Dead Roses

Blonde

Chapter Twelve

London's P.O.V

I pry my eyes open waking from my slumber among the great abyss, adjusting to the bright light in the room. The unusual smell of the room streamed through my nostrils intoxicating me as I shifted to turn to the bedside table. As per usual, I wake up in my bedroom from my dreamless naps, recovering from my injuries and illnesses.

"You sleep like a baby," a voice startles me. I jump, landing on my sore arm. I wince in pain.

"Jesus," I pant, "who are you? Edward Cullen?" I ask sarcastically while glaring at Mackenna, who sits cross-legged at the edge of my California king bed.

"I was told to monitor you, so you don't suffer seizures alone in your sleep, or worse... die," she returns my glare playfully, as she says cheerily.

"Are you serious?" my eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, she nods in response, "thanks, you can go now since I'm awake and not dead," I mock restraining myself from rolling my eyes. With the number of times I have rolled them, I am more than perplexed as to how I haven't had an aneurysm.

"No can do, I'm monitoring you still," Mackenna says jumping off the bed to stand in front of me, she puts her arms out as if she wants me to latch onto her for support. Never will I ever allow me to rely or to fall back on anyone but myself. I carefully move her arms aside, walking into my walk-in wardrobe with her hot on my tail.

"Can I at least change?" I ask, almost pleading.

"Fine," she grumbles turning around, closing the door. I fish through drawers of tops, sweatshirts, and jumpers. I settle on a pair of light grey Calvin Klein sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt.

My cut must be covered from the world for as long as it heals, and if that means wearing the most ridiculous, giant, ugly outfits... so be it. 

"Are you done in there? I want to do something today," Mackenna announces. I open the door walking back into my bedroom.

"I thought you were making sure I don't die," I snort, crossing my arms. As of today, I have come to the conclusion that the aftermath of spending time with Mackenna results in an injury of some sort.

"I'm monitoring you outside the house, giving you the best medicine," she wiggles her eyebrows, "adrenaline... at a party of course. And you aren't wearing that." My jaw drops.

"Mackenna, Mackenna, Mackenna," I tut, "Let me recount my day for you. I went shopping with you, which was torture for my legs. Then I came home where my arm was sliced. I then woke up in the hospital, where I had a seizure, and finally, I woke up from a nap then being told I'm attending a party of some sort. Could I have a little time to relax and recover?"

"As you wish," she says, hanging her head low and leaving my room as if I did something wrong. Mackenna mightn't be blonde, but she certainly has the mind of one.

I jump onto my bed stretching as I fall back asleep.

***

My walks to school became regular after I walked away from Greyson.

Three hundred and sixty-five days flood past me, a reel of memories was prep within my time with Greyson. A year of 'I love you's wasted beneath the present only to be washed by the strong current that swept in reality. Storms of fog swarm by to clear my mind and finally the year unraveled revealing the truth behind his words.

When a raged, abused and submerged into a deep puddle of sadness person, wonders the journey of love it is bound to come crashing down. The world isn't fair, the amount of notes I could lather onto the table tops is unbearable.

So I thought.

After I walked away from him, an epiphany swarmed my head. I wasn't in love with him or in love with the idea of him. I liked the idea of love.

An angry, abused sad girl like me is so incapable of loving something and someone and the world is to blame for that. The world is to blame for my hurt. The world is to blame for taking away Dane. The world is to blame for my mother leaving. And the world is to blame for 'dad' being an asshole.

I set foot on the school grounds and take a deep breath in, as I prepare to take on the world.

My first class flew by me instantly, and as I reach my second class of the day I am greeted by a pop quiz. Most students resent tests and random quizzes such as these, however, I succeed, passing with flying colors.

"Hey, do you know the answer to number seven," someone taps my shoulder whispering. I roll my eyes and turn to my right to face the dark brown-eyed illiterate unable to complete a simple pop quiz.

"Yes, I do. Two squared plus six squared shouldn't be that difficult," I whisper harshly.

"I know the Pythagorean theorem," the boy next to me replies, scooting towards me. "I just wanted an excuse to talk to you," he runs his fingers through his tousled, red sand-colored hair.

"I-I'm sorry, do I know you?" I stutter quite confused.

"Wow, London. After all the classes we have shared together, you haven't even noticed me," he winks as I blankly stare at him, "I'm Jaxon," he extends his arm out towards me. I shake it hesitantly and smile.

"Nice to meet you, I guess," I respond unsure of what to say. Making friends with people is not my strong suit, but keeping them is even harder.

"Making friends is hard, I know," Jaxon guides my face with his hand to stare into his dark eyes, "but I don't bite."

Before I have any time to respond, a voice clears ahead of the both of us, "if you want to release your sexual tension, there is a janitor's closet down the hall. For now, complete the damn pop quiz," Mrs. Wallis thick, British accent bitches, rolling her eyes as Jaxon's cheeks redden camouflaging to the color of his outstanding freckles, dotted on his masculine face.

"Someone didn't get much last night," he grumbles, as his cheeks regain their fair color. I chuckle softly.

"Jaxon Campbell! Outside now!" Mrs. Wallis bellows. Deborah Wallis, otherwise referred to as Mrs. Wallis, is well into her forties, who has so far aged terribly. Her strands of luscious blonde hair were replaced with thinning grey hairs. She has formed wrinkles in more places than normal and bags under her eyes had become more prominent over the years of teaching at our school. Not once has she been caught enjoying life.

Much like myself until recently.

"Save me a seat on your table London! Goodbye, good soul!" Jaxon yells as he walks outside, waving goodbye to me overdramatically.

For the first time in almost forever, I let out the loudest laugh known to man. I forgot how loud and hoarse my laugh is. Students turn themselves around to the daring idiot who is laughing hysterically in Mrs. Wallis's class but their stares and whispers dissolve in a part of my brain as I continue cackling. Stitches form in my stomach from how hard I am laughing.

But I couldn't care less!

Hello and thank you for reading this chapter. In all honesty, I'm proud of London for making a friend.

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