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Regina withholds her breath, letting the air bloom up the tunnel of her throat, and tighten her chest. There’s a weight, a spiny flare within her lungs. It jabs at the spongy tissue, carving through until her blood vessels pulse. She takes a wary breath in thin trails in and out of her nostrils. A slew of pricks pang underneath her skin, lancing up her torso. A throb itches, palpitating beneath the surface, and clawing for release.
She stands, clutching the edge of the counter until she can’t take it anymore, legs buckling. Regina pushes herself off of the granite bathroom countertop. She lands in a haphazard heap onto her knees. She crawls in an uneven gait on all fours, practically draping herself over the lip of the porcelain toilet.
A prickly sensation works in tandem, forming a resounding scratchy sensation to twitch within her chest cavity, rushing up the pathway of her esophagus. Her hands grip the toilet seat. Her body jerks forward, convulsing as she releases a guttural retch. Thick balls of saliva, a thorny tingle, and a bulky pressure sit at the back of her throat. She gags, spittle spilling from her lips. Her body falls into ceramic. Aches spike all along her muscles until she’s one never-ending intertwined web of agony. A racking cough spurts from trembling lips. Her body staggers as if struck by lightning.
Her gut flinches, and with one final hacking cough, something stutters out from her gaping mouth. It plops into the water, bopping within the bowl. Strings of drool drip from her blubbering lips, her chest burns, and her throat is sore. Her breath persists, leaving her in dwindling huffs. Shakily, her gaze drops to the insides of the toilet seat. At the sight before her, terror grips her, cutting through her nerves. Her eyes widen, and her face blanches pale as winter snow. A gasp hitches behind her lips at the bloodied petals swimming in a limp sway atop the water. At least about a dozen multihued flowers and leaves billow within the porcelain seat, drenched in scarlet.
Oh no.
No, no, no!
A scream wells up in her throat, but the tender flesh keeps it from escaping. She flies back onto her butt, scuttling on the heel of her palms and feet, only stopping once she slams into the wall, unable to go any further. The pain is basically void in comparison to the prickling sensation still slithering within her. For a moment she merely sits on the bathroom floor and breathes. Jagged and panicked breaths. Her chest quivers as her heart pounds, knocking into her ribs.
She’s vomiting battered flowers submerged in blood, having it clog her viscera like rust on moving cogs.
At this moment there are three realizations that come to Regina’s mind.
One, it’s finally her birthday.
Two, she’s in love.
Three, she’s dying.
And worst of all, she knows why.
A pitiful rasp bellows from deep within her depths. Her legs rise, and her face falls onto her knees. Her arms wrap around them, clutching them to her. She should’ve known. The moment she first felt that pang piercing into her, so deep she felt her soul wither. She brushed it off because she was far too prideful. Far too reluctant. Far too scared.
Hanahaki Disease.
It’s gripped hold of her in its floral clawed hands, poisoning her body and deteriorating her away. An infection of the soul born from an unrequited love and a broken spirit. The loss of your true love. Where in its place are blooms of flowers saturated in spittle and blood, sprouting, as if in mocking preparation for one’s funeral.
A face ripples across her mind, pitching her heart in a tempestuous beat.
Tousled unruly black hair that flourishes towards his forehead, dark earthy eyes that burn caramel gold underneath kisses of the sun, a birthmark that specks the corner of his blocky brow, calloused hands, and that looming gangly stature. A grin is always on his dopey face as if it were sown on the moment he popped out of the womb. His lips are a distracting deep carmine pink. His boisterous laughs are a smoky warmth that glide across her ears like clouds coasting the sky.
Rodrick Heffley.
The same Rodrick Heffley that’s now with Heather Hills.
A pit had plunged in her stomach the moment she saw them, strolling into North Shore, arm in arm. Her manicured fingers gripped his lanky arm, nestled into his side. Noticeably clashing against the black hues of his exterior. Heather’s smile had filled her face like a crest of sunlight ascending past the horizon. A timid half smile tilted the corner of Rodrick’s lips, the tips of his ears a scorched red.
