one
I had an accident, once.
It involved the sea and a boy. I can't remember most of it, and I think that's because I don't want to remember.
I remember crashing waves and us, laughing, fingers grazing over skin. I remember sand between my toes and stormy skies. I remember how he tasted on my lips - like salt and apple. I remember how his fingers felt entwined with mine. I remember his smile and warm eyes and true mouth. I remember him, for all that he was, and everything he wasn't.
Afterwards, I was alone. White walls and medical equipment and one sad, lonely mother beside my bed, her eyes rimmed red. She was holding my hand, her nails leaving imprints on my pale arm. I remember that they were red and chipped, and that her nails were bitten. I remember that she always bit her nails when she was nervous.
Doctors came in, their voices soft and gentle. They asked me my name: Sarah Jacobs. My age: sixteen. My favourite flower: a rose. They nodded and asked what happened: I don't know.
I don't like them, anymore.
Roses.
