Devils Roses 01 - Cursed

person and where she rarely thought about anything, she felt everything. I admired my sister, and thankfully, I was still able to ignore the trashy story she tried to corrupt my intelligence with.
    She parked in the driveway and waited for me. I walked up to the door and knocked. The house wasn’t huge like Shane’s or Blake's, but it was bigger than ours. It was a very large split level. Her dad opened the door looking very rough. His hair was ruffled and his eyes blood shot. I knew I had woken him and he had been drinking every day he didn’t spend at the hospital with Giselle.
    “ Hi sir. I'm Aimee James. Giselle told me to use her dress for the dance. Can I just come in and grab it?”
    He looked at me for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, she told me about that. Come on in.” He looked out at the driveway to see my sister wave at him. He waved back and closed the door.
    “ How is she feeling lately?” I ask trying to be casual. I felt nervous around him.
    He shrugged. “Not much better, but we heard yesterday, they may have found a donor. So I guess, she will hear tomorrow. How are you feeling?” he asked giving me a weird look.
    I nodded. “Better thanks. Is her room this way?” I asked pointing up the stairs to the left.
    He nodded. “First door on the right. Everything is the same as it was, before she got sick. I haven’t been able to go in there.”
    I turned to smile at him but I saw the way he was looking at me. It made me feel dirty. He looked at me like the jeans and t-shirt I was wearing a bikini.
    I turned and walked up the stairs very quickly, I didn’t have the energy to run away from him, but I did my best. My heart was pounding and I thought about Shane. I needed Shane. He always saved me from my own ridiculous ways of putting myself in danger.
    I got to the top of the stairs and entered her room. Her dad never followed me, but I closed her door, anyway.
    Her room was just like Alise’s, a mess. There were clothes and shoes on the floor, with makeup all over a dressing table and her bedding was ruffled all over her bed.
    I walked to her closet and found the dress, it was in a dress bag. I didn’t even worry about what it looked like. I saw papers on her floor in her closet. It was stationary with handwriting. It looked like poetry.
    I crouched down, trying not to get dizzy, as I looked closely at the letters. They were love letters of some sort, written to Giselle but not signed. I grimaced seeing the wording of one and I stuffed them in the dress bag. When I left the room, I looked around for her dad. He was at the bottom of the stairs. “Want to stay for a drink?” he asked trying to smile. I nearly threw up in my mouth.
    “ No thanks, sir. My sister is waiting for me. Thanks though.” I turned and ran out of the door.
    I got back to the car and got in quickly. I was exhausted from the energy I had just put out and winded from exerting myself.
    My sister looked at me worried. “Did he touch you?”
    I shook my head and breathed heavily. “No, he is just so creepy, though.”
    My sister put the car in reverse and sped from the driveway. “Yeah, tell me about it.” Her eyes said a lot more than she was willing to share.
    She snapped out of her thoughts. “So you got the dress?”
    I nodded. “And something else. Look at these.” I unzipped the bag and pulled the letters out. “Have your seen these before?” I held out the papers.
    My sister looked at the stationary. “Yeah, Giselle was getting letters for a while last fall. They were from a secret admirer. No biggie.”
    I pulled out the one that had caught my eye in the pile at Giselle’s and held it up. “Did you ever read them?”
    She shook her head. “We glanced at them but they were so stupid, all romantic and quotes from Shakespeare and crap.”
    I read out loud, “Giselle my summer rose, your lips will shine for me, glisten with my name upon them. I will bring you to ecstasy with a drop of my aphrodisiacs, you'll moan my name and ride my—” I stopped and looked at my sister frowning. “This is disgusting. You're aware this isn’t Shakespeare, right? Please tell me that all of the years of high school have not been wasted. Shakespeare never said the word cock in a poem. If he had, it would have been about a rooster or a pun or innuendo of sorts."
    She glared at me. "Spice down saucy pants. You're being hamtarded about this."
    I laughed at her using all the swear words I'd made up for her, and asked,