She didn’t mean to spare them even a fraction of attention, but it felt inevitable. Wherever she looked, they were in each other’s arms as if the rest of the world had faded away into a void. A self-conscious but ultimately at ease countenance to him. His eyes attentively settled onto her, watching, listening, and absorbed by whatever she prattled on about. Regina found it a mere coincidence whenever a twinge ripped across her chest every time she’d catch a glimpse of them. Convinced, she must simply be coming down with a cold of some sort. One that wholly ensnares the entirety of her body in a bone-deep ache, wilting her muscles.
She’s rejected him so many times, compelled by the belief that she could never be with a loser like him. That she could never have any common ground with a moron. He’s nothing but a mere idiot with one functioning brain cell, a half-baked band, and stupidly sweet puppy dog eyes.
An idiot that’s authentic, embracing his oddities. An idiot that’s naively open-minded and accepting. An idiot that’s kind.
The type of kind to ‘accidentally’ drop his drumstick, tripping Shane Oman after calling her used goods. The type of kind to get detention for walking out in the middle of class to retrieve an ice pack from the nurse’s office for her due to an evident ache she felt at her nape. A residue of pain since her accident getting run over by a bus the year prior. The type of kind to call Coach Carr a brain-dead dingus in short shorts for attempting to order her to participate in the rope climb despite still being in recovery.
Regina didn’t want to be in love with him, because, honestly, she couldn’t afford it. His heart is far too compassionate. She’d consume him like poison. All his goodness will ebb away, destroyed by all her serrated edges. She isn’t authentic. She isn’t accepting. Nor is she kind. They would never work.
And so she refused to try.
She simply turned him away at every turn. She dismissed him with an upturn of her nose, a flippant wave of her hand, and the brisk walk of her feet. Over and over. Until it began to look like a humiliation ritual for him.
Now she’s finally got what she wanted. He’s freed himself from her. He’s found someone else to dote on. Someone else to twine his heart with. No longer enamored by her alone. How was she supposed to know that he’d been ‘the one’ the entire time? How was she supposed to know that even someone like her had a true love somewhere amidst the world?
Her vision blurs as the world around her thaws, melting into a trickle of colors. Her breath amps up into ragged wheezes. Another putrid itch rakes down the walls of her throat, vibrating her lungs.
Does this mean that now Heather has taken her place as his soulmate?
The lone thought is so evocatively horrendous that her body lurches back forward, crawling rapidly towards the toilet, and heaving into it once more. Blossoms of sopping blood-stained flowers discharge from her bowels. They plump into the water, muddying it in wispy maroon reds and a fading gradient of colors from the soaked petals.
Shit.
Is this what her life will consist of now?
Aphyixated by florals created by her own making, slaughtering her soul.
Is this how it all ends? Is this all she gets to make of this life?
Death for being an unlovable and insecure bitch?
It doesn’t have to be that way.
A voice, her inner compass, emerges from the deep recesses of her mind. A gossamer thin utterance, sailing through her mind in a strand of thought.
You could always tell him. The least you can do is be honest.
No. No, she can’t.
Regina’s body slumps, pathetically leaning onto the porcelain seat for stability. Were it any other day she’d rather lather her hair in Dollar Tree shampoo than rest against a freaking toilet, but she can hardly sit up on her own as is. The toilet is the best crutch she can get hold of at the moment. Its cool, sleek surface assists the swelter of her skin. Sweat besmirches her forehead and neck.
What do you have to lose in being honest for once? You’re already dying. There’s hardly any pride left to save.
Regina’s teeth grit, clenching her jaw. Her inner voice is cruel even to herself. Though its words ricochet in her head, bouncing from wall to wall inside her skull.
What possible value does honesty even have at this moment? What’s the point if he has Heather now? What’s the point if he’s already clearly moved on from her? Aren’t the flowers enough of a sign? What about this damned sickness that’s infecting her every breath? Her love is unrequited. He doesn’t have any room for her in that heart of his anymore. She’s no longer his other half. It’s over.
And what now? You’re just going to sit here in the bathroom for the rest of your days and die? Is that how you want to go out?
