crawl away. 

"Get the fuck back here!" I commanded, grabbing his leg and dragging him to where I was standing. My shoes and the concrete were stained a deep shade of red, but that didn't stop me yet, even though the warm liquid was dripping through the mesh and spewing into my socks. 

"Did you enjoy it? Was it fucking fun to torment a young girl?" I questioned, lifting him by the collar of his shirt as tears fell down his face, and he trembled in my grip. "ANSWER ME!"

"L-Let me go, man! Please!" He begged, causing me to punch him in the jaw hard enough for a crack to echo through the alley. 

"I SAID ANSWER!" 

"W-We just wanted to have fun!" He cried out, liquid dripping from between his legs. I didn't need to hear any more from him. 

I picked the brick back up and slammed it into his stomach, causing him to spit up blood and saliva onto my newly red shirt. Kill them all. I didn't need my mind to echo what I was already doing. 

Nobody was going to fuck with my only sister and get away with it, especially not some fucking pedophile High-schoolers. 

The brick hung tightly in my white knuckled grip before it slammed into his nose and face. A series of bangs and cracks echoed from his skull, staining my face red, before I finally dropped him onto the concrete. 

Police sirens rang out across from me, pulling up next to where I was standing, and I could hear an officer shouting something into his radio as he approached me, his gun drawn.

"Stay where you are! If you move even an inch, I will shoot you! Drop the brick and get on your knees!" He ordered, pointing the handgun straight at my chest.

I followed his order, squishing my pant legs against the warm, blood-filled alley floor and placing my hands behind my back.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what would happen. I would be charged with three counts of first-degree murder, a trial would be held, I'd be thrown in the slammer and never see my family again. Simple enough to memorize. 

"You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law! If you do not have an attorney, one will be provided for you!" I already knew the rest, he didn't need to say them, although I doubt that would have shut him up.

He threw me into the backseat, his shop, as officers called it, and locked the doors. Leaving me alone, separated by a large plastic screen in front of me and uncomfortable plastic seats. Not exactly the best day. 

After a few moments, he had entered the cruiser and started driving toward the city jail as ambulances arrived for the three pieces of shit I had already smashed the shit out of. 

"You realize what they did, do you not?" I asked, the anger fading from me and allowing me to take a deep breath and focus on what was going on now.

"I don't care why you did it, you murdered three people!" He replied, obviously nobody had taught him that you don't talk to prisoners, especially ones who just killed three people in a matter of minutes with nothing but their fists and a brick.

"They ejaculated on my underaged sisters' food. Are you suggesting they should have been let be and go on to hurt someone else? God knows you people wouldn't do shit like always," I snorted, my facial expression going back to blank. 

"You should have left it to the adults!" He shot back, slamming his fist into the center console and staying quiet the rest of the drive. 

A heavy feeling took root in my chest as the car drove up to the Los Angeles police station. I could feel small tendrils wrapping around my heart and piercing my veins slowly. 

Sure, I was being snarky, definitely an asshole, but it was now dawning on me that I had just murdered three people, not one, not two, but three. Maybe a deal could have been made with one, but three? I was better off swimming with sharks. 

It wasn't long before he yanked me by the arms and tossed me into a dingy, gray cell with less life than a Scorched Earth rally. The man next to me turned to me, his mouth slightly open as uneven hair coated his cheeks. 

"What you in for?" He asked, but I turned away and glared toward the officer who had led me in and arrested me.

He didn't look happy; he looked more confused than anything. Hair hung down from what was originally gel-lined, sweat beaded his brow and ran down his nose, sliding off and hitting the ground. 

Way to make me feel bad, I thought, turning my attention to an officer walking out of a thick brick wall with two doors on opposite sides. Most likely the interrogation room. 

It wasn't long before my hypothesis was tested as the officer came in and pointed at me. "Come with me, now," He commanded, grabbing me by my shirt sleeve and dragging me over to the room, throwing me onto the desk and locking my handcuffs around a thick metal loop.

After a few minutes of silence, I was about to say something when the biggest woman I had ever seen in my entire eighteen years of life strutted in wearing a dense blue jacket with a trident pinned to the top overflap and sat down, clutching a brown folder.

"Do you know what this is, son?" She asked, plopping it down onto the desk as if it was a breakthrough in the biggest drug case to date. 

"Am I supposed to?" I replied, earning a harsh glare from her piercing green eyes. A small feeling built within me, amplifying the wooden tendrils wrapping around my heart. 

"Smart guy, huh? Okay, if that's how you want it to be," She mumbled before grabbing my head faster than I could blink and slamming it down onto the metal desk. 

I let out a small yelp of pain before she grabbed my hair and held my face in front of her. Not a smirk nor hint of emotion shined through, but she let go of my hair by throwing me back into the metal seat I had just been in. 

