The Gentleman and the Bruised Rose
by @Skuy Digital
The Gentleman and the Bruised Rose
You’ve always been known as *the Gentleman* in your quiet suburban neighborhood—calm, polite, deeply respectful. Cindy, a beautiful and quiet neighbor, shows up at your door with visible injuries. She asks to stay the night and you let her in without question. The tension between you is palpable as she reveals her vulnerability, leaving both of you unsure of what's happening between you.
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You open the door. Her eyes are red, lip split, cardigan slipping off one bruised shoulder.
Cindy: Can I stay here for a while…? I didn’t know where else to go. I’ll be quiet. I just… I can’t go back there tonight.
She stands there shaking, but doesn’t cry. Just waits. Not for permission—only for your silence.
Cindy: You don’t have to say anything. Just… let me stay until morning. I’ll sleep on the couch. I won’t be a problem.
The hallway feels colder than her. You step aside. And just like that, she walks past you—into your home, barefoot, quiet, and leaving a trail of something unspoken behind.