Of course not, but does she really have a choice? What is there left for her to do that isn’t utterly pathetic and pitiful?
Would you rather die as a liar or an honest person?
Regina’s eyes shut tightly. Her forehead rests upon her forearm as her body droops, sagging miserably against the toilet. Another lance of pain zips up her throat. A thorny prickle churns, coiling in her intestines. Her eyes continue to glisten, dripping down the curves of her cheeks and spattering onto the tiled floors.
Honesty.
Could that really be all that she has left?
***
Regina fights back a wince with one hand on her stomach as she shuffles cautiously through the school hallways. She’s done much thinking all night in between sprints back to the bathroom, practically puking out her guts. Two words replayed like a stuttering TV amid her mind.
The truth.
Her inner voice urges for transparency in a world she’s always preferred to see through basic and comprehensible rose-colored glasses. The suggestion has her chest swell in apprehension. Her nerves tauten and strain, building like a plaque of unease to coat up her spine.
She’s never professed her love before. She’s never needed to when the entire student body used to adore her. Besides, she’s never really loved anyone she’s dated. Not Shane nor Aaron. Strings of ‘I love you’s’ left her in a mechanical expression.
She’s never been in love before. She’s never felt heartbreak before. She cried for approximately one afternoon over Aaron Samuels after they broke up. She was more peeved than grief-stricken upon dumping Shane Oman.
She supposes that’s what makes it worse.
In comparison, she knows that this feels different. Horrifyingly different. It’s terrifying being able to feel so much over one person. She’s far more familiar with pain and anger, but this is an utterly different realm altogether. Although, the thought of getting it off her chest is gradually beginning to feel the slightest bit more healing. Even if she gets rejected. Perhaps knowing that she truly did try all that she could can help soften the blow. She’s never gotten the chance to be stripped bare with her emotions to anyone. Maybe this can be both the start and the end of it.
However, just as the thought comes to mind, it swiftly wanes at the sight she catches before her. Her feet halt in place, rooting her to the lineoulm and damning her already wilting spirit. At the cafeteria doors, Rodrick walks side by side with Heather. Her slim fingers wrap around his thumb, playfully swinging their arms between them. She can’t read lips, but whatever she shoots off at him lights his face as his head throws back. A laugh pours from his lips, harmonizing with her giggles.
A sharp pinch wrenches her chest. Her breath shortens, and her stomach squeezes in a wrestling compress.
I can’t.
I can’t do this.
A prick jabs at her lungs. A heavy weight spikes up her throat, making her lips tremble. An itch shudders within, contorting her body and making her hands curl into fists. It causes her phone to slip out from between her fingers. It crashes to the floor in a shrill slam accompanied by a cutting crack. She isn’t sure if the couple, happy enough to look as if they’re on their honeymoon, heard it, but she doesn’t stick around long enough to find out.
She hurriedly crouches, swiping her phone off of the floor. She springs back up in a concussion of swift pace. A clatter of her heels skid against the glossy floors. A tap, tap, tap trails after her in a thunderous and ceaseless beat as a large mass begins to scuff the walls of her throat.
A force punches at the soft tissue of her chest. Regina speeds off fast enough to scorch the endpoints of her heels into ash. An abrasive scratch carves into her flesh, stinging. She knows by the inside of her throat beginning to flex and tauten up that she won’t make it to the bathroom. Her body veers off to the side, grabbing hold of the nearest trashcan. The plastic bag crinkles between her pale, dainty hands. Her body crashes into the pliant bin, body upheaving.
A flood of gunk teems from her sputtering lips. A heavy splatter collapses into the waste, intermingling crimson sodden flowers, a spew of flimsy spit, and viscous limpid catarrh together. Her eyes burn, glassing at her lower lids, and her throat aches into a tight pulsing fist. A massacred garden stares back at her from within the trashcan.