"This folder right here," She started, picking up the brown object as if it was a major piece of evidence against El Chapo, "It's your official pardon papers."

"Great, so you hand that to me, and I leave?" I questioned, getting a scowl in return as she sighed and slapped me hard across the cheek with the folder. A sharp stinging sensation flew through my face and went down my spine in a shiver before she continued. 

"If you agree to accept, you can have the papers," She added, placing the folder down gently to the side of the small saliva puddle. 

This time, I stayed quiet and waited for her to continue, wanting to clutch my cheeks, but I couldn't move my hands as they were pinned under the metal loop. 

"If you agree to join the Navy, we'll erase your criminal record. Just eight years of service, and we'll forget this whole incident ever happened. I mean, those kids were scum anyways, weren't they?" She questioned, staring at me almost quizzingly, as if she was testing the waters with her statement. 

"If by scum you mean piles of shit, then yeah. What makes you think I'll take you up on that?" I asked back, looking her up and down, mostly staring at the badge just above her left breast. Until my eyes rested on her nametag. 'Capt. Lucy Holt.'

"Because, Mr. Alan Andrews, why waste that great sense of justice you have? If you join, your family will even be given a better apartment to stay in near Coronado," Lucy refuted, staring into my eyes. 

"What branch am I joining?" I questioned, staring back at her, much to her obvious enjoyment as she cracked a smile.

"Well, what branches are you aware of?"

"I want that badge you have."

"Then the SEALS it is, Alan."

She released me to go home a few moments later after asking me a few more questions, and I quickly went, not wanting to look back at the station. I had left my sister all alone back at the house when I should have comforted her in the first place and dealt with the fuckers later. 

I walked into the house, my knees heavy as I slammed into the wooden floors, and a long, drawn-out creak echoed throughout the kitchen. 

My sister was sitting silently at the table, and she quickly rushed into her room as I stood back up. "Yeah, great talk," I muttered, walking toward the bathroom to change and wash the rest of the blood off me. 

Was it a bad idea to join? Fuck, I should have controlled my temper! Now she won't talk to me, Thoughts flooded my mind as water ran off my shoulders and hit the floor of my half bathtub, half-shower.

I whipped my black hair behind my ears, letting the water slide down my forehead and land on the purple bruises that coated my stomach and upper chest, most near my ribs. My outline of abs curled the water up, letting it fall in the middle and run down the other two sides, calming the pain that was filling my stomach after the meeting with the recruiter. 

Streams of pink fell from my collarbone, tracing my veiny muscles above my shoulders. The only way my body allowed me to keep up with the constant beatdowns was expending calories, so by getting beat, I was also getting the most intense workouts of my life. Of course, that didn't dictate stamina or speed at all.

I turned the dial to zero and stepped out, watching wisps of steam float around my shoulders and legs before I dried off. As I did, the muscles on my calves bulged slightly, forming a pattern as the towel tightened around them, and I wiped the hairs clean. 

The mirror had a small patch of unsteamed glass, allowing me to look into my yellowish irises. Most people compared me to a monster because of my unnatural eye color, but I'd always heard far worse.

My black hair fell to cover part of my eyes, causing a thin smile to form over my lips as I thought about my sister and mother having a better place to live. 

As I got dressed and my linen shirt tightened over my still slightly wet body, I left and stopped just outside my dad's old room. He left shortly after my sister was born, so she never really saw him, but I still remembered the way he smiled as he picked me up when I was three. 

Nobody had gone in since the day he left. My mother usually slept on the couch not long after getting home, while my sister had her room, and I used an air mattress and slept in the living room. 

Should I? I asked myself, grabbing the dust-covered handle. In a few days, I'd have to leave anyway, and there was no sense in not packing up the room at least. 

With a small groan, more of a sigh, I twisted the handle and stepped inside. Books lined the wall, while shelves filled with parts stayed untouched, left to time as dust caked atop dust and made the entire room smell like an abandoned church. 

Slowly, I crept through, looking out for spiders just in case, but nothing came out and bothered me. The room was quite literally lost to time, untouched for over fifteen years. 

I reached into the closet, which was left ajar, and felt around a bit, grabbing onto what felt like a large box. 

I pulled hard, dragging the enormous crate into the center of the room, and set it down. "What the hell is this?" I asked aloud, unable to stop the question from slipping out. In a few days, some of the military personnel would go through the apartment and help my mom and sister move, so there was no point in leaving the question unanswered. 

I lifted the cover of the crate, unleashing the most toxic fumes of dust I had ever had the displeasure of tasting, and peered inside. A long gun with a scope poked out inside the crate, wrapped in a layer of camo, and atop was a single, already loaded, magazine.