Shift ☆ Louis Partridge

10 | The Flower Project

☆

[y/n]

_

I NEEDED TO DISTRACT MYSELF.

You know, from the sad fact that Louis is probably out there with his girlfriend, having this time of his life? Yeah, that.

*Awkward laugh*.

Anyways, I decided to suck up my feelings and be happy with the friends I have. I hadn't reached out to Monica and Heather for the past couple of days, a little too preoccupied with my own agenda, so I thought I'd be a good friend for once and call them.

We ended up deciding to meet at Queen's Bouquets at noon.

As I made my way towards the flower shop, I let my mind wander off without boundaries. I didn't want to hide my thoughts anymore, I just wanted to let them run wild. Get it all out. Feel okay with my disappointment, because it was a natural feeling that I shouldn't be ashamed of.

And yeah, I was sad.

I have so many memories with Louis, but he doesn't remember a single one. It's like everytime I shift, I get reborn into this new life, and he just dies. All his memories gone, all our memories gone, but mine? Still there. I have to start all over again with him.

But this time I can't.

Because there's nothing to start.

"I'm a bloody mess," I said, walking into Queens Bouquet with a frown on my face, "how did I end up here, Lauren?"

Lauren was playing Solitaire again. "Good morning to you too, [y/n]."

"I'm just asking."

"Don't bring that negative energy in here, you'll kill the plants," she smiled, looking at me from over her computer, "but in all seriousness, is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I said.

What I really meant to say was: no, I'm really not okay, because I'm sick and tired of being the second choice in everything, and the only time I got to be first was in a reality that doesn't exist, and now I'm in a reality that's just like the real world and I'm back to being second. Or none. Maybe I'm not a choice at all.

But I didn't say that.

"I'm surprised I haven't seen you in here more often," the woman said, cocking a brow, "I'd think you'd be preparing for the competition like the rest of the teen botanists running around London."

I paused. "Competition?"

"Didn't you hear? The British Museum in Bloomsbury is holding a tournament for up-and-coming environmentalists."

No, I didn't hear about that, but I was certainly intrigued. Maybe this was the distraction that I needed from Louis. I could find my passion for plants again, and focus on things that I loved—not that I didn't love Louis, but you get the point.

"Tell me more," I said, leaning over the counter.

"They're going to be holding an impressionism exhibit in a few months, and they want someone to design an assortment of flower bouquets to compliment the artworks," Lauren explained, "the winner gets ten-thousand pounds and a guarantee into any university of choice."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am, darling."

I didn't have a chance to process the exceptionalism of this new found information, before the shop bell rang, and two familiar figures strode in.

Heather and Monica had daggers in their eyes, stalking towards me like they were on a murderous rampage and I was the one about to die—and I probably was by the looks of it.

"You!" Monica hissed, skidding to a stop in front of me, "where have you been, [y/n]?"

I winced under her threatening tone. "Out and about."

"Out and about?"

"Yes, that's what I said," I restated, "not doing anything of importance, if that's what you're asking."

That was an obvious lie, but my friends thankfully didn't seem to pick up on it. They seemed more preoccupied with eyeing me with suspicious intent, probably trying to see if I'd gotten myself into trouble. I had. The gash on my leg, and my slowly fading cheekbone bruise was still evident to the human eye.

"Who the hell have you been hanging around?" Monica hissed, "who gave you these marks?"

Heather cut in for the first time. "You haven't gotten in with a bad crowd, have ya'?"

"Or were those insufferable bullies taking things too far?"

"None of those things," I said, holding up my hands defensively, "I just fell on the pavement and got gashed up pretty badly. I'm fine now, though."

"Is this why you haven't been texting us back?" Heather asked.

"Partly," I half-lied.

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you're okay."

The conversation was short, but I was glad to have people worrying about me at the moment. I knew I should have kept up with them, but I had gotten so distracted and forgotten all about the life I was supposed to live—the life without Louis.

"We need to hang out today," Monica suggested, eyeing the shop, "I say we go down to the shops at Camden Market, hm?"

I went to agree, but I was cut off by the sound of Heather gasping.

Turning my head, I realized she was staring down at her phone in complete shock. Her eyes were bugged out like saucers, and she nearly dropped her phone from her shaking hands. Monica and I shared a confused glance.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Heather froze. "[y/n], you're not going to like this."

"What? Why?"

"Louis partridge has a girlfriend."

The news that seemed shocking to them, wasn't shocking to me, and I just felt my heart sink a little deeper into the black hole it lay. I could feel them pitying me. They knew how much I loved him, and they knew how disappointing it was to hear those words—but I had time to process that. I was fine, I think?

"Cool," I said weakly, "how did you find out?"

Heather held out her phone. "He posted on his Instagram story."

Taking the phone from her hands, I held my breath, glancing down at the small screen with fear and curiosity. At the top right of the post was a rectangle of bright red wording, spelling out: for my girlfriend. There was a big, fat, heart emoji next to it.

But what caught my attention was the photo itself. The gift he was referring to was sitting neatly on a table, next to the brown parcel I had seen him holding yesterday afternoon when I was with Millie and Issie. But now I knew what it was. And it broke me.

It was a tea set.