❀ 𝓁𝒐𝒓𝒊 𝓰𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔

**possible triggers - abuse / death / suicidal implications change pronouns as needed for things you’d WANT to hear, click here!!

❝ i don’t want you in my life anymore. ❞

❝ i don’t want to have a relationship with you. ❞

❝ she’s not coming home. ❞

❝ that wasn’t meant for you. ❞

❝ i don’t love you, okay? i never did. i never will. ❞

❝ you’re wasting my time. ❞

❝ you’re wasting your time. ❞

❝ you’re not listening to me! ❞

❝ i feel like i can’t tell you anything. ❞

❝ you’re too late. ❞

❝ you don’t give yourself enough credit. ❞

❝ you don’t give me enough credit. ❞

❝ it’s time for things to change. ❞

❝ you failed me. ❞

❝ fuck you. ❞

❝ i can see right through you. ❞

❝ things are getting bad again. ❞

❝ are things getting bad again? ❞

❝ move on. ❞

❝ that’s on you. that’s your fault. ❞

❝ you’re holding on to things that are holding you back. ❞

❝ you haven’t changed. ❞

❝ i’m not changing my mind. ❞

❝ i’m dying. ❞

❝ you’re good – but you’re not as good as you could be. ❞

❝ it’s always about you. ❞

❝ nobody cares about your problems. ❞

❝ i don’t trust you. ❞

❝ you’re being taken advantage of! ❞

❝ i feel like you’re taking advantage of me. ❞

❝ did you hear what she said about you? ❞

❝ life isn’t fair. suck it up. ❞

❝ i didn’t mean i liked you that way– ❞

❝ maybe it’s better this way. ❞

❝ i wish i’d never met you. ❞

❝ you ruin my happiness. ❞

❝ i think we should see other people. ❞

❝ i’m not ready to settle down. ❞

❝ i want to love someone like you love me. ❞

❝ you can do anything you set your mind to, but you won’t. ❞

❝ stop crying. ❞

❝ don’t come back. ❞

❝ i’m not coming back. ❞

❝ i don’t care enough about you to hate you. ❞

❝ i feel like you’re dragging me down with you. ❞

❝ why don’t you smile anymore? ❞

❝ something happened today. ❞

❝ i don’t want to do this anymore. ❞

❝ stop letting it get to you. ❞

❝ i’m sorry. ❞

❝ i’m not sorry. ❞

It was a cool evening, the type of evening where change decided to drift its way through the city; a change that people usually dreaded or welcomed. Lori wasn’t one of those people that would be willing to accept change so easily, but she’d always try and make the best of it if there were no other choice at hand. And her life was constantly changing, given with the fact with whose daughter she was. Change took hold of her rather pristine life the moment she fell in love with that little French café, the quaint one, on the corner of Main and Fifth. She found herself there every morning since it had its grand opening, sitting in the window with a cup of French coffee and a gardening magazine beside her. Every once in a while she stopped at the flower shop just up the road from her place where she’d pick up the recent issue of the magazine, and maybe linger there for a few extra minutes as she swooned over the shop’s owner. She’d get lost in his eyes for the rest of her life if she could – that was the first thing that popped into her head when she first laid eyes on him.

The third to last page of one of the gardening magazine was where she got the idea – where she knew she needed to do something different. And what better place to create a masterpiece than in the basement of the little café she so dearly adored. As it turned out, the owners were close relatives of her father’s brother; which made them practically like family. Once twice removed or something of the sort, either way, they were close. That afternoon, Lori brought up the idea to her father. By the end of the month, she was ( running *) her own little business.

La Rose de Nuit, a place which was starting to feel like her home away from home as of lately. Lori didn’t mind though, she enjoyed being here, she enjoyed taking charge of something that was hers, for once in her life, something with her own name on it – or at least that was what she was led to believe.

This isn’t just an ordinary club to have some drinks and whisk the night away, you needed to be someone important; you needed a formal invitation. Everyone got checked at the door before even walking down those steps; but Lori, Lori didn’t dare tell her father or her father’s goons that she’d given the flower shop owner an invite, left it right near the cash register for him.

It was probably the most spontaneous thing Lori’s done in a while, even now, months later, she still wouldn’t have changed her mind.

She is busy wiping down the countertop when she feels the familiar skip of her heart, knowing those oceanic hues are watching her. Lori swallows, even still, she can’t help but swoon over the fact that he’s here, that he’s near. Her eyes roll just slightly as he steps down the stairs even though last call has been announced almost half an hour ago. “I got nothin’ to say t’you,” her accent slips as she gently bites her lip, moving further away down the counter even as the beautiful rose sits in an empty alcohol bottle.