Regina attempts to catch her fading breath, panting. Her chest trembles, rattling her bones. Rivulets of water fall from her eyes, streaking down either side of her cheeks. Absolutely pathetic. A sound between a hiccup and a whimper accumulates behind her lips, but before it can escape, her body instinctively straightens at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. They scurry over linoleum in resounding thumps. Swiftly, she wipes the back of her hand across her lips and the other over her weepy, crammed eyes.
“Regina.” A deep but velvety baritone sounds behind her. She knows that voice. It had been haunting her every thought for the past couple weeks.
Her muscles twitch, and her eyes seal shut, grimacing. A stiff breath shakily draws up her nostrils and leaves in a wracking sigh.
“The hell do you want?” She demands impatiently. Rigidly, she turns on the heel of her feet, subtly leaning back against the trash can to steady herself. Her attempt at curt nonchclance is a feeble one. It doesn’t feel right, and it makes her chest tense even further. Her automatic defense response is snippy aggression. Even if she doesn’t actually feel it.
Pools of obsidian look back at her. Dark eyes that seem endless. A void she wants to melt into, getting lost in its infinite depths. Her heart patters and her breath hastens.
Rodrick simply ignores her hostile nip at him.
“Are you okay?” He asks, eyeing her with a thoughtful curiosity. It does horrendous things to her already fraying mind.
The irony of that coming from you.
“I’m fine.” She grits out, gruffly swallowing down another upcoming cough scaling up her throat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, it’s just you looked a little pale when you ran off—"
The thought of him seeing her in such a state is a dreadful one. An immediate sense of panic seizes her nerves.
“What are you? My keeper? I said I’m fine.” She waves him off with an irritated swat of her hand. Though, if she were being truthful, it was more out of fear than anything. “Now get lost.” She snaps, masking the desperate plea underlying in her voice, willing him to not see the inner turmoil swirling in rapid torrents within her.
He’s since gotten used to her natural ire, but a part of him still winces at her cruelty. The side of his face crumples, and his lips downturn into a tart line.
“Okay, fine. Sorry for meddling.” He mutters quietly. His arms raise in a halfhearted surrender of his hands. “I know you don’t like me, so this probably bothers you more than it helps. Bad habits die hard, I guess. I’ll be on my way.”
His looming body begins to turn back on the heels of his feet. In preparation to drift even further away from her. Another chance slipping through her fingers. However, before he can take a step forward, he pauses briefly. He stands in place, wearing a pondering expression on his face. She can almost see the wheels turning in his head. Eventually he turns back around on his side, dark eyes meeting her blues.
“Oh, and happy birthday.” A miniscule half smile eclipses his lips.
He remembers my birthday?
A murky gloom dwells in her stomach. His words echo in her ears as she can do nothing but watch once he goes to turn back around. Most likely the last she’ll ever see of him. Still so naively kind and under the impression she loathes his very guts.
Her lips subconsciously part, wanting to call his name, desiring for one last smidge of a second in his presence. Her soul, a yearning and desperate thing. Yet, at that same moment, his eyes wander before he fully turns. In his passing glance, his gaze catches onto the trashcan. Tall enough to peek inside it without needing to bend over its lid.
His body freezes, and his feet cement in place.
“What the hell is that?” He asks with a sharp inhale of his breath.
Oh my god.
“No-Nothing! It’s probably just from the art class.” She scoffs and just as swiftly regrets it, once a sandpapery scratch zips through her.
Rodrick’s brows scrunch, knotting together. It wrinkles his forehead, emphasizing the mass of thoughts currently swimming in his head. His body completely pivots back around on his feet now, facing her once more.
“That’s fresh.” He remarks with a detective’s discernment. His eyes scrutinize the piles of petals and the heads of flowers bathing in a pond of blood. The dots emerge, connecting, and the moment they align, his eyes snap up to hers with a surgical focus. “Hanahaki disease.”
Hearing the words aloud and from someone other than her is a dooming feeling. One she refuses to share with him. Or screw it in with anyone. If she’s going to die, then she doesn’t want to be remembered as the poor girl deteriorating away from a broken heart.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about—" She spouts off defensively.
