Dead Roses

Sickly

Chapter Six

London's P.O.V

Sitting on a bench, surrounded by the borders of the schoolyard, I inhale the strong lingering smoke cluttering the air, unleashed from my previous cigarette. Nyke's body sits across from mine, his eyes venturing the distance, with his eyebrows furrowed in an unexplainable emotion hovering his features.

Our friendship has blossomed within the last week, a comfortable bond between us has formed. His favorite song to the discovery that he takes walks with his grandma has been revealed. The love he shares towards the people he cares for radiates strongly from his features.

Although little words are spoken about his family, there is no denying the lengths he'd vouch for the people he loves. However, I've come to the realization that Casey is Nyke's brother, my run-in with him at their family-owned liquor store wasn't as smooth as I'd liked, especially since he's Nyke's brother.

"Why do you smoke?" he asks, rushing his words as if they were bottled inside of him, just bursting to escape his lips. I'm not necessarily taken aback by his question and I want to give him some sort of truth. He had been explicitly open with me the past week, I think I owe it to him to understand what happens in my fucked-up head.

"When I came back from the hospital, I was being pitied to an extent. The gifts were the same, wilting flowers and cards from people I haven't even met. I hated it so much because they never gave me the gift I had been aching for," I respond in attempt to not cry.

I had promised myself I wouldn't shed a single tear after Nyke dropped me off at home. But when dad came into my room with a butcher's knife in hand, my vision blurred, and my eyes were filled with tears. I thought it would be my time to leave, I was so excited, but when he aimed terribly and threw it at the wall behind me, I wept, and excruciatingly painful sobs were released by me. What had gone so wrong in my life that I wanted my own drunken father to kill me?

"What gift would that be?" Nyke cocks his head to the side, staring deeply into my eyes.

"Death," I whisper.

"Lonnie you don't want death. It lasts forever, and it can't be undone. There are so many people here with you, that want you alive," he reaches for my hand over the table, but I flinch at the touch.

"Who wants me here Nyke? Fucking tell me! I know for a fact that I don't want me here! My father doesn't want me here! I pushed my best fucking friend away and my ex-boyfriend is a dick head! Who would want me here?" I practically scream standing up with hot angry tears rolling down my cheek. There goes my no crying streak.

"I want you here Lonnie," he says softly in attempt to soothe me, but it does the complete opposite.

"This isn't about you Nyke. It never will be about you," I spit his name, "It's about me, and nothing you could say or do could stop me and my thoughts."

"London, if you want to die so much, why haven't you done something efficient? Something quick so you die? Right now, you are torturing not only yourself but the people that care about you. Rosaleena absolutely loves you, I know it. The friend you pushed away, wants you, she loves you so damn much, that's what best friends do. And I know for a fact that I need you here. I think a small part of you knows we all want you here and you know that you don't want to let go or say goodbye so soon because you can't leave them. I know you might be able to leave me easily because you've known me for a short time, but for the love of God, your stepmother and best friend need you, just as much as I do," Nyke finishes sternly, but warmth and hurt are visible in his eyes.

Part of me wants to yell at him and tell him how wrong he is, and how I hate him for thinking he's correct. But the sane part of me tells me that he is right, entirely. I can't admit defeat, so I swiftly turn my back on him, and walk away, wiping my tear-stained cheeks.