“Rose, why don’t you tell me what happened?” Ms. Harkins, my therapist, asked. She’s asked this same stupid question, every single year, every spring for the last ten years. I remember everything clearly from that day, but sometimes I remember small details from before the incident. I never share those with her, she never asks. So, I took a deep breath and recalled the story she’s heard for ten years. Why it’ll never be spring.

He was at it again. Choosing between life and death. He paced his room, a gun, I knew Daddy hid in his drawers, lay on his desk next too his laptop with a carefully written letter. I was seven, still a little girl who sucked her thumb and carried around a tattered old rabbit. A little girl who was scared by storms. A little girl whose brother tried to shield her from a terrifying truth.

At 7:30 like always I’d gone to take my bath, but mommy wasn’t there. My big brother will was. At, 8:00 Daddy didn’t come to kiss me goodnight, Will did, with tears in his eyes. I couldn’t sleep with a storm raging like a war between the gods going on. I was just seven when I went wandering downstairs to find Mommy and Daddy. What I saw I wouldn’t forget. Chairs were overturned, the sofa had been ripped and red splatters covered it. Our Family photo had been shattered. I clutched my rabbit as I walked into the kitchen.

There was my mother laid in a pool of red. Her hair splayed out soaking up her blood. Her eyes were wide and blue. “Blue eyes mean love me or I die, black eyes mean love me or I kill thee.” She’d always say. Had she not screamed, I wondered. I dropped my bunny and ran shouting for Daddy. My eyes too full of tears that I tripped over his dead cold body. A hole through his head made me vomit. I was screaming when Will came. He held me tight as we went back up stairs. He whispered, “This is why it’ll never be spring.”

I was back in bed when a gun shot went off. I decided to not move. “Will, will wake me when it’s spring.”

“Daddy had black eyes,” I muttered to low for her to hear me. That was something I hadn’t remembered. Now it was as clear as day. Mommy would always joke about our blue eyes. Will didn’t have blue eyes. Ms. Harkins asked a few more questions, and I gave her my same candid answers. I decided when I was twelve never to truly open up to her. I made the mistake of thinking she’d help me through it, instead she had me hospitalized under the pretense I was suicidal. Ms. Harkins is an idiot, I just missed my parents.

Everything in my life worked like clockwork, Will, now twenty-six, arrived three minutes early. Ms. Harkins will give him my mental sanity bill of health, and then forget we’re even here. I don’t think she cares anymore. After the incident, she was excited to work with my young mind, help the police with the investigation. Of course though, I couldn’t contribute. My life was perfect for a seven year old. Now, I’m just a client whose brother wants to make sure she’s okay. After all the case is close, simple suicide-homicide. Maybe I’m not okay. Will always seemed to see through my “I’m fine” charade. In truth I still have nightmares about it. My parents’ blood coating the house, my rabbit whispering that things had never been perfect. That Will had the gun…why did Will have Daddy’s gun?

I didn’t ask about the gun though. I wanted to after that nightmare kept reoccurring, but his lazy smile and warm brotherly eyes always made me forget. I made a determination to ask him as we walked out to his ’87 Camaro. We slide in, he’s such a good brother, he customized the passenger seat for me, it’s entirely Hello Kitty. He turns the radio down, “How you doing, Rosie?” he asked. I shrugged forgetting my determination. Normally I’d say I’m fine, but today I just want to sleep.

“Rosie, you know I love you.” He always reminds me he does. “That’s why I keep up with the therapy. I just want you to be okay.” I roll down my window and stare out of it. I know Will loves me, and that’s why, but I’m seventeen. I should be able to handle this.

We get home, our little two bedroom apartment. After the investigation closed, we were placed into foster care, seeing as all of our relatives were dead. I had the nightmares even then, and I didn’t have my mommy or my bunny to clutch through them. They’d both been taken away. I’d wake up screaming, and each foster home we went to just hated me. A screaming seven year. Will, would always be there though. He’d sing me a lullaby and hold me until I fell back asleep.

Two years later, Will turned eighteen and gained full custody over me. Our social worker, Ms. Reynolds drops in every now in then though.

“Will?” I asked, twirling my thumbs.

“Yes, Princess?” He replied slouching onto the couch.

“Do you remember mommy saying, “Blue eyes mean love me or I die?” I watched his face for any small sign or recognition something to tell me, this was real. He shrugged and turned on the T.V. leaving me with an empty feeling. The news was on; the reporter looked solemn as she reported about a suicide-homicide that occurred last night.

“Thirty-two year old James Hawke and his wife, Rebecca Hawke, were found dead this morning. Neighbors had alerted the police that they had heard guns shots the pervious night. James Hawke had a history of abuse to his wife.”

“Spring is so violent,” Will muttered. I didn’t want to watch this. We didn’t need to watch this. “It’ll never be spring.” He repeated, just like when our parents were killed.

I finally just shut off the T.V. I smiled at Will, pushing down the desire to cry. I ran to my room, I knew what would make him happy. I put on an old pair of kids fairy wings and a crown and grabbed my tea-set. James loved to pretend he was the King of our make believe world were the only things that died were dragons and flowers.

“Your majesty, it is tea time.” I smiled as I laid out the tea-set and went to make cucumber sandwiches and tea.

James laughed and dawned his crown. He was the King and I his loving Princess Sister. Together we ruled over Mariposalandia, our subjects loved us as we had brought an ever lasting peace between us and the outlanders. They were a pixie breed, as an opposed to us fairy types. James had let me make the choice when I was ten and had an obsession with Tinker Bell.

“Long Live the King!” I toasted as we settled in for our snack. I’d never been a fan of tea, but Will insisted that true kings and other royalty never drank coffee. I preferred to have a nice Caramel Frappe from Starbucks, but that was out of the question. Sometimes I think that maybe Will might have arrested development.

He’s not crazy, but at his age and we still pretend? “King Will?” I asked softly.

“Yes, Princess Rose?” He smiled his black eyes warm.

“Do you ever think we shouldn’t pretend this is real?” I barely finished my sentence before he lunged at me.

“Don’t you ever stop pretending Rose!” He screamed. “I am the King of this country and you are my Princess. We will, be happy. We are fine.”