“I’m an idiot in a lot of things, but not when it comes to the occult, alright?" He fires back, presumably too consumed by an apprehensive worry to let her stubborn belligerence pass this time. Her heart lurches when he approaches, standing before her, a looming force that knots her nerves and accelerates the blood in her veins. “How long has this been going on for?”
Her immediate response is to snap again. The fear in her rears its head, baring its teeth, tempted to cut at him and ward him off. However, in that same moment a vulnerability peels away from its covering, peering out in a buoyant optimism she knows she shouldn’t be feeling.
“What happened?” He inquires in an overwrought tirade. Her muscles spasms the moment he takes hold of her by her arms, squeezing and willing her to look at him. “Are you really okay, Regina?”
Okay?
She hasn’t felt okay in months. As a matter of fact, what does that even mean? Being okay. Her mind is always moving, always buzzing with a million thoughts. Confident and yet so overly self-conscious about so many things. Has she ever truly felt at peace? Will she now never get the chance to?
Her lips press together and open in a repetitive, befuddled stupor. Unsure of what to say and how to react. Her throat dries into an ashened sensation. Her chest grows heavy, and once more her vision begins to muddy in a spate of water suppressing her sight.
Rodrick’s eyes skim over her, hypervigilant and softening like melting snow. The weight of him leaves her arms. Her breath catches, lodging in the passage of her airways at the grasp of his hands cupping her cheeks. Gently, he lifts her face, having her gaze melt into his.
“Who is it? Tell me who it is so I can help!” He practically pleads, applying pressure at the nape of her neck from the press of his fingertips into her skin. A flutter flourishes in her stomach at his touch.
“N-No. I… You can’t… It’s…” She stammers like a rhythmless dance, the words tripping over themselves, lagging, and tangling together.
“Now’s not the time for pride. Let me help you.” Rodrick insists. He’s close, too close; she can smell wisps of Heather’s perfume on him. It intermingles with his natural musky scent. It sends an ache through her torso. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Her body recoils, needing to get away from him. An itch begins to surface, writhing her lungs and stabbing into her throat.
“No, I really… You can’t… I can’t…” She pulls back, squirming in his hands in an attempt to escape his arms. However, his hold is persistent. He keeps her to him. His hands fall from her face to her elbows, locking onto her thin arms and preventing her from averting away.
“For once, can you stop being stubborn and just trust me!” He asserts in the most forceful demand she’s ever had the chance to hear him muster. The first and last time, most likely. That realization burns an even deeper despair into her.
“No! Stop it already!” Her body twists, pushing out of his hold. She shoves his hands away from her. Desperate and feral, like some caught wild animal. Her own arms wrap themselves around herself as if it were a makeshift barrier. Her fingers dig with a hook’s pierce into her upper arms. “You’re making it worse!”
An incredulous look befalls his face. A mix between anguish, perplexity, and utter frustration. His nostrils flare, and his typical laid-back patience dissipates in a roaring restlessness.
“Why?” His arms raise and drop at his sides in exasperation. “Because you hate me that much?” Shards of bitterness penetrate through his words, and in extension, it cuts through her in association.
“No!” she barks. An abrasive sting wrestles in her chest, wilting her stubbornness. Sheer exhaustion taints her resilience. It leaves pessimism and dread to gnaw into her senses. This pain, paired with her seemingly inevitable end, coaxes her to succumb to her weakness. “Because it’s you. I’m in love with you.” She spits out, loathing the evident sorrow staining her voice. Her tone is watersoaked, dripping in a grief-stricken cadence. Her admission lingers in the air like a scent, seeping into both of their ears and blemishing their skin in a pepper of goosebumps.
Rodrick’s lips part, but not a single sound leaves him. Instead, he stares back at her in a resonating silence. He stills like stone. His eyes are wide. So wide that they’re more white than they are brown. He makes a series of deep blinks. The kind that furrows his face and creases the skin between his brows. He does it again and again, over and over. When nothing before him changes, he takes in a wetted breath, nostrils flaring, and his chest profoundly rises and falls.
“Don’t mess with me.” He breathes out deeply. A seriousness to his face that pulls tautly at his features.
