Trapped: Bloody Rose

7. Flora

Rose didn’t have the time to appreciate the room’s luxurious feel, or even the bathroom adjoined to it. She merely removed her shoes, had the quickest shower, and then hit the bed, in the same clothes she had been wearing earlier… not that she had much choice.

Or so she thought!

Feeling a little bit uncomfortable in her jeans, she fumbled with the top button so she could breathe a little.

“Much better,” she mumbled, content, drowsiness holding her captive.

As comfortable as the bed was, and as luxuriously smooth as the sheets were, Rose had difficulty falling asleep, no doubt because she was in an unfamiliar place. Nevertheless, by not having to focus on anything, and chasing all and any unpleasant thoughts from her mind, she finally managed to get some shut-eye after some time.

She came to, hours later, feeling refreshed, but also absolutely famished and positively thirsty.

She looked around, and realized she couldn’t even quench her thirst, seeing as she didn’t have a bottle of water next to her as usual. But then, she recalled the water bottle she took on her shift, and went to look inside her bag.

There was but one sip in there, and she tossed it aside with a humph.

“I will have to go to the kitchen,” she said in a slightly dejected tone.

If she could avoid it, she would prefer not having to mingle. But that wasn’t possible, and she knew it.

After washing her face, she felt like she was more coherent already. She took it upon herself to make her hair look tame before doing a simple updo – she was going to the kitchen after all.

She soon found herself wandering the empty hallways, purely on instinct.

She believed she had seen the door leading to the kitchen earlier, on her way to her room… Finding the kitchen was no easy feat, but she somehow smelled the delicious aroma of something cooking, which helped her.

Rose knocked on the door of the kitchen, but there was no answer for a moment, while she stood there awkwardly. She knocked again, and soon someone opened the door.

The woman’s eyes were narrowed on her – why wasn’t she even surprised? – as she took her in, and then tilting her head to the side, she said, with a thick Italian accent, “You must be the nurse.”

“I am,” Rose nodded at her, a soft smile stretching her lips. “My name’s Rose. I was told I could get food here,” she began hesitantly. And seeing as the woman had yet to smile at her, or even open the door further for her, she felt compelled to add, “I could also make my own food.” The woman’s eyes narrowed even further if possible. “I have already put my hair up.”

The woman’s expression finally softened up, and a small smile stretched her lips, “Respect the kitchen, and you’ll get the best food one can offer. No touching what you’re not given.”

“I absolutely won’t touch what you’re making,” Rose told her solemnly even as she mirrored her smile.

She knew already that this woman was passionate about her kitchen, and Rose could understand her all too well, and would absolutely respect her for it.

“I made lasagna today,” she then told her, as she opened the door further for her.

“I would love some,” Rose nodded at her without delay, the aroma wafting into her nostrils almost making her drool at the corner of her mouth.

“You can eat here or in the dining room,” she then added, her wrinkly eyes almost tender on her.

“I would love to eat here, if you don’t mind of course,” Rose let out in a humble tone of voice. “Before then, a glass of water would be great though.”

Rose understood that this was the cook’s territory, and she was in total awe of the woman’s no-nonsense nature.

“Come in,” the woman then told her.

Rose didn’t need to be told twice, and was soon enough entering the big kitchen where only this cook worked. Rose briefly wondered if she was the one doing the dishes too, but then caught sight of the dishwasher… Naturally, a place as luxurious as this wouldn’t go without the most basic utilities.

“Small portion or big?” The woman eyed her a little bit suspiciously even as she placed a glass of water in front of her.

Rose drank it greedily before anything else.

Truth be told, Rose was a little bit on the chubby side, because she would eat pasta or noodles whenever her finances wouldn’t allow her to go for anything better – and that was rather often.

“Regular portion,” she told her softly, even as she blushed to the roots of her hair.

The cook soon served before getting busy with something else, leaving Rose to eat the lasagna in peace. Rose honored the rules of the kitchen, and didn’t speak while she ate, and didn’t try to make small talk with the cook either – for she felt the woman wouldn’t like it.

“Thank you for the meal,” she said once she was done, rising to her feet with her plate in her hands, ready to wash it.

The woman’s smile seemed to broaden as she took it from her, and then gestured for her to sit again, “Liked it?”

“Loved it,” Rose assured as she sat back down, obeying the kitchen’s mistress. “Hands down the best lasagna I ever had. What’s the secret?”

“It’s a secret,” the cook was now openly making jokes, and that told Rose that they made progress. “Have some fruits?” She then offered as she pointed at the basket of oranges and apples.

Rose was about to object, and tell her that she had eaten enough, when the cook went on, “Dessert not ready yet.”

Rose could almost picture the woman as her late grandmother, who would always insist that she ate more than she probably needed to.

“Thank you,” she let out softly, averting her face as tears welled up in her eyes .

This woman was no doubt the nicest person she had to deal with today.

“What’s your name?” She asked, once she regained some composure, in between two bites.

She coughed a little as a piece of apple almost got sucked up by her airway. The woman only spared her a look and said, “Eat.”

That was a clear indication that she needed to avoid talking, which was sound advice after all. Rose had to fight another blush, for she felt like a kid getting reprimanded.

The cook soon sat on the chair across from hers, and said, “Take good care of the young master, and I will welcome you here everyday.”

“Thank you,” Rose nodded at her in a gratitude-filled manner. “I will do my best.”

“My name’s Flora,” the woman said after a moment, “but everybody calls me Fi.”

“Nice to meet you, madam Flora,” Rose let out sweetly, a bright smile stretching her lips.

“Flora is fine,” she said before rising to her feet.

Rose was almost amazed by how endearing the elderly woman was. She also wondered why she was working at this age, and in the mafia’s lair no less. But then again, to each their own reasons, and she didn’t know the woman’s story.