Page 30 of Lost Petal

Chapter 17

J

I’ve been standing outside the store for an eternity, watching. Just watching her as she goes about her business, moving through the plant-filled room with an elegance that’s unique to her.

She hasn’t changed much from when I last saw her, even though it has been more than four years. She was a teenager then, so young and pure, the epitome of innocence and suppressed will. Some of it still holds true to this day. Her face is just as immaculate as it was then, porcelain skin and green eyes that are surprisingly dark in contrast to her ash-blonde hair. It was shorter back then, when she was still in school. Today, the heavy waves don’t stop just above her shoulders, but fall down her delicate back almost all the way to her hips. It looks like she hasn’t cut it once since the last time I saw her.

I can still see it in her. That craving, that dark need no one but me knows about. It’s still there, and I bet it’s still scaring her just like it did then. I bet she hasn’t acted on it ever since I laid my hands on her.

The memory has been haunting me ever since.

The green apron that’s tied around her slim waist stands out in stark contrast to the light-colored dress she’s wearing underneath. The dark color doesn’t suit her and neither does the outfit itself.

She shouldn’t be here. I know she never wanted to be here.

A shadow of sadness is cast across her face, slowing her every movement and weighing her down, keeping her gaze low, glued to the work at hand.

Work that she never wanted to do.

She looks unhappy in every aspect, and it gets to me even worse than I expected. It shouldn’t affect me this much.

Fuck, I barely know her. She might not even want to remember me. She might just greet me like any other customer once I step through the door. She could look at me with those sad eyes and ask how she can help me.

And it would fucking destroy me.

That’s why I’m still standing here. Watching. Observing. Waiting. Waiting for a decision.

Her hands are dirty, and moist soil drips down to the floor when she lifts her hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead. Dark crumbs of soil linger on her temple when she continues to repot another set of plants.

I take a step back, away from the store window, reconsidering.

She never contacted me when she came back to town. She must know that I’m around. She must know what I do and where to find me. It’s impossible not to. Everybody in the region and beyond knows about me. Ever since local and national news started to become aware of my talent and my business, I’ve been featured all over the place. It’s impossible to pick up a newspaper without seeing my face in there, without reading about me and the things I do. Things that no one understands, things that terrify some people and mystify others.

Things that have made me a rich man. People are willing to pay vast amounts of money to take advantage of my skills.

She must know, if not for the fact that she was my first. I know she doesn’t have access to that particular set of information.

She doesn’t know what I did for her all those years ago.

But I want her to know. And that’s the problem.

I want her to come to me, to thank me, to talk to me like she used to back then.

I want so much more from this girl than I’m ever allowed to take. And it’s killing me, slowly but surely.

It was easier when she was gone, far away at the other side of the country. I knew she was doing well. She was pursuing a dream she’d had since junior high school. I knew she was happy, or at least content. And that was all I needed.

But now she’s back with that sad look on her face, those slouched shoulders and a lack of hope that’s agonizing to witness. I never wanted her to return, because I knew it would be for the wrong reasons.

I know that he’s to blame for it.

Robert steps out of the back room carrying a pallet filled with pansies that he places right next to her on the working counter. Unlike her, he has aged a lot in the past few years. It’s been even longer since I’ve seen him, but I know that his hair wasn’t as gray back then, the lines on his face were not as deep and his belly was a good size smaller, too. Time has marked him in the most unpleasant ways, making it so much easier to hate him.

I’ve never liked the guy, not after what he did to her, and right now I feel nothing but burning rage as I see him talking to her. He’s not a very tall man, barely taller than her, but his entire presence speaks of control and a claim of ownership that’s dysfunctional. She listens to him, nodding along without looking at him, never stopping her work for even a second. Such a dutiful girl, so good, so obedient.

So naturally submissive.

A faint smile plays at the corners of her mouth when he ends his most likely instructive monologue, pointing at the plants in front of her as he snarls one last command before he turns around, disappearing through the same door that spit him out just a few minutes earlier.

I hate him. He’s the source of all her sorrow. And yet, here she is, working for him just as he always wanted her to.

“I’ll never end up in that store. I’ll never grow old in this godforsaken city.” I can still hear the words, spoken by her soft voice as she dreamily looked up at the clouds.

I was sure I loved her then, despite our young age. Maybe I did. Maybe I still do to this day, even though we haven’t exchanged a single word in more than four years.

Until today.

I’m not a man who lacks confidence, never have been. It’s gotten me where I am today, higher than most people can even dream of. Still, I find myself taking a deep breath and clearing my throat before I summon the courage to open the store’s door and walk inside. A little bell rings, announcing my appearance, and her reaction is as prompt as it should be. She jerks up, quickly cleaning her soil-drenched hands on her apron as she turns around to greet me.

And when she sees me, her green eyes widen in recognition.

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