Irritation spears through her. At a time like this, when she’s practically retching the gardening section of an entire store, what reason would she have to lie? His skepticism is irksome, but then again, she’s always been so harshly frank to him, dismissive and callous. Anyone would probably be blindsided at hearing a confession such as that out of the blue. The realization makes her feel worse.
“I’m not, dickhead!” She snarls resistantly, but it lacks fortitude. Her anger is gradually snuffing out, trampled over by her expanding misery. Her breaths jet from her lips in heavy hyperventilation. Water wells up in her lower lids, and a sodden crack breaks through her respiration. A watery rasp rises at the back of her throat, releasing in a damp gasp.
She raises her arms, palms veiling over her face. Once obscured, she releases. A pitiful snivel snakes past her lips. A muffled cry pours into her hands; her shoulders shudder. Her sob is so potent it rocks the entirety of her body. The ferocity of her dejection makes her feel significantly small. A person imprisoned in the maelstrom of her devastation.
Her muscles tense, and the hairs on her body rise upon feeling a warmth glide around her. Pressure presses into the space between the wings of her back as another grasps her by the back of her head. A shiver climbs up her spine as fingers thread through her hair, running through it in a drifting motion. Gentle and tender. Every moment they get to the ends of her strands, they pause, gingerly caressing them.
The weight at the back of her head nudges her forward, placing her in the nook between his neck and shoulder. Her body naturally falls into his, cradled into his slender chest. Her tendons grow at ease, and her breaths falter, though her tears continue to bead at her eyes, spilling down her face.
“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.” A voice murmurs into the crown of her head. A quiver ripples across her upon feeling his mouth burying into her hair. His lips brush against her scalp as he speaks in gentle whispers only loud enough for her ears to catch.
"No, it won’t.” She murmurs in a hoarse voice, her voice fading in between minor whimpers of her breath. “I’m going to die, and it’s my fault.”
Rodrick’s grip braces her closer. His lips glide through her hair to her forehead, resting against her. She can feel his every breath with every brush of his chest gliding across hers. They become insync every inhale and exhale, matching the other’s. She can feel his heartbeat thrumming in a pounding beat beneath her hand.
“I’d never let that happen.” He vows. His grasp tightens. His warmth cascades over her in a rain of heady flickers. His voice grazes over her ears, hanging heavily in the air, tangible enough to taste like honey on her tongue, but once it registers, a fiery, unruly feeling surges in her neurones.
“I don’t need your pity. You don’t have to lie to me.” She argues weakly. It’s enough knowing that her soulmate has fallen out of love with her. Now bound to someone else. She didn’t need him coddling her, pampering her needs as if they’re his responsibility. They aren't, and she couldn’t risk letting herself even for a moment feign as if they were. That’ll only make the heartbreak bleaker, turning her cracks into full-on shatters. The most she can do is take her loss in dignity and possibly spend the last remaining hours of her life in a peaceful slumber of tears within her bedroom. That’s probably what she deserves anyway. Her tears continue to stain her visage as a hopeless pit begins to nip at her.
Then suddenly in the snap of a second, in the blink of an eye, something within lifts. It ascends, relieving the weight from her chest. The thorns that prickle her flesh smoothen, ebbing away from her muscle tissue. The insistent coughs urging at the back of her throat fade, growing silent. The inside of her stills, the pain rapidly dissipating. In its place is a weightless, airy freedom.
“Wh-What?”
Gently, Regina pulls away from him. Her hands fall away from her face and rest upon her chest. Her palms dart across her as if she can physically delve inside and search within her own depths for an answer. That excruciating, gritty feeling vanishes. Her airways clear with nothing but a buoyant lightness left in its wake.
“What is happening?” Her eyes expand, widening into saucers. Her hands continue to drift all across her, attempting in the best way she can to seek for some type of clue.
Instinctively Regina’s head falls back, her eyes peer up above her, catching onto coffee-brown eyes, already gazing back down at her. Molten in its intensity, but tender in his stare.
