Devils Roses 01 - Cursed

it, I would never again find it. It was the last place my mom had touched me and I needed it.
    I shivered at the memories and looked down at my mushy cereal.
    I didn’t like to think of such depressing thoughts before breakfast, but that morning seemed to feel worse than most days. I had been certain that I had started to come around, but the bad dreams hadn’t helped.
    “ Earth to Aimee! How does this look?”
    I looked up from my lost gaze to see my identical twin, except for hair and eyes, frowning at me. She posed as she modeled a pair of black leggings with huge grey boots and a silver sweater that hung off her left shoulder.
    I rolled my eyes, at yet another piece, of silver clothing. I wondered where she got them all. I had a terrible feeling she was stealing them.
    Alise, not Alice, has always been stunning. She had been beautiful at birth. Which sucked, because we were complete opposites. Where she had dark, black hair and silver eyes like our mom, I had blonde and blue. My eyes weren’t even an attractive blue, more like grey. It was as if they tried to become silver like my sister's, but quit part way.
    We shared every other feature, which seemed to work on her. On me, it looked uneven and plain. We were both five feet seven inches, one hundred and thirty-three pounds.
    “ You look fine. Why do you even care?” I asked with a hint of disapproval, well, maybe not a hint.
    Alise rolled her eyes and grabbed a banana. “Oh my God, Aimee. Mom isn’t going to judge you for having some fashion sense."
    I flinched at her saying the 'Mom' word, as if she was giving me motherly advice. Seeing the suffering on my face, she relented.
    She tilted her head and continued in a less-harsh tone. It was more like patronizing, unless you were three-years old. “She’s watching us from Heaven, and she’s going to worry about you, if you don’t snap out of it. You’re going to disappoint her by not living, not the opposite.”
    I gave her my best blank stare, which made her storm out the door to her car.
    Alise's words stung. Not only did the double negative bother me, but I hated that she was right. Even though I knew it, I couldn’t make myself move past what had occurred eight months prior. I felt the walls starting to close in around me, as the air got heavy.
    I ran up the stairs to my room and dove onto the carpet beside my bed. The carpet rubbed against my elbows.
    In a panic, I fished the secret envelope out from under the bed.
    Once the treasure was in my hands, I opened it slow and methodically.
    I didn’t want to tear the plastic bag within the manila envelope. As always, I was careful when I opened it. I paused, letting it release its contents into the air. I held the plastic bag under my nose and let the fragrance fill my nostrils. The sweet smell that filled the air around me, became my oxygen.
    The walls started to come down a little, as if I was somewhere else. I was somewhere safe, where the smell of my mom made all the bad feelings small again.
    “ You existed, you loved me, you existed, you loved me,” I chanted.
    I was grateful the perfume had maintained its strength—thanks to the protective plastic bag. My heart beat out of my chest, but I closed my eyes and let the world stop. I needed to feel her. Even if it was for a moment, she was there. I opened my eyes relieved and closed the bag, as always, being gentle with it. I put it back in the manila envelope and tucked it under my bed again.
    I decided on the way back downstairs, I would visit my mom after school and see if I could just get a small feel of her again. Sometimes, being at the side of the road where I had been when my mom died, made me feel her in the air. It was like a hug sent in a letter, where even though it wasn’t real, the intent made you feel warm just the same.
    Inpatient as always, Alise honked the horn on the car at me. My heart warmed to see my sister's glare through the windshield. She shouted at me but I ignored her. Instead, I took an extra-long unnecessary second, to lock the house. It was small victories like that, that got me through the day.
    I never spoke to my sister about our mom. I wanted to. I wanted to tell her that being a little sad wouldn’t kill her. Or tell her that acting like it, had in fact impacted her life, wouldn’t make her look weak. If anything, it would make her seem more human.
    I hated that she had seemed to cruise past our mom’s death like nothing had happened. She cried a modest