In My Blood [S.M]

Laying On The Kitchen Floor, Feeling Nothing

“God damn it, Eric," Rosaline protested, letting the white plate that she had retrieved from the cupboard, hit the floor. Within an instant, it shattered into a million tiny pieces, just like her heart. This was something that could never be fixed no matter how hard you tried. "Don't you get it? You cannot fix this!" She screamed, causing the tears that had built up behind her eyes, to flow freely as she knelt down in front of the mess that she had made, sobbing hysterically.

The pain that Rosaline felt was unbearable. The type of pain that she prayed those close to her would never feel. She would not wish this on her worst enemy. Making matters worse, Eric thought that his actions were okay. He had this image in his head that he did nothing wrong and couldn’t put his finger around why Rosaline could possibly be so furious at him. In his eyes, he did nothing wrong.

"You don't understand." She sobbed out, choking on her words as she pushed her blonde hair back behind her ear, she looked like a mess - that much she knew were true. "You never do. I cannot believe you right now. No, you know what? I can. You're a fucking prick!"

She sat there on the cold, hard, tiled floor of the kitchen with her knees tight against her chest as she wrapped her arms around them, crying out loud. In the point of time she did not care who saw her like this. She was a mess. A mess that Eric had created. Eric didn't check on her, not even once, throughout the whole time that she had been curled up, a sobbing mess. He could hear her cries but genuinely, he did not care. He sat on his phone the entire time, oblivious as to what he could have possibly done wrong.

As time passed, Rosaline found some kind of strength and pushed herself up off the floor, using the back of her hand to wipe away the tears that had fallen from her eyes. She hadn't yet cleaned up the mess that had been created, insisting on moving on with what she had been about to do before it had all happened, and told herself that she would clean herself and the mess she’d made right after this. She tied her thick blonde hair back with the brown hair elastic that had been worn as a bracelet on her wrist, then, wiped her hands on the denim blue jeans she had on, taking out a new plate from the cupboard, she set it down on the counter top as she retrieved four slices of bread from the bag, setting out on making two ham, tomato and cheese sandwiches. It wasn't until she had cut the sandwiches into 8 small square pieces that she was finished and called out to Eric.

"Apr--- Celine. Hey. Uh." He started, pausing as he glanced down at the eight small pieces that his sandwiches had been cut up into. "Why's my sandwich cut up into pieces?" She heard him ask as she spun on her heels, heading over towards the fridge to put away the ingredients.

''Because you're a fucking baby," she responded harshly, needing no time to think over the statement that she had just made.

"What a lovely entrance." Came a soft, unknown male voice that ended with a light chuckle. "I'm Shawn." The voice spoke again.

Rosaline had her back to them and spun around. Her jaw dropped the very moment she caught sight of her father standing beside a stunning young man.

"Rose, this is Shawn," her dad repeated, encouraging her to befriend the stranger, and showing no emotion over her previous remark, though she knew that were something they'd discuss later.

Rosaline waited for her dad to elaborate, but he made no attempt to do so. Shawn, whoever he was, was obviously too polite to speak out of turn.

“I’m Rosaline,” she told him. “I’m not sure why I said that,” she admitted. “You’ve probably heard all about me from my father.’

“You don’t appear to like being called Rose,” he observed. She’d not voiced this to anyone, so she wondered how he’d come to that conclusion.

“How’d you know?” She asked. Shawn smiled, a dimple appearing on his cheek as he did so.

“Understanding body language is kind of part of my job,” he explained. “When someone refers to you as Rose, the top of your ears turn red, and you clench your jaw; which suggests you aren’t fond of the nickname.” Rosaline was stunned. “I’m not usually wrong,” he admitted, “but do correct me if I am.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied. “I would appreciate it if you’d call me Rosie, if you must give me a nickname,” she added; “but calling me Rosaline would suffice just as well.”