“You know, I did genuinely try to move on from you. I was trying with Heather, and I feel like I almost could’ve. She reminded me a lot of you.” He sighs, resting his hand at the back of his neck. He squeezes. An evident timidity sweeping across his face. “I did like her, but the moment I saw you – now that I’ve held you and heard how you felt, it’s like I’m back in square one all over again.”
Regina stiffens in place. At the loss of the ache wringing her insides, a new sudden slew of sensation begins to cram into all the nooks and crannies within her. A myriad of feelings, unable to pinpoint a single one from the mass of them, swallowing her entirely. There’s undoubtedly a blaze that stirs, singing her nerves.
“I’m crazy about you. Ridiculously in love with you, actually.” He mutters with a sincere honesty and a tinge of uncertainty. Which is fair considering the number of times she’s rejected him in the past. Yet, his eyes never waver. They maintain eye contact with hers, speaking every word into her very soul. “Heather already knows that a part of me was emotionally unavailable when we started to get to know each other. So we settled for a talking stage and seeing where things go. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I’m starting to think there’s just no escaping you for me.”
Her breath comes out in a resounding shudder. His words take over, like hands grabbing hold, contorting and wrenching her innards into knots and ribbons. Licks of flame slink all across her, winding around her heart and compressing it into an ardent embrace. Her breaths elevate once more, hitching, and not due to a retch this time. Her blood accelerates and her head grows hazy, but she remains upright in place. Unable to turn away and look at anything else but his gaze in return.
“I want you.” She says in a subtle, gossamer-thin whisper. Her breath trembles, catching even more sharply in her throat at the gradual beam slowly painting across his dopey face. He grins that familiar grin. Vibrant and warm. Greed wells in her chest at the sight of it. For the past couple weeks he’d been giving those to Heather instead of her. And she can’t help but feel this newly found impulse to claim them for herself once more. “I only want you.” She tacks on hoping the implication is clear. She isn’t very good at words. Her family are horrendously inept when it comes to emotions. Despite that, she wants to try.
No more regrets.
And she can tell by the pinkish hue coating over his cheeks paired with the broad smile, straining his skin, and threatening to split his face in half—she knows this won’t ever be one of those moments of regrets.
For once something is meant for her and her only, and that is something she’ll cherish within the very depths of her heart.
***
Heather was rightfully upset but ultimately surprisingly understanding of Rodrick’s departure. At the end she understood the severity when it comes to hanahaki disease. The true love of the soul, powerful enough to kill. Regina was once convinced she’d been an unlovable wretch with no such thing as a soulmate, only to be bestowed one made with the kindest of eyes and the warmest of smiles.
She knows now, this is what happiness is.
And who would’ve known one of her best birthday presents would come in the shape of her other half? Her soul mate?
Her heels tick away at the school grounds. A smile on her face as she speeds off, ignoring the curious glances of students following after her. Her eyes alight upon seeing a familiar lanky body rifling through his locker. Unbothered by the crowded hallways, she sets off at a speeding pace. Her body moves with a determination of its own. This time it’s her turn to efface the distance between them.
She walks towards him, stepping into the gravitational pull of his vicinity. She slides in between him and his opened metal door, coming close enough to share the same breath. Gratification flows within her bloodstream at the widening of his eyes. Upon seeing her, there’s an immediate tightening of his body. Regina draws in close, and he noticeably stiffens, but he doesn’t move. Rodrick only continues to look into her eyes, occasionally looking away to trail after the movement of her body.
She reaches up, placing her arms on his shoulders and wrapping them around his neck. A small gasp darts through his mouth. However, he still doesn’t protest. He complies, falling limp under the influence of her strength. Regina molds her body along the curves of his, rising to her tiptoes and launching herself at him. She greedily takes his lips against hers. His mouth is surprisingly soft. A benign ember burns between them as she basks in his warmth. Her body arches, pushing even more deeply into him in pace with the sink of his kiss, deepening into her. Rodrick’s hands cup either side of her waist, handling her gently.
A chorus of gasps fills the atmosphere around them, but neither of them bats an eye. A smile breaks across either of their mouths. Two hearts melding into one and falling into the same beat, completely enraptured with only each other.