Slipping out from behind the bar with an empty tray in hand, she walks past him in her navy backless cocktail dress all too swiftly, the sound of her high heels muffle against the red-carpeted floor. She can be the queen of the silent treatment if provoked. And then she hears him say her name, looking up for the first time in those two weeks he hadn’t been around, or hell, even reached out to her. “Rick, I’m not doin’ this now.” Whatever this was. Lori’s placing empty glasses and beer bottles on the tray, anything to keep busy and not look at him; even though it tugged achingly at her heartstrings.

Leaning an elbow on the edge of the bar, he rubs absently at his jaw while his gaze follows Lori. The gears are turning, albeit sluggishly in his state and whatever coherent thoughts he manages to piece together are quickly erased as he’s blessed with the sight of her perfectly slender shoulders and the expanse of milky skin. He just manages to keep himself from going any lower than the enticing cut of her dress that sits low enough to tease anyone’s imagination.

“Not doin’ this,” He echos, lifting his gaze to her face. In a way, he’s enjoying the way she tries to remain cool and stand offish. It’s not a part of her he’s seen much, at least directed at him, “Well, if that were true, I wouldn’t still be standin’ here, would I?”

Rick pushes away from the bar in her direction, approaching without caution. As he passes by a couple tables, he cleans up the scattered glasses and once he’s near, he gently places them on the tray she carries before attempting to take it off her hands. Like him, she tends to keep her hands busy and he hopes that by the end of the night, he’ll be keeping her busy in a whole other way.

“Y'got lazy employees,” he comments with a slight smile, gently pulling the tray from her, “Leavin’ you to do all the dirty work.”

As interesting as it may be to see this side of her, Rick would like to allay her sour feelings. He’s missed her, and he knows she’s missed him, too. Like he had pointed out, he wouldn’t still be here if she didn’t want him to be. She could of given him the boot like the rest of her patrons at closing time. Even now, if she looked him in the eyes and told him to leave, he would but he’s holding out hope that it won’t come to that.

Because now they stand closer than they have in weeks, even all of tonight. With hardly a foot of distance between their bodies, and only a couple inches between their hands, Rick finds it difficult not to cross the distance to touch her. He’s never been an asshole of that sort, though. His respect for her will always trump his desire. Until she gives him some kind of clear sign that his touch is welcome and wanted, he’ll keep his hands at the distance.

You know he’s right. She hears a voice echo in the back of her mind. If she really didn’t want to speak to him, she’d tell him to get out – but she missed him, every part of who she was missed him, like an ache in her chest she couldn’t get rid of. That is why she hadn’t kicked him out yet.

For a second, she stops, watching him as he starts to clean off a table just as she had done seconds ago, her eyes never leaving his own as he comments about her employees. “Yeah, well, they show up. Everyday. They don’t just disappear for two weeks and then waltz back in like nothin’s changed,” Lori grumbles under her breath even if she is a little grateful he’s helping her. But, her grip doesn’t seem to lighten up on the tray as she feels him pull on it.

A shiver slides down her spine as she stares at him still, hearing him, her long auburn hair hanging neatly over one of her shoulders; wishing then that she had on more clothes while her heart starts to race. He always did this to her. Earthly hues glance down to his hands opposite her own, so close to touch, as they both are still holding onto the tray filled with bottles and glasses before she catches a glimpse of her hands. Her nails painted a deep red, fingers slipping away, taking note that she needs to put her engagement ring back on before she leaves for the evening (she always took it off to clean up). Finally, she gives in, letting him have the tray, her hands gently resting against her hips now, eyes still watching him.

Stretching from Second Street to Seventh, there is a charming neighborhood that has old roots, with some parts dating back to the early 1900s. History seems to bleed out of every crack and crevice of the rowhomes, apartments and the shop fronts of its own little market place. There’s bit and pieces scattered about; plaques built into brickwork that mark the erection of significant buildings and statues in the small park to honor important local figures from the past. By just scratching the surface, all anyone might see is the charm of age, a place captured in time. But dig a little deeper and one can easily find that the true past of these streets are much darker than the residency lets on.

Rick is intimately familiar with the history of this place, all the intricate little secrets that are well kept and private to the families that have lived here for decades upon decades. When dealing with the criminal world, one learns quickly that it’s best to have some knowledge of who you’re dealing with and in Rick’s case, knowing exactly whose blood might end up on his hands is sometimes crucial to his own survival.

