Fleur

Chapter One

Cover art credit to Squiip_ His art is amazing and beautiful. Go check it out because it's so awesome and amazing.

TRIGGER WARNINGS

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"Connor Murphy! If you don't come down here in the next five minutes, I'm leaving without you!"

Connor groaned lazily and threw his pillow towards the sound of the voice. When there was no response, he pulled off his covers and threw on a random shirt, knowing it wouldn't matter since his jacket would cover it anyway. He grabbed his satchel and headed downstairs, praying that his father wasn't there. It had been years since he's actually been hit, but Larry still scared him (even though he'd never admit to it).

"Good morning, Connor," His mother said while checking her Facebook page. "Zoe's already headed out. If you don't leave now, you're gonna be late."

Connor mumbled something along the lines of 'school can suck my dick' and left, leaving the door wide open. Cynthia sighed, not bothering to tell her son to close the door. It's not like he'd listen anyways.

"So how'd you sleep, Connor? Or did you even sleep at all? I heard some crying late last night. Are you still going for that 'depressed, emo, drug dealer' look?"
Zoe laughed as she taunted her older brother.

Actually, yes. I stayed up all night crying because I want to die so badly. You know what else, Zoe? I cut. A lot. Does that surprise you?

"Fuck off," the older boy sneered, causing his sister to laugh before skipping away buoyantly.

Zoe's forehead was covered in tiny yellow daisies meaning her soulmate had a lot of pressure and insecurities. Almost everyone knew who her soulmate was - Alana Beck. She was always rubbing her forehead on the very spot where Zoe had her flowers. Zoe refused to believe that Alana was her soulmate; she considered herself straight as a ruler.

Most people had figured out their soulmates by ninth grade. It seemed unfair to Connor. He'd been looking for his since he first saw the flower on his hand. All he knew about his soulmate is that they had bad anxiety, which narrowed down about 1/4 of the country, not to mention the fact that his soulmate could be across the world.

He checked his left arm where there used to be a white flower indicating an internal injury. It was faded away, but still visible if  you looked hard enough. Like wax paper. Connor also had a tiny dark red zinnia on the bottom of his right foot. But those were tiny flowers that were practically invisible, they didn't matter to him as much. The blue, pulsing flower called attention to him, and no matter what he tried to do, it was always there. There were surgeons that specified in removal of flowers, but those were too expensive. Today the blue flower was extra active, at times being as large as a baseball. Connor wondered if his soulmate was okay.

As he entered the doors of the busy high school, the bell rang and the hallways were immediately crowded with students trying to navigate the halls. Being a tall, intimidating, senior, he had the ability to make eyes look away from him and clear a path for him. Almost as if he was a king. But a depressed king who every day was closer and closer to ending his life once and for all. A king who scared his subjects instead of helping them. A king who knew that the world would be better off without him.

If he wanted to, he could make it to class on time, maybe even be early. But what was the point if he was going to die anyways? Would it really help him in the dark, black void that was death? Would the power of Geometry 2 cure his depression? So instead of going to class, the intimidating king went to the bathroom, entered the stall near the window, and started to smoke his pot.

The familiar smell of pot made him drowsy, almost putting him to sleep. He knew it was bad for him, but that's kind of why he did it. If he couldn't kill himself immediately, he'd do things that would kill him slowly. It would probably affect his soulmate if he died, but Connor didn't really care. His soulmate probably wouldn't want to be with him anyway. He was an awful person.

The bell rang again signaling time for second period - English. It was one of the few classes Connor liked. He was an expressive person and was always able to rely on writing as a way to tell the world what he felt about life. It was easy to take a character and put all his problems into it. He could be a whole other person with a complex mask that hid what he actually felt. And people actually enjoyed what he wrote, well, his teachers did anyway. When he was younger, they would enter his writing in contests. But after one of his writings was published, Larry found the connections between real life and Connor's characters. He hit Connor that night, leaving bruises and stings. Larry threatened Connor into not publishing his writing. He never entered a contest again, but he still wrote. That was something Larry could never take away from him. Letters strung into words and the rules of grammar made sense to him.

"Mr. Murphy, I see you're late again," the teacher noted as she marked his tardiness on her attendance papers. Great, another thing to be ashamed of.

Connor shrugged and took his seat in the back, left corner of the classroom. His seat was close to the window, letting him daydream about escaping his life. He pulled out his black notebook that was filled with messy handwriting, notes, and doodles and started doing the warmup posted on the board. It was easy, write a paragraph on what the meaning of life was. Connor had though about this a lot, coming to the conclusion that there was no meaning to life as one day everyone will be dead.