Page 144 of Wallflower

It’s sweat, not blood, the voice inside my head whispers.

It might be panic induced perspiration this time, but it doesn’t change the sensation of it chilling my heated skin.

Why did I have to kick him so fucking hard? The punch was more than enough. Never in all our years together did I everlay a hand on him. What possessed me to start now? Was it learning all he did to Rose? Seeing the state she was in? I wasn’t even thinking…so blinded and overwhelmed by feelings, and completely pissed off the shithead burned me.

I didn’t want to kill him. I followed him to come clean, tell him who I was, then have him hopefully come back with me. I craved to know why he abandoned me, snuck out like a thief in the night, never to be seen or heard from again.

I wanted my fucking brother back.

Instead, I lost him.

Forever doomed to relive the moment the vacancy overcame his eyes as I tried to hold him together. Feeling a piece of myself slip away with his life, while I pleaded for him to stay, to forgive me. Hoping he could hear my quiet string of apologies from somewhere on the other side as I held him a final time.

My pace slows, coming upon the gate I need to pass through. The metal grinds, flakes of rust breaking free as I force the latch upward. I should really replace this. Even if it’s not my place to, no one needs to end up with tetanus from the neglected lock.

I push the gate open, hinges squeaking, mind further wandering as I stroll through.

I know Rose saw it, the hollowness within me where Bradley used to reside, cleaved clean out because I don’t deserve to cherish the good memories when I extinguished his light.

All of this is my fault.

Maybe I could have found Brad sooner, saved Rose before everything went down. I should have killed Maximus the second I was close enough to do so, and all of this would have been avoided. Rose would have been saved the trauma and scars, maybe even still have Chelsea at her side. But because of me, everything has been fucked beyond repair.

What kind of man am I to put myself before her?

I know the answer, part of me is just too cowardly to fucking admit it.

I shuffle across the sand toward the lapping water, pausing halfway to unlace my sneakers and kick them off.

Looking to the star flecked sky, I search for answers I already know deep down.

How can I ever say that word to her, and mean it, when it makes every wrong waged against me rise to the surface? Despite what she says, I know she’s waiting for me to say it first. She senses the wrongness in me. Like the angel she fucking is, she won’t force me into something I can’t handle.

I can’t spill those words for her.

I won’t.

Ripping the sweat-saturated, white t-shirt from my body, I drop it to the ground next to the shoes. I push the grey joggers down my thighs, and kick them into the forming pile of clothes.

Slowly, I walk toward the water, searching for a silence that the ocean’s been unable to provide as of late—a peace I’m only ever finding within my flower’s embrace.

She deserves better than me. To be free.

Breaking into a full sprint, I crash into the shallows, diving beneath the surface.

But I’m selfish. I’ll never give her up.

Islip back into the shadows. Rip’s clearly working through something, and it’s not my place to interfere with that. Despite every fibre of my soul screaming at me to dive into the ocean alongside him and help wash away all his troubles, I’m going to take advantage of the alone time.

I jog back to the house, cradling the stitch in my side as I power through the door, beelining it to our bedroom. I dart inside the ensuite, kneeling to pull out the boxes of scarlet hair dye. It’s the only way I could inconspicuously get rubber gloves. My hair would need so much processing to get it back to what it was, it’s not worth it.

I pull the gloves from the box, tucking everything back in nice and neat so Rip is none the wiser.

I slide the gloves on before sweeping the dried monkshood into a mortar and pestle. I purchased it from a second hand store the other day while on a solo walk around the area. I doubt Rip’s even noticed it sitting on the bottom shelf of the bedside table.

There’s enough toxin in this flower to kill Ripley’s entire team, and then some probably.

I move with hurried, silent steps to the backyard. If Ripley comes back before I’m done, I won’t be easily found. Slinking back into a more concealed area with dim light, I start to grind down the plants. I’m not wasting a damn bit of this powder, it may be my only saving grace if someone else in his organization becomes a problem.