Trophies

It was 3 AM when Rosie finally turned off her phone and put it on the nightstand. What was it about him that kept her up like this anyway? Almost every night she’d stay awake just to chat with him, even though she was clearly tired and needed to rest.
She simply couldn’t resist opening those messages whenever they beeped. Her finger would trail on top of the notification for a few seconds and then finally she’d give in, pressing and opening up the conversation. They would talk about random things, like what she was planning to cook for dinner the next day, what colour her blanket was, how many books she had on her shelf waiting for her to stop buying new ones and read what was already collecting dust. He would ask her about her day, about her interests, about her desires. She would giggle by herself while reading his jokes or opening up the reels he’d send.
It was fun and addictive.
And then there was that one voice message where he had simply said her name: ‘Rosie.’ The way those five letters came out of his mouth made her skin shiver. She didn’t even like her name. She hated roses, those fuckers kept growing like weeds in her front garden even though she made of habit of cutting them off completely from time to time. She had no desire to hire a gardener just for that one job and she had no strength to pull out the roots. So she kept coming at them with her gardening scissors, cutting those mother fuckers all the time, knowing that they would come back like past lovers to haunt her. Her full name was Rosalind and she hated that one too. It sounded like an old lady name. She could just picture herself with a flower apron, her hair in a low bun, baking pies and cookies all the time. Ugh. Horrible name. If she could, Rosie would go and change it. But she didn’t want to spend money on that particular thing. She had other more important stuff to take care of.
Like her collection. The jars of her prized possessions lining the shelves of the other room, stacked neatly one on top of each other, their glass clear like crystal because Rosie was spending hours everyday cleaning them and rearranging. Sometimes she would go into the room, sit on her corner chair and look at them for a few minutes, proud of her work. Other days she’d pick one of the jars and take it with her while she went about her day, the liquid moving around like a beautiful river in spring. Sometimes, when she was particularly sad, Rosie would take one of them with her outside. She’d gently put it in her bag, careful to screw the lid shut as hard as she could so the contents don’t spill around. She’d pick her bread, milk and eggs and smile at the cashier, paying while the jar would wobble gently with every one of her steps.
She closed her eyes and fell asleep immediately thinking about him. Michael. Now his name was a good one. If he would have been a prince with a crown on his head, the name would have rolled on every one of his subject’s tongues with ease. If he would have been a firefighter, girls would let themselves be carried in his strong arms while whispering his name in awe. Michael was just a banker. Boring occupation, Rosie had to admit, but with a name like that she had no doubts he soon would get to be the Bank Manager.
The next day the sun was shining through her window and Rosie barely opened her eyes when she heard the unmistakable beep of her phone announcing a new message. She smiled. He knew her schedule. Her awake times and her routine. She grabbed her phone and opened the notification.
Good morning, beautiful.
Morning, Michael. Hope you slept well.
She waited for a reply and when none came she reluctantly went into the bathroom to wash. When she was finished, Rosie arranged her bed, the sheets pulled to perfection to the sides. She liked to be clean and organized. Her bed looked like one of those featured in furniture brochures. Her whole house looked like a real estate ad. Everything had to be lined to perfection. There were no pictures or paintings hung on the walls because she thought they only cluttered and made the walls looked like they were stained with random images. She also had no decorations on her shelves. Who needs those anyway? Useless waste of space. Rosie had never watched Marie Kondo’s shows but she would have loved them. Less was always better with her. Except, of course, when it came to her collection. Those you simply could never have enough!
When she was happy with the bed, she picked up her phone and noticed she had two new messages, probably received when while she had been in the bathroom.
Slept like a log (No jokes about my log!) I was wrecked. Hope you rested well too.
The second message was something unexpected.
Hey, was wondering… if you’d like to go for a coffee sometimes?
Rosie stared at the screen. Meet Michael face to face? Already? They’ve been chatting for only three weeks. Sure, he seemed like the nicest guy alive, but what if in reality he was just a weirdo? What if his only plan was to abduct, rape and kill her? What if his intentions were nefarious and all of this really nice thing they had going would finish?
