Chapter Text
Why? Why was that god-damned flower shop always so comforting? Why do I always find myself sitting in the parking lot when I'm distressed, when I'm happy, when I just want to get away, for whatever reason, I always seem to find myself sitting here, staring at the door, contemplating to go inside.
Two days ago, I had a boyfriend. We knew each other in high school, and he’s always been a lot of help and someone that I could turn to. I broke up with him, but that’s not the point.
The point was that, here, yet again, I had found myself, staring at the glass window of the Summer Rose flower shop. It was a decently sized shop, judging by the outside frame. It even had a small greenhouse located on-property—but none of that really mattered to me.
I just stared at the transparent, glass doorway, which had vines creeping down the sides, from the many years it had been standing. Summer Rose—back in her glory days, before she had passed, had apparently mentioned that there was some beauty, even in what others couldn't stand. I had never been inside the actual shop myself—yet I knew for a fact that her daughter still worked here. How could she not—this was her home, practically. Her life. Her mother raised her from a garden of flowers, in which somehow, a weed such as myself managed to spring into life, and drain from her own.
Though, that didn’t really matter much, either.
My heart sped up the moment that I heard the door chime, the moment that I saw it slowly swing open to reveal a girl with carrot-colored hair, and delicately pale skin. She waved and called to whoever was inside, cheerfully remarking: “Alrighty, I'll see you back home! Don't be too late—there's nutsos out here, after all!” After her departing message, she spun on her heels and began to skip merrily down the street, towards the neighboring house to the shop.
She wasn't who I had hoped for. My heart sank, and my gaze dropped down so that I could stare at my hands—both of which had remained clenched into the satin fabric layers of my skirt. My feelings turned into nothing but misery—and the horrible unease that comes with loneliness really wasn’t helping me out.
I wasn't entirely sure why—I couldn't still be feeling something for her could I?
Could I?
Oh, but I could, and I did.
It was simultaneously a wonderful and a horrible feeling—this girl, this bright, incredibly loving girl, was just a few feet away from me, and I had treated her horribly when we were in high school.
I had treated so many people poorly, and I didn’t deserve any of their kindness.
But Ruby, she was always so full of unconditional love—even when she got impatient, even if she had a meltdown with others near—she was so kind and loving. So forgiving.
And even with everything that I felt, I acted like she was beneath me.
I just want to tell her that I love her, and then I can leave. That was my original plan; I’m not even sure if I can go through with it.
The longer I sit here, the more I want to imagine a life with her.