Page 94 of Wallflower in Bloom

It felt real, and earnest, and dangerous.

“You said at Bloom you wanted to talk about something?” Her eyes searched his.

He hesitated and looked at the clock. “It can wait until tomorrow. We should sleep since I’m sure my father will be up at dawn.”

His hand threaded into her hair, and she tilted back to see him. She craved his touch. Would have paid good money for it. For the glimpses she got of it every day.

“Could we cuddle first?” She felt her cheeks pink up. It was desperately hard to ask for what she wanted.

He gathered her into his arms. “I’ll cuddle you to the moon and back any time you like.”

She nestled into his nook, that perfectly-made spot where his shoulder connected with his considerable chest, and her nose grazed his throat. The pulse of his heartbeat thrummed in front of her, and she thanked her lucky stars she got to be this close to him. To cuddle and sleep together even if he’d never love her back in the same way.

“Tell me about your childhood in England,” she asked, wanting to be lulled to sleep in his arms by his melodious voice one more time.

Huge green and white Monstera leaves surrounded Violet as she wandered through an endless warehouse full of plants. Clouds of mist rolled under her feet, and as she looked down at her hands, she suddenly saw a seat belt.

Violet buckled it into the seat she was now in and looked around; a gray minivan surrounded her. She was in the driver’s seat, and beside her in the empty passenger seat sat the “Future Mrs. Eagleton” mug with Jack’s face on it. It was full of cold, milky tea sloshing on the seat as she drove.

She looked in the minivan’s rearview mirror and saw three empty rows. No children, but—no, the seats weren’t empty.

Turning around, she saw the rows were full of dead plants. Broken terracotta pots and soil were tossed along the seats.

The radio turned on as she barreled down the highway, and a chorus chanting, “No one wants you. No one wants you. No one wants you.” sounded through the speakers. She fumbled for the radio, but the words got louder and louder as her heart thudded.

She was losing control of the minivan while a deafening chorus of “No one wants you! No one wants you!” reverberated in her bones.

“NO ONE—”

Violet sat up in her bed, panting.

Just a nightmare.

Tears fell onto her cheeks before she even realized she was crying.

Jack was fast asleep beside her, so she quietly slipped out of bed. She crept across the room, avoiding the squeaky floorboard, and walked into her small walk-in closet stuffed with all her new clothes—and all the old ones, too.

This was her comfort closet, where she’d cry when she was little and staying with her grandparents.

She was only seven when her mom had passed, and this quickly became her favorite place to cry silent tears. Hiding in the solitary comfort where she wouldn’t bother her grandparents with all her feelings, with all the tears somehow endlessly inside of her.

She slid down the wall as tears fell down her face, and she muffled the sobs wracking her chest. Trying to be quiet.

So, so quiet.

No one wants you echoed in her head.

Her nightmare was scary, but the reality was scarier.

The likelihood of finding somebody who wanted to stay in Fairwick Falls was infinitesimal, impossible. No family, no partner.

She’d be alone forever, always watching from the sidelines, always crying in the closet.

A loud sob escaped her mouth, and she slammed her hand over it.

Sheets rustled, and the bed frame creaked. Oh no.

She stopped breathing, afraid she’d woken him up. Creeping footsteps came to the closet.

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