He didn’t used to be a regular visitor to the main row, as it’s mostly a quiet place now and has been for some time. The families with their criminal ties, at least those who are still relevant here, are not the sort to make a lot of commotion that might draw the public eye. It’s bad for business, Rick can respect that. But as of a few months ago, during a low risk intel job, he scored himself an invitation to a little up and coming establishment.

On the corner of Main and Fifth is a quaint French cafe that’s been in business for nearly thirty years under the same family name. The coffee there is expensive, imported blends and the pastries are fancy, always fresh. This is not the place of which one might need an invitation, but it happens to house the place that does. The family who owns the cafe rented out the basement level, which had only ever been used for storage of old kitchen equipment, tables and chairs after their big renovation a few year ago.

In a short span of time and right under Rick’s own nose, a modernly designed speakeasy popped up in that basement,. Rick wasn’t quite aware of it’s existence until his official invitation, but again he never used to frequent this neighborhood in the past.

Now, it seemed impossible for him to stay away.

The owner of the establishment, La Rose de Nuit, is a woman who he knows far too much about, but not nearly enough. Lori is just younger than himself, with the body and touch of an angel. He’s been out of country for the past two weeks and not a night has gone by that her bright forest eyes and sweet, elegant lips weren’t haunting him his dreams, teasing him to come home, begging him to finish the job so he could return to her warm embrace. He knows enough about her so far to know when he’s in trouble and though she hasn’t kicked him out of the bar, he can read her frustration in the way she handles the money from the till and how she disguises her feelings with a look of concentration while she completes the night’s deposit.

“Did y'miss me?” he asks her with a lopsided and teasing smile, blue eyes dazzling beneath the bar lights. It’s clear he’s a bit buzzed. Last call doesn’t apply to him, neither does the fact that the doors are locked and half the lights are off. The music is turned so low he can hardly hear it and her staff have finally scurried into the night after pocketing their tips and weekly wages. It’s just them now, “Or y'still mad at me?”

Rick knows it’s not the duration of his recent disappearance that bothers her as much as the fact that he had given her no notice of it. He had just up and left. In his defense, he’s not used to owing anyone an explanation for his business travels and he still believes he doesn’t, in fact, owe anyone anything, unless there’s exchange of payment. But he’s not stupid. She’s miffed and it’s his own fault.

“C'mon, Lori,” he shuffles down the bar a few steps to the left, where on the bar is a whiskey bottle of his favorite brand. Sitting pretty in the neck of the bottle is a beautiful, recently bloomed french rose. The petals of a soft pink hue look gorgeous under the dim lights, it was the prize bloom of their kind in his own shop. He guides the bottle across the bar top, eyes flickering between the peachy petals and the woman behind the bar. There’s some small hope that if his gift, and a little sweet talking, might pacify her just enough. 

“Ain’t nearly as gorgeous as you are, but…” he trails, his smile softened as he delicately thumbs one of the petals, “It bloomed just for you as soon as I got back into town.”

The third to last page of one of the gardening magazine was where she got the idea – where she knew she needed to do something different. And what better place to create a masterpiece than in the basement of the little café she so dearly adored. As it turned out, the owners were close relatives of her father’s brother; which made them practically like family. Once twice removed or something of the sort, either way, they were close. That afternoon, Lori brought up the idea to her father. By the end of the month, she was ( running *) her own little business.

La Rose de Nuit, a place which was starting to feel like her home away from home as of lately. Lori didn’t mind though, she enjoyed being here, she enjoyed taking charge of something that was hers, for once in her life, something with her own name on it – or at least that was what she was led to believe.

This isn’t just an ordinary club to have some drinks and whisk the night away, you needed to be someone important; you needed a formal invitation. Everyone got checked at the door before even walking down those steps; but Lori, Lori didn’t dare tell her father or her father’s goons that she’d given the flower shop owner an invite, left it right near the cash register for him.

It was probably the most spontaneous thing Lori’s done in a while, even now, months later, she still wouldn’t have changed her mind.

She is busy wiping down the countertop when she feels the familiar skip of her heart, knowing those oceanic hues are watching her. Lori swallows, even still, she can’t help but swoon over the fact that he’s here, that he’s near. Her eyes roll just slightly as he steps down the stairs even though last call has been announced almost half an hour ago. “I got nothin’ to say t’you,” her accent slips as she gently bites her lip, moving further away down the counter even as the beautiful rose sits in an empty alcohol bottle.