She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. That was nonsense. Michael was a good one. He hadn’t once been inappropriate or creepy in any of the conversations they had. He liked to flirt with her, but all of it was innocent. He had a way with words that made her knees buckle and nice sensations gather for a party between her legs. And he was funny!
She typed back: Sure, why not?
She wanted to add more, ask about the day and the place, but she figured he would say all of that eventually. No need to pressure him in any way.
The phone beeped.
Awesome. Let me know when you’re free.
She typed fast back: Day after tomorrow? Is that OK for you too?
It’s perfect! Coffee shop at the mall? Figured it’s convenient for both of us. What do u think?
Rosie hugged the phone to her chest, a big smile plastered all over her face. She needed a minute to digest this new surge of happiness. She was going to meet up with Michael! Actually see and talk to him! Now that was truly exciting. She replied: Yes, sounds good. 1 PM?
The answer came back instantly. See you there.
She threw the phone on the bed and started jumping up and down. Then she turned towards her Alexa and asked for some music. With her favourite bands blasting, Rosie danced and moved until she felt herself getting tired, sweat dripping down her forehead. Only then she stopped, but she was still smiling, her lip corners not bothered by gravity.
After that she took a shower and changed her clothes making sure to carefully separate the colours in the baskets. Then Rosie went into the other room.
She looked around, sighing. I’ll have to buy more shelves soon. There is not enough space left.
She grabbed one of the jars and shook it a little bit, admiring its contents. Then she put it back and went to the right far corner, where on the top shelf there were only three jars, one next to another. Rosie picked them all up and moved them two rows down, struggling to make them fit. Damn it, have to puzzle this through, she thought in amusement. When that was done she admired the space that she had managed to clear. Grabbing a cloth from one of the drawers, she wiped the non existent dust over there. You need to be ready, she mumbled while working.
She put the cloth back in its place and turned her attention to her collection. Such an extensive one! Rosie was very proud of it.
Some women collected shoes. Other bags. Some liked make-up or jewellery. Rosie wasn’t one of these. She had complicated tastes and hobbies. She liked to think it was a result of her high intelligence.
Her fingers curled up around one of the jars. So beautiful! Its contents swirling in the liquid like gemstones. She shook it gently watching the eyes inside bump into one another, their blue irises looking back at her.
‘So beautiful’, she told them. ‘So perfect.’ She added. ‘And mine forever.’
She put the jar back and picked up another. In this one there were a couple of teeth. Rosie had added glitter and glycerine to the liquid and now the thing looked like a snow globe if she turned it upside down.
She kept looking at them, picking some up for a few seconds, touching others gently with the top of her fingers. Her prized possessions.
There were all sorts of things in her jars. Eyes, teeth, fingers, tongues, hearts, penises of all sizes and shapes. But her favourites were the ones with pieces of tattooed skin. Art on display. It was better than any picture or painting that could ever exist. She was particularly fond of a tattooed tree, half alive, half withered, the skin white as snow underneath it. She had to shave that one before adding it to the jar. But Rosie didn’t mind the work.
She used the small shed at the back of her garden to cut and collect whatever piece was best. Her father had been a butcher and whenever he wasn’t raping and beating her, he was spending hours teaching her his craft. Next to her house there was the abandoned slaughterhouse, complete with a crematorium that was still functional. Rosie had been watching his father’s lessons with horror when she was young, but now she was grateful for the fact that he had passed on the wisdom. When she was done with the body, she dismembered it and threw the pieces in the crematorium. Living in the countryside was helpful. Nobody around to notice the smoke or the smell coming from her land.
She smiled now picking up another jar, this one placed on top of the fireplace like a central piece. Its lid had been painted gold. Inside, her father’s face was floating around in formaldehyde. Rosie looked at it, at the holes that were once filled with his piercing eyes. At his lips that had been on her body in places where no father should ever touch his child.
She put the jar back, careful to arrange it to perfection. She wanted him to see her collection. She wanted him to know that she was using everything that she had learned from him.
Spinning around on the balls of her feet, she returned to her bedroom, picked up her phone and sent a message to Michael: I can’t wait to see you! I’m so excited X