Evan always tried to hide his flowers. It was pointless, almost everyone had them, but their flowers were bright yellows and pinks that made them look like walking flower bouquets. His were dark colors - blacks, reds, browns, and purples - that made him look morbid and intimidating. And his flowers stood for the worst things too. While Jared was covered in bright pink flowers that meant heartbreak, Evan had a huge, red, zinnia on the back of his neck that meant depression, dark purple irises on his arms, legs, and face that meant bruises, and black flowers lining his wrists meaning self harm. There were almost 47 black flowers. He hated it, being marked as the kid who was supposed to fall in love with a depressed psychopath. It didn't help that his anxiety would spike at the worst possible times, causing him to trip and stutter at the worst times.
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Connor didn't choose to be born with depression, a feeling that started at the back of his neck and just seemed to grow. He didn't choose to be covered in burns and bruises from his abusive father, and he didn't choose to have a bright blue flower on the palm of his hand that symbolized anxiety. He wanted to end it all - the pain, the humiliation, the fucking flower that would grow at the worst possible times. He hated how everything that happened to him would affect his soulmate. Only he deserved to feel that pain.
ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴇɴɢᴜʟꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʟᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴍʏ ʜᴏᴍᴇ.
They burnt my flowers down, imagine how mad they would go when they see they grew back as thorns. They should've made sure the heavens weren't on my side when they killed me. For I have returned in devils form to claim vengeance for the girl I used to be.
"Who are you?"
I have built up walls of concrete, I caged that strange organ in the centre of my chest because it stands as weakness. But it is melting melting melting, my defences are crumbling, my heart is beating. It's strange. ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ. No one has ever dealt with love without getting their hands burnt.
ᴮᵘᵗ ᴵ ˢʷᵉᵃʳ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵘⁿⁱᵛᵉʳˢᵉ ˢʰⁱᶠᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵐʸ ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵐᵉᵗ ʰⁱˢ.
"I cannot love you."
"So hate me."
"I tried that a long time ago."
"And what happened?"
"𝘐 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥."
They spent years torturing me, teaching me I was unlovable, a monster incapable of loving. So I believed love was much like sand, an unattainable something which would slip through my fingers the moment I tried to grasp it.
But now my battered heart gnaws its way out my body, pouncing into my stained hands, begging, pleading, falling on its goddamn knees as it tells me: '𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑, 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢.'
TW.⚠️