You'll Be The Death Of Me

Violet

In a crowd full of people, I felt so alone.

I deeply breathed in, intoxicating my lungs with tobacco and release beautiful, grey swirls of smoke. Relaxation surges through my veins as I click my neck. How ironic I'm smoking underneath a strict NO SMOKING sign.

School tries to ban teenagers from a lot of things. Smoking, drugs, alcohol, bullying. I know they're all bad things in the world which physically or emotionally do bad things to your body. I can't count the amount of assemblies I've attended that make me shake their had at their bullshit.

"Smoking kills you. Don't do it."

That's mainly why I do it, asshole.

Smoking isn't a guaranteed death. It damages your insides, sure. It makes you cough so you feel like you're going to ejaculate your lungs - at the worst of times, anyway. Sometimes I like the pain. That's fucked up. Society would say so. But society's fucked up, too.

I drop the cigarette and destroy the remaining sparks with my purple converse as I walk away. I should be going to maths. And everyday my fucked up brain tells me "You wouldn't have to go to maths if you just kill yourself."

I step into maths, walk to my seat and as I look up I find the teacher is trying to tell me something.

I remove one of my headphones, one still playing my music.

"What?"

"I said take off your headphones." Sir says, sighing.

"Oh." I take them off and avoid a few irrated stares. I honestly don't know what their problem is. Not that I give a shit.

The bell rings for the end of lesson. I grab my shoulder bag, put on my headphones and walk out the room briskly.

I like to walk quickly. I feel like walking slowly gets me noticed more, annoys too many people. I don't care if I annoy them; I just don't want no bullshit.

I was walking too quickly, apparently.

I bump into some boy with messy blonde hair and a faded burgundy jumper with a few intentional holes ripped in some random areas. Probably wondering how I noticed so many details about this stranger. And that is because when I say "bump" he had legitmately stood right in front of me and I clashed into him.

"What are you doing?" I say, irritably, and go to storm off from the prick.

"Not an apology for bumping into me?" He says, raising a dark eyebrow.

I scowl. "You were in my way. Hardly my fault. Move, please." I reply through gritted teeth.

His face turns into a smile and he shifts to the right and carries on walking.

"Wow, weirdo." I mutter. Who does that?

Unfortunately, that wasn't my last encounter with the weird boy and the messy hair.

Walking home, I got that feeling that I was being followed. I don't know if it's my crazy mind pushing thoughts like this into my brain, or I am being followed because it happens all the time. I turn around anyway and get a glance of a burgundy jumper hesitantly walking towards me.

Shit.

Maybe he lives round here? Maybe not.

"Why are you following me?" I call.

"You dropped your flower."

What is he on about?

"What?" I furrow my eyebrows as he slowly walks towards me. "I never had any flowers. Can you just piss off? You're really annoying."

Before I can turn away, I feel him grab my arm and we are both now face to face, his dark eyes searching my light ones. But he doesn't look menacing; he's pulling a half smile.

"You dropped... this."

I notice a black rose inches from my face. It's darkness entices me... I don't want to take my eyes off it. But I do. I look at his eyes that transfix me.

"Wh-what is this?" I laugh quietly. "Di-did you paint this?" I sound impressed. This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. He looks slightly embarrassed. "It's beautiful... I... I'm just confused..."

He looks me in the eyes again. Smiling.

"You don't even know me." I whisper.

We're really close. And I don't really mind. I normally hate human interaction; eye contact and feeling their breath against your skin, urgh, gives me the creeps.

But looking at his beautiful face, I couldn't care. I want to stay like this forever. Practically hugging a beautiful, mysterious stranger who bought and painted and gave me a black rose.

"I know. But I want to." He breathes.

I take this in. What's the catch? No one at school is nice to me. No one at school has shown me any type of affection. Why is he? Is this some fucked up dare?

I feel hurt clenching my throat, but I don't get mad. I pull away from his cold grasp and smile shyly.

"Maybe we could hang out sometime?" I say quietly.

Then I walk away, the black rose delicately between my fingers.

A/n
What do you think? I have a vague idea of where this story is going, and if it will ever get a lot of reads, but whoever does, maybe suggest something that could happen? Thanks!
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