In the Language of the Flowers

| 5 |

✾ Amaryllis ✾

The house was three stories. It was painted light blue. Baby blue. Annoyingly pure and pretending it wasn't filled with evil, hateful people blue.

Nothing was real.

I closed my eyes, trying to erase the images of white picket fences that hovered behind my lids. I'd dreaded this the entire train ride over. This was the moment where I either plucked up something as close to courage as I could get or bailed like the fucking wimp I suspected I was, like the fucking wimp I didn't want Ren to think I was.

I sat outside the house on an old stone wall across the street. I bit my lip and stared at one of the mossy stones beside me. It felt soft under my fingers, slightly damp with the recent rain. I chipped the moss away with my fingernail to feel the callous stone beneath.

I sighed and stood as I cleaned the dirt from beneath my nail. A car crept by right in front of me. I felt like the driver was watching me. He wasn't, of course. He didn't even turn his head to look at me as he passed. But I still felt like I was being watched. I was being judged.

I bounded across the street, resolving to do this quickly else it would never happen at all. "I can come, you know," he'd offered. I'd shut down Ren's proposal instantly. There was no way I was going to let Ren meet my homophobic family members. Besides, Ren didn't even know I was gay. That was an entirely different can of worms that I wanted to keep safely sealed away. They'd spill everywhere and ruin everything.

I'd never been afraid of being honest about my sexuality before, but everything felt tenuous. I was walking on thin ice. I could hear it fracturing beneath my feet. I just wanted to stay still, freeze and disappear.

I could hear the muffled doorbell from outside. It was only moments before the door swung open at an alarming speed.

His smile faded as soon as he saw me. "Beau, we were worried about you."

I nodded awkwardly. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You just ran away. What were we supposed to do with that? We don't even have your number," he said. He looked frustrated. His hand still hung off of the door. His silvery hair was perfectly in place. I doubted a strong wind would ruffle it at all.

"I didn't mean to worry you," I said. There was a little bit of venom in my voice that I'd meant to conceal.

His expression cracked and his hand slid off of the door. It landed limply by his side. "Beau, I know this is hard. I didn't mean...I mean, I was worried about you."

My entire chest ached. He seemed earnest, and he probably was. But it didn't matter. This house was toxic, even if he wasn't. "I found a place to stay," I said quickly. I knew I would boomerang back. If I went easy on this man, I would go right back to hellish isolation and insidious insults. I couldn't let that happen. "I just need my stuff."

"Beau, this can still be your ho-"

"It's not." I cut him off harshly. He looked hurt. "I know you feel guilty about my mom, but please just let me take my things and leave. I don't want to live here."

His jaw twitched. "Give me your number, and I'll give you your things."

"Come on," I groaned. "It's my stuff. You can't just-"

"Your mom would kill me if I let you go with no way of finding you," he said.

I stared at him. I really just wanted to go back to the tiny apartment where no one looked at me like I was actively spouting demonic tongues and scuttling crab-like across the ceiling all the time.