Dreams of 18(35)

“I –"

“Because it all starts with a kiss, doesn’t it? Because none of it means anything to you. It’s all one stupid drunken mistake that you won’t even remember the next day.”

He finishes his sentence with clenched teeth and I think he’s done.

It’s over.

But no, he has more to give me. He has more gasoline to pour over the fire his words have started in my veins so that it burns down my whole body.

“Were you going to remember it the next day? The kiss? Or were you just playing a game? It was all a game, wasn’t it? You did it all for shits and giggles. It could’ve been anyone. It could’ve been the whole neighborhood. For all I know, it was the whole neighborhood. Maybe you made rounds through every man in the area before you came to me. Isn’t that right? Because let’s face it, it was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

My chest is heaving. It’s shaking, almost vibrating with the violence in my breaths.

I’m angry.

God, I’m so, so angry.

But I can’t make myself move. I can’t make myself escape the flames that are licking my skin, tonguing my nipples, turning them into these hard little points, making them ache.

How dare he?

How dare he say that? How dare he?

How dare he stand there, all outraged and tightened up like a fist, glaring at me like he wants to kill me for kissing other men when I’ve never kissed anyone in my entire life?

But you know what, fuck him. I’m too far gone now. Too far gone in my anger.

I’m not gonna correct him.

If he wants to be an asshole, he can be one. But I’m not going down.

Challenge accepted, Mr. Edwards.

“Well, now you know. Now you know that this is what I do.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, all fight leaves me. All fire, all anger.

I know I shouldn’t have said it. He’s right to be angry and I should’ve taken it. I should’ve taken his wrath.

A second later, I hear a smack, a slap that he delivers to the wall, sharp and powerful that practically shakes the whole building.

“Don’t play games with me, you got that?” he growls. “If I tell you to do something, you do it. If I tell you to leave, you fucking leave. You walk away. You don’t mess with me. You never mess with me. I eat girls like you for breakfast. Do you understand? And you? I’ll eat you up so slow that you’ll feel every painful bite. I’ll make you feel every painful bite. Every sharp stab of my teeth. Every vicious pull of my mouth. And trust me, you’re not going to like it, not one bit. So smarten the fuck up and leave. This is the last time I’ll ask nicely.”

With that, he whirls around and marches out the door.





I’m at his place.

Or rather outside of his place, where his dead rose garden is, surrounded by thick woods on all sides and crunchy, leaf-filled, untamed ground, all against the backdrop of mountains.

Seriously, how does anyone live here?

It’s practically impossible to live in this falling-apart cabin in the middle of the woods where even the sun doesn’t shine.

But whatever.

I am here because he lives here.

I’m not sure if it’s the right move. In fact, I should’ve left the moment he marched out of the bar after saying all those wonderful things to me and I’m being totally sarcastic here.

But I didn’t leave.

I wrote a note to Billy, the amused man, and told him that I’d be staying up in his room for a few more days. And then I left him some cash – which my mom generously gave me before I left – telling him that if he needed more, he could just slide the bill in through the door.

After that, I went up to the room and cried the day away.

Once I was done, I pulled out my phone and looked up gardening stores in the area and if they delivered. Turns out, there is a gardening store in Pike’s Peak that does deliver, and they had everything I needed. So I had them deliver some stuff to the bar, which I told Billy about with another note that I quickly left at the same place before the bar opened for the day.

A day later, here I am.

In his dead garden with all the supplies I need to grow him the roses. Once I’m done planting the new flowers for him, then I’ll leave.

I know, I know I said I wouldn’t be mad at him but screw him.

He’s not the boss of me.

If I want to learn how to grow roses on the internet, I’ll do it. If I want to use my newly-acquired knowledge and clear out the dead bushes, turn the freaking soil, dig a twelve-inch hole and add peat moss to it, I will fucking do that too.

I stab the shovel in the ground with a grunt. “Stupid, freaking jerk.”

Another stab. “Asshole.”

Stab number three and a kick, and I lower my voice and imitate his tone. “‘Were you going to remember it the next day? It was a game, wasn’t it? It could’ve been anyone.’ Yes. It could’ve been anyone, Mr. Edwards. It could’ve been the whole fucking neighborhood. What, you thought you were special? You’re not special. You were never special. Never.”

I kick at the ground again and the dirt goes flying. “Do you see how special you are, now? Do you?”

I raise the shovel high up and smash it back into the earth. “‘I eat girls like you for breakfast.’ Oh please. As if.”