[WesleyStromberg] Our Flower

Eight.

Over a year later…

“Are you coming home today or tomorrow?” Groaning inwardly, I loll my head back, frustrated with her question, considering she has asked me that every single day for the past two weeks. My answer never changed, and I'm not in the mood to answer her question considering I'm sitting at the airport, waiting for my plane to get in. “I just want you to come home already. I miss you. It’s been so long. You came home for Thanksgiving, but you only stayed for, like, what, three days.”

Smiling to myself, knowing that Charley will always remain my best friend, I run my