Hidden in the Night

Chapter 1 - Camelias

I had once again lost focus on the book I was reading. Shaking my head, I ran my hands through my wavy hair in attempts to liven myself up. I had to get through this chapter for my construction principles class or else I was, without a shadow of a doubt, going to fail our upcoming test. I still had a few days to get it done, but I hated the feeling of putting things off and procrastinating. Which is why I was forcing myself to get this assignment completed in the somewhat deserted Cascadia College library.

As much as I would love to get my work done at my apartment, my insanely loud neighbors with their frequent rotation of rowdy guests butted up right against my thin wall. I knew they most likely didn't mean to disrupt me and were only having fun. So, I could never find it in my heart to complain simply because I was finding it more difficult to get my work done. I had just adapted, finding somewhere else to go in order to concentrate on my school work.

As I glanced up at the clock that rested above the exit the time read 2:30. I nearly let out a gasp as I gathered my stuff in a haste. My shift at Kruckeberg started at 3:00 and the bus that took me there left any minute now. Luckily the bus stop was right down the road, so I still had hope.

I exited the library quickly and headed towards my destination, my speed was somewhere between a walk and a jog in fear of creating a spectacle of myself. The white and blue bus was now in my sight. It read the destination of Shoreline, Washington across the front, which was only about a twenty minute drive from here in Bothell. To my luck, the doors were still open so I quickly walked up them, stumbling on the last step. An older man who resided in the front seat let out a chuckle at my lack of coordination, causing my cheeks to heat up. I averted my gaze to the ground and I walked towards the back of the bus, sitting in an unoccupied space. 

As I sat on the bus, I realized that I hadn't called my mom in at least a week, though I'm sure she hadn't noticed. I decided I would try to check in on her, just to make sure she was alright. I dialed the number into my extremely outed, yet reliable phone and placed the device to my ear. I was sent straight to voicemail and received a text seconds later.

Mom: I'm out right now. Don't call me again.

I sighed quietly and placed my phone back into my backpack. She was undoubtedly out at a bar, drinking away her sorrows. I knew she was dealing with a lot, so everytime she went out I reminded myself that she was only trying to make herself feel better. In the beginning I had tried to convince her to quit her bad habits, but she only ever got angry at what I had to say. Those bad habits spiraled into a horrible addiction and nine years later I still felt guilty. I couldn't help but think that I should have tried harder to help her with her troubles. Been more persistent that she needed to stop. I knew I had myself to blame, for not being there for her, and now we were both suffering for it.

Pushing my miserable feelings down, I decided I was going to be somewhat productive on this bus. I finished my assignment during the duration of the trip and once I reached my stop I quickly exited, heading towards my workplace. I was employed at Kruckeberg Botanic Garden and I absolutely adored it. The salary wasn't anything exceptional but I had a strong passion for it, which was all that I could ask for. I was able to tend to plants all day, organizing and maintaining them along with the occasional, tedious task of stocking shelves and things of that sort. Plus, a huge bonus was that I was gaining experience towards the profession of a landscape designer, which was what I had just begun studying at the beginning of this school year. The idea of being paid to help others create and maintain an area they adore, especially a space filled with plants of all sorts, seemed out of this world.

Entering the store I quickly clocked in and attached my name tag to my work shirt, which I had changed into earlier today. It was a bright white color that prominently contrasted my raven black hair and russet skin I got from my father's side. The collar was itchy and the material was too thick to be considered comfortable, but it was bearable.

I walked towards our outdoor greenhouse, the sun brilliantly reflecting off of the glass panes it was made of. Inside were plants of all colors and sizes, the beautiful variety never failed to take my breath away. As I admired the sights before me I heard a deep voice coming from inside.

"There's no labels on any of this shit," a man exclaimed, his voice holding extreme irritation.

"Maybe if you weren't such a dumbass, you would have actually known what these Camel things look like," another spoke dryly, seemingly unimpressed with the others behavior.

"Camellias. They're Camellias for the millionth time," the first retorted.

"For the millionth time, I still don't care. Hurry up, we've got places to be," the second one responded.

I knew the flower they were discussing, they were often found in a stunning, light pink shade with an abundance of petals. I retrieved a full pot of Camellias and began to make my way towards the men I had just heard, hoping this would be helpful.

In front of me I saw one man who was frantically looking through all of our flowers we had on display while the other faced the opposite direction, seemingly staring at nothing.

"Um, excuse me," I said quietly, trying to gain the attention of the one seeking the Camellias. However, he was so distraught as he searched that he hadn't heard me. But the other had.

Turning around was an incredibly threatening man. His entire body, which had to be well over six feet, was made of solid muscle. His grey t-shirt was hugging his chest and torso tightly, exposing black tattoos that ran along both of his arms. His facial features were sharp and prominent, though his jaw was partially concealed by a dark five o'clock shadow. His piercing blue eyes automatically focused on the pot of flowers I was holding in my hands.

"Spencer, some chick was eavesdropping on our conversation and got the flowers you need," he grumbled, his eyes rolling in the process.

"Oh, I'm s-sorry about that. I just thought you might, um maybe want some help," I spoke quietly, me face heating due to the truth of his words.

"Your rudeness makes me look like a damn saint," the flower searcher, Spencer I had just learned, remarked to the other in an agitated tone.

He turned towards me, his dark hands reaching down to grab the flower pot I was offering to him. He was nearly as tall as the other, not quite as muscly, but still obviously in shape.

"Thank you... Paisley," he said, glancing down at the nametag on my shirt.

"It's not a problem, sorry again," I apologized.

"Don't be. Just ignore Dax here, he's a douche," he said with a chuckle, glancing towards Dax with a smug look on his face. Dax unshockingly remained stoic as ever. I wasn't quite sure how to respond so instead I led them towards the register with a small smile.

"Is this all?" I asked Spencer as I scanned the price tag on the pot.

"Yeah, hopefully my fiance likes it. I can never remember which flower looks like which," he said with a laugh, a small smirk making its way onto his face.

"I'm sure they'll love it," I responded with a smile, handing the Camellias back to him. 

I felt a pang of jealousy pass through me, not because Spencer in peticular had a fiance, but simply because I wished I had someone too. Not necessarily somebody who I was in a relationship with, not even somebody who would buy me flowers. Just somebody who cared.

But I pushed the thought down, knowing that I should be glad he had somebody rather than envy him for it. Besides, I don't think having someone like that is in the cards for somebody as problematic as myself.

"Thank you," he smiled.

"You guys both have a great day," I beamed. 

"You too," Dax said, surprising me. But before I even got the chance to look up at his face, he was walking away, Spencer following behind. A small grin pulled at my lips as I walked in the opposite direction.