A Field of Wildflowers

Scarlet Dress

     I walk off the nearly empty train into the nearly empty train station. With a flick I open my cheap flip-phone to check the time: 1:07. But there is something else covering my generic ocean lock screen.

Fish: [picture message]

    I quickly try to download the picture, but with my crappy service and cheap phone it will take a couple minutes. I sit down on a slanted bench, still in the train station. Three drunk girls stumble near me, sky-scraper high heels dangling from their finger tips. As they finally pass me, one of them slips on the moist floor. I instinctively reach out and grab her arm in an attempt to break her fall. Her scarlet dress pulls dangerously up her pale skin as she sorts out her balance in a sort of squatting position. She looks up at me with stunning stormy blue eyes; her lightly curled raven hair frames her strangely familiar face, messy from a night of mostly likely parties. I'm still sitting on the bench. Her perfectly manicured white nails slide up my bare legs, sending shivers up my spine. Once she reaches my knees, she pushes herself up off the floor.

     "Thank you for helping me," she slurs, but before I can respond she runs to her friends at the top of the stairs leading out. Once she reaches them she throws her arms around them and they all burst out giggling. My eyes follow the boisterous group as they inch closer to the exit. The girl turns back and winks at me before exiting. I suddenly remember where I know her from. That was Ophelia Monroe, I believe her great-great-great grandfather (or something like that) founded the academy. Her father, Hugo Monroe, co-owns a very successful law firm called Monroe Brothers with his brother Felix Monroe. I try to semi keep up with the upper class to know who to try to get recommendations from and who to avoid, but I usually try to stay away from general gossip. Although, it's kind of hard to do that with how often my fellow students talk about Ophelia.

     Allegedly she's a heavy party girl and tends to spend nights in countless bachelors' bedrooms. They secretly call her "Hell" behind her back; I think it was sloppily pulled from her name, but I can't be sure. But I do know that she has a beautiful voice. She played Juliet in the academy's musical spin-off of Romeo and Juliet, which surprisingly turned out really well. I was only there because I was in charge of filming it and had to take numerous pictures for the yearbook.

     A soft ding pulls me from my thoughts and I look down at my phone to see the picture that Finn sent me. A large, overweight cat with wild, long grey hair and yellow-green eyes fills the screen. My heart instantly melts.

Avery: shes beautiful!!! <3

     Earlier Fin and I stayed at the willow tree for hours just talking while watching the day disappear. He told me about his pregnant cat named Smokey. He also mentioned his complicated, adoptive family. His father died from cancer when Finn was only twelve and his mother is a doctor that is never home. He was practically raised by his sweet, jobless aunt that lives with them. With my rough home life, his story sparked empathy within me. We ended up exchanging numbers with him promising to send me a new picture of Smokey when he got home.

Fish: Ik, she's precious! 👑

Fish: Did you get home okay?

Avery: im still in the train station XD

Fish: What on earth?? 😂

Fish: Good luck getting home

Avery: thx im prolly gonna need it

I close my old phone, get up off the wooden, slanted bench, and head home.

••••

When I turn down the hall heading toward our rundown apartment, I see a figure lying outside our place. I run down the hall, my uniform loafers slapping the tile floor. When I reach the figure I realize that it's Grant, only his eyes are closed. I shake him, desperately trying to wake him up: he doesn't flinch. I press two fingers to his neck and detect his strong pulse. Thank goodness, he's still here. I wipe my watering eyes and look at the damaged door limply covering the apartment. Slices cover the cheap wood; it looks as if someone took a sledgehammer and just started whacking it. It wouldn't be the first time. I push the pathetic door in and take a look into the apartment. I'm instantly greeted by the stench of body odor and three of my father's "friends" passed out on the sofa. I walk into the room, careful to not make a sound. I creak my father's bedroom door open and see him asleep on the floor. He may have not made it to the bed but at least he made it into the room this time! I pull the blanket that I had folded from the foot of his bed and cover his pathetic self.

I walk back out into the hallway and carefully drag my unconscious brother into our room, my muscles groaning under his weight. I put him onto the bed and pull off his ratty vans, throwing them into the corner. I search through his pockets and find a wad of cash. I walk over to our shared dresser and put it in the stash in my undergarment drawer. I have to put it in here not just because of my father, but to keep it from my brother when he's not in his right mind. I pull his plaid quilt up to his jawline and kiss his forehead.

    After he's safe in bed, I snag a sweatshirt off my bed and rummage through a drawer and snatch a clean pair of my brother's sweatpants. With as little sound as possible, I walk into the only bathroom and lock the door. I get dressed and brush my teeth as fast as humanly possible at this hour. I then rigorously scrub off whatever's left of my cheap, lightly-done makeup and go back into our room. I lock the two deadbolts and drag the heavy dresser in front of the door for good measure. I don't want the men in the next room anywhere near my brother and I while we sleep.