Rose is a beautiful girl.

She has silky hair, a dark waterfall adorning her slightly round face. She has ocean eyes, so blue and deep that anyone could easily drown in them. She has freckles all over her pale body, an endless constellation on her smooth skin. She has long legs, her hips swaying hypnotically with each confident step. She has a small waist, her curves perfectly sculpted.

Rose is a nice girl.

She has a sweet voice, honey dripping from her plump lips. She has a warm smile, just like a summer day, filling you up with a comfortable peace. She has stars in her irises, golden dots twinkling through her long eyelashes. She has a bubbly personality, her hands twirling in the air as her mouth laughs and talks for hours. She has a small apartment filled with paintings and flowers - the girl has always loved her colorful blossoms and how they always leave the spring scent in the room.

Rose is a dreamer girl.

She has aspirations, her mind drawing infinite scenarios of what is to come. She has plans, like getting a promotion in the newspaper she works for. She has a bucket list filled with hopes and crazy ideas. She has decades, an entire life to travel all around the world. She has dreams, such as to fall in love with a nice guy on a summer evening.

A lot of the scenarios happened. The promotion came, Rose becoming one of the most famous editors. Her bucket list got smaller as she completed the ideas. Her passport, on the other hand, only got bigger, her cell phone full of pictures from several countries and unique views. However, she still hasn't found the nice guy.

The summer went by. One after the other. With warm and nice evenings. The slightly cold breeze swaying her dark strands. Storms always coming at 5 pm sharp thanks to the heat. The city filled with colors as the day stretched longer.

Rose is not a quitter, but even the toughest girl can get tired. And she was losing all her hopes to find the one. Her mind swimming in frustration while wondering about all the "what if's".

So, when her mom offered to set her up with one of her best friend's sons, Rose dived headfirst at the opportunity. She is an independent woman, but even her stubborn side could see that it was desperate times.

Rose wore a spaghetti strap red dress, the fabric hugging her mesmerizing curves. A black heel making her legs look longer, a fantastic view to admire. And her flowers' perfume following her, the spring scent intoxicating everyone around.

The beginning of the date was excellent. The guy was a gentleman, pulling the chair for her and ordering the most expensive bottle of wine. But the food got cold fast. And so did their conversation.

He didn't compliment her. He didn't even ask a thing about the girl. It was the perfect summer evening. He, however, just wasn't the dream, nice guy.

Rose got home that night frustrated. Tears running down her pink cheeks, painting them in dark black. Her deep eyes drowned herself, pulling the girl to a slow torture. She simply felt like her lungs couldn't swallow enough air.

The next morning, Rose found comfort in the best place - her mom's arms. As the older woman stroked her daughter's brown waves, the younger one inhaled braveness again. She agreed with a new date, with a new guy, son of a new friend.

Good thing that her mother has an endless supply of acquaintances with sons, cousins, and nephews. Better yet that Rose has an endless supply of high heels, dresses, and red lipstick.

Her lips always painted crimson, fascinating every single man that met her. And from one blind date, it turned into ten. Twenty. Fifty. Eighty. One hundred.

A couple of guys only cared about appearances, wearing shirts one size smaller just to outline their not so great muscles. Other men only cared about sex, not even trying to hide their lustful eyes, red in hunger as they stared at her round breasts. And others simply were not her type; their tastes were too different, their minds the complete opposite.

And for the first time, Rose stopped believing in cliches, realizing that sometimes, opposites don't attract. Her chemistry classes were all wrong.

Rose really has never been very good with science nor math. Her head had lost the count of how many blind dates she had gone through. She has always preferred English and words. She graduated first in her class in journalism. And her hands are quick, her long fingers tipping fast the newest headline.

But that is the game. Success in the work. Bad luck in the heart. Her love life was the opposite of fast. Or maybe it was too fast. One guy each free night she has. Going away as fast as they arrived.

A wind of emotions. A hurricane of losses. Leaving the poor girl all alone to deal with the shreds in the aftermath.

But her chin continued to be held high. She still had one dress to wear. Her lipstick was ending, but there was one last piece of paint. Her heel was more comfortable after using it so, so many times now.

The white fabric fitted her body perfectly. Her black waterfall falling down her shoulders, and her flowers leaving their sweet scent on Rose's skin. She was a masterpiece. A perfect model, using the streets as a catwalk.

120th date. She only knew it because she checked her messages. She scrolled up her texts with her mom for hours nonstop. Literally. Counting one by one all the guys.

Her eyes closed as she breathed deeply, all her nerves praying that this one would be the one. She is a resilient girl, but even the strongest flower can lose its petals. And she was so afraid that she couldn't take one more night ending in disappointment.

She walked inside the restaurant. Her steps echoing through the large, rustic place. And there he was. Waiting for her. Admiring each inch of the girl. Their eyes meeting and melting away all their surroundings.

All that mattered was each other. They had finally found the other.

Her stomach twisted, her butterflies flying all around, tickling her ribs. A smile spread through her face, softening her features. She couldn't control the fireworks exploding all over her body, a mix of emotions taking over.

And he seemed to feel something as well. He also had found the one. The perfect girl to be his.

They talked. They laughed. They connected.

He likes cult movies, such as Psicose or any of Woody Allen's. He likes nighttime talks till the sun rises, illuminating the two bodies lying together away from the rest of the world. He likes red wine, the dry and intense flavor sipping down his throat. He likes birdies and their little melodies. He likes beautiful girls. Nice girls. Dreamer girls.

