the sweetly scented killer

she loves me

seth

Well I know exactly what the fuck I want to do now that we're home.

I took a shower a bit after we got in, and with every ounce of my being, I wanted Flora to join me.

When I get out, she's nowhere to be found. "Flora?" I call, tightening the towel around my waist. I peek around the other side of the bed, but she's not there laying on the floor weaving a flower crown like she does.

It feels so quiet. The room feels so much bigger. I hate it.

I go downstairs in black satin shorts and a brown fleece sweatshirt.

Flora stands out in the gardens accompanied by the cruel dark nighttime, wearing those silky black pants that look more like a floor-length skirt. Her hair is neatly in two braids that stop just below her shoulders, and her face is in its natural smiley state, but otherwise expressionless.

I put the hood of my sweatshirt up to shield myself from the boisterous wind. My fingertips meet her waist and I pull her back against me. Her body warms mine.

The pressure of Flora's head against my chest is light, reassuring, and fills me with contentment. I take a second to let my arms snake around her waist, and for her hands to find their way to mine.

Her hair is damp against my nose and allows an initial airy scent of something sweet to be picked up.

My thumb trails the silken skin on the back of her hand, memorizing the way her bones feel against each other, and how far apart one knuckle is from its neighbor.

I feel the texture of the skin that connects her thumb to the rest of her hand, and her palm that gets more and more clammy the more I near the center.

I finally lift my nose from her head and tilt my head so that I may see her profile. She knows I'm studying her, but she looks at me on her own time. Not rushing the gentle turn of her head.

The unfaltering eye contact only ceases when I can't bear avoiding her lips any longer. I want to taste them, and finally stop wondering if they're as sweet as her. I want to show her how sublime mine can feel on other parts of her body.

But I tear my eyes away to meet her wide brown ones.

My voice comes out low and raspy; an unintended whisper. "What are you thinking about?"

I don't particularly like asking this question, merely because 90% of the time with Flora, I don't know the answer.

Her open mouth is contradictory to the fact that there are no words coming out. Then she speaks. Slowly and with caution.

"I committed a sin tonight," Flora admits. "Well," she turns her head back to everything in front of us. "More like three."

It's unexpected, hearing this come from her. I can't say that I'm not curious. I want to know what it is, but she doesn't exactly seem like she wants me to. "Do you regret it?"

Her head rests against my chest once more. The angel in my arms heaves a sigh.

"Not yet."

***

I take a seat across from my brother. "Do you think father cares--"

"Father doesn't care about you and neither do I." I glare at him.

"Can you not be a dick for five minutes?"

Damien tilts his head back and forth, weighing my question. "Maybe four."

I cut my eyes away from him and exhale. "Do you think father cares about mother?"

He frowns. "Why do you care?"