Rose didn’t get off of the plane coming back from Orlando.

Robby waited for her for hours. He watched the other passengers filing past, the baggy-eyed Southwest employees behind the counter yawning. children whined, their complaints carrying throughout the mostly empty airport. The AC whirled above, whistling through the grates like a wind through a lost forest. Robby fretted. Where is she? Where could she be? They didn’t have enough money for them to sit together on the plane, and he had lost sight of her once they got on. He shifted on his feet. A man like him shouldn’t have to wait like this.

“Come on, Robby. It’s late. We can deal with this tomorrow. Please, let’s just go home.” His mother sighed in exasperation. Robby knew that she never liked Rose. The corners of her mouth always turned down when she was around. “We still have an hour and a half drive to home from here,” she noted.

Robby’s voice was crisp. “I can’t leave without her, Mother. I can’t believe you’d even suggest that,” he said with a scoff. Who did she think she was?

“Fine,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “Ask the workers one more time. Then we’re getting in the car and going home. This is fucking ridiculous.”

Robby didn’t like talking to people who weren’t Rose. Or Mother. His mind was far too vast for the average normie to understand; what he knew of this world was severely beyond most people’s comprehension. He wouldn’t be surprised if the employees’ lives didn’t exist beyond the walls of this building - and what a pitiful life that would be! All airplanes and exhaust fumes and luggage… Robby shuddered. If anyone could understand him, it was Rose, and only rose. Her mind was a forest, her charms the trees. It gave him a semi just thinking about it. He _must_ have her back.

The single employee loomed behind her counter, clacking on the keyboard. What could she possibly be working on at this hour? Robby realized he was staring.

“Robert!” Mother yelped. “Go! Or let’s get to the fucking car!”

Robby scowled at her, but she was right. He had to _do_ something. He had to become the hero in this story, Rose’s knight in shining armor. _“One with an exceptionally large codpiece,”_ he thought to himself. He almost giggled. But no - this was serious. He had to take action. The airline employee’s eyes peeked over her monitor as he approached.

“Can I help you?” The employee smacked her gum. She was _nowhere_ near as gorgeous as his Rose was; Robby found himself disgusted by her patchy concealer barely covering the bags under her eyes. Her shirt wasn’t even tucked into her skirt. This female wouldn’t be able to help him, he was sure of it. But she was his only option.

“I sure hope so, woman. My betrothed did not exit the plane this evening, and I have been waiting for her for” - he looked at his watch - “two hours and twenty-three minutes. I am getting very worried, as you can guess, so I require your help to locate her. Do not disappoint me.” He tried to stare the woman down, but he hated eye contact, and his eyes slipped from her face. No matter: he knew she should be intimidated by him regardless - she surely didn’t come across many real men like him.

She stopped chewing her gum and tilted her head. Her eyes narrowed. “Sir, if you're missing someone, I can call security -“

“That won’t be necessary,” he interrupted. “I was forced to separate from her when your colleagues _forced_ me to abandon her at the gate back in Orlando.” Unbelievably, the brutes on the ramp had kidnapped her and banished her to the cargo hold. Robby knew she could take it, though - she was a meek, quiet creature, but strong and resilient. It’s why he loved her.

The clock on the wall ticked. Emotions flashed across the woman’s face: confusion, bafflement, but then realization. “She rode in the cargo hold?” She seemed to be holding back a laugh.

Robby felt himself getting angrier. “Yes, she was forced to ride their by _your_ employer. Didn’t you hear me?” He founds his hands shaking, from frustration or exhaustion, he couldn’t tell. God, he hated most women. Most real women, anyway.

“Can you describe her for me then? We won’t be able to do anything for you now, not at this hour. But we’ll contact you if we find it - her.” She corrected herself.

Robby’s voice swelled with emotion as he described his Rose. The woman’s fingernails clacked on the keyboard as she took notes, her gum popping as she wrote down Robby’s description. She assured him they would contact him as soon as she was found.

Rose was never found. No one seemed to care. Robby spent his days calling the airline, spent his evenings posting on Reddit and 4chan message boards. Desperation drove him. He _knew_ that someone must have seen something, must have some information on where his love could be. The police, of course, didn’t care - they refused to file a missing persons report, despite Robby’s threats and fits of sobbing on the precinct floor. He heard their stifled chuckles, he knew how they saw him. Giving up was not an option.

He was combing through lost and found boards one night when Mother knocked on his door. He sighed in annoyance. She wasn’t supposed to come in here, and she knew that. “I’m busy, Mother,” he called out.

She opened the door anyway. “We need to talk, Robby.” Angrily, he turned to look at her. Something like fear flashed across her eyes. She wrung her hands, and red crept into her cheeks. “I have information about Rose.”

Robby’s heart leapt. Could it be true? Was she found? The possibilities blazed through his mind. He imagined all that could have happened - he saw her dead on the tarmac, abandoned in the forest. Nightmares of her with another man, of her touching someone else. Had the man at the gate taken her? Raped her? Left her for dead? He couldn’t catch his breath. “What is it?”

Mother spoke carefully. “Robby, I…” she gulped. Fiddled with her necklace. “It’s not healthy. You need help. I’m trying to help you.”

His heart dropped. “What the fuck did you do?” His voice shook.

His mother hesitated, but breathed deeply and steeled herself. The words suddenly poured out. “Robert, I got rid of her. I took the gate tag off of her when you weren’t looking. It’s not healthy for a 28 year old to act that way around an _object,_ it’s unnatural and -“

Red, hot anger flared in Robby’s chest. Blood pounded in his ears. He didn’t hear her. He couldn’t hear her, could barely even see her through the white haze overtaking his vision. He never even really felt his hands around her neck, and certainly didn’t feel her fall to the floor. He didn’t remember gouging her eyes out, or shoving them down her throat. When it was over, he found himself weeping on the floor. Blood crept everywhere, soaking his shirt, warm and metallic. The taste of it lingered in his mouth as big, heaving breaths pushed themselves through his lips. Tears mixed with blood, dripping to the floor as he stood. Stumbling, he slammed open the front door and crashed down the front porch steps. Doves sang in the trees and rain fell to the earth as he toppled into the garden. There, he collapsed into a bed of thorns, screaming in anguish.

He stayed there, wailing, among the roses, until the sirens came.