And Rose liked him too. She liked his wavy hair, a dirty blonde swaying with the light breeze. She liked his green eyes, a dark forest inviting her in. She liked his smirk, especially how it made her insides perform acrobatic stunts. She liked the way he talked, his words smoothly coming out from his soft lips. She liked the way he looked at her, his irises trailing every movement of the girl like she was the most precious little thing.

She loved his name, Ian, and the way her tongue unfolds while saying it. She loved his features, as sharp as a knife ready to cut her. She loved more than anything the way his presence made her feel, an intoxicating uneasiness.

And maybe that is why she agreed to go to his place. Or maybe it was the extra wine glass she drank, giving her more courage. Maybe even it was the way his eyes softened, silently begging for her to follow him.

And she did. Sink or swim, that has always been Rose's motto. And this time, she was trusting him, letting him guide her towards the deep waters.

But it would be worth it, right? After 119 failed dates, the universe had to send her a good thing.

Right?

They walked down the streets, the winter breeze hitting their skin. But not even it could cool down the warmth that spread through Rose's body as Ian pulled her closer, his large arm around her petite shoulders.

And it simply felt perfect. Like they had done it several times before. And the girl hoped they could do it again in the future, one night after the other.

It was not a nice summer evening. But it was the perfect winter night, the stars shining bright up-up in the sky.

This could easily be the first night of the rest of her life. The beginning of something new. And Rose wore her warm smile, believing that one more of her dreams had finally become real.

His building is tall, imposing. Ian is tall, imposing too.

His palms caressed her skin in the elevator. His hands traveled around her hair as they drank one more glass of wine inside his apartment. His fingers trailed her curves as he guided her to his bedroom.

He kissed her slowly, their lips dancing their own song. He tasted her calmly, the spring scent filling his mouth as his tongue attacked her neck. He looked at her intensely.

And for the first time that night, Rose saw the hunger in his forest irises. Not lust. A true, deep hunger. Just like a hunter admiring his prey.

Rose, then, also understood the uneasiness from before. And it wasn't intoxicating anymore. It was suffocating.

The last thing she noticed was how her mind was slowly becoming foggy. The floor under her feet wasn't stable, her knees breaking as they couldn't hold her weight. And the stars stopped illuminating the room, darkness consuming her view.

As her ocean eyes opened again, she took a minute to remember what had happened. Her head throbbed, begging for it to be just a dream. But poor girl, it was actually a living nightmare.

There were no sounds, no cars and screaming that always filled the big city. There was a different air around her, the scent of grass, indicating she was far, far away from home.

Her hands were free, but not her ankles. Large chains hugged them. She was caged. Literally.

Just like a captured bird, a metal cage surrounded her small body.

Rose is beautiful. Nice. And dreamer. But she also is smart. She cursed herself over and over again. Hating how she could have been so naive.

Ian liked cult movies, such as Psicose. He liked nighttime talks, just the two of them, away from everyone. He liked wines, red and tasty wines, just like blood. He liked birdies.

And now she was his newest play toy. His caged animal. His prey.

Sing for me your little melodies. That was what he always said when visiting her.

Rose could not have been more terrified. His blond hair wasn't pretty anymore, just dirty. His eyes carried a deadly green warning. His smirk now killed all her butterflies. His voice was poison. And his stare was enough to freeze her body.

His features remained sharp, this time actually cutting the poor girl.

But Ian was happy. He had found the perfect girl. His girl. Forever. And his joyfulness only made Rose feel sicker.

He cut down her petals. One by one.

Rose's hair turned into a crimson waterfall. Her eyes became shallow. Her skin started carrying purple bruises instead of the old constellation. Her legs were too weak to walk. And her curves had been sculpted all over again, by his hands.

Rose's voice was not sweet anymore. Her smile turned cold, lifeless. The stars in her irises died. And her bubbly personality was stolen from her.

Rose's mind could only think about her bucket list, it would never get the chance to be completed. And her passport collecting dust, pages in black from countries she would never get to see. Her dream to find a nice guy was the thing that brought the nightmare to her life.

That night was not the first one from the rest of her life. It was actually the last one. The beginning of her end.

Ian thought he had the right over her. Ian thought she was his to be taken. Ian thought, just like many other guys, that any woman was his.

His personal birdy. His personal flower. Not a human, a thing. His thing.

Rose is a beautiful girl. But she has scars too, like the one on her elbow from when she fell from her bicycle.

Rose is a nice girl. But her eyes could also carry hate, despising the man in front of her.

Rose is a dreamer girl. But she also could get tired, her shoulders dropping as her energy sipped away.

Rose is not perfect. And Ian wanted perfect girls.

Just like after her first blind date, Rose cried. Her cheeks becoming black once more. Her eyes pulling her to the bottom of the ocean. And this time, she didn't just feel like she could not breathe. She actually couldn't.

His hands were around her neck. Swim or sink. She trusted him enough to follow the man to the deep waters. And he was the one drowning her.

It was not a summer evening. And Ian was not a nice guy. Not nice at all.

Rose stopped being an "is". She was beautiful. She was nice. She was a person - and a caged birdy; and a broken flower.

Her dreams and nightmares tangled, both becoming one. Both being buried with her lifeless figure.

Rose died on a cold winter morning. Her body never being found.

Ian continues going to his own blind dates. Searching for the perfect woman.

And Rose's flowers rot. Carrying the fall's dull scent now.

——•:•——

Dedicated: to all the missing, brutalized and killed girls. May they blossom in other places. And just a reminder: It is never a woman's fault. Woman should not have to worry about being naive or being perfect. No one is perfect. And we all should be free.

Word count: 2345.
This is my entry for the chicklit prompt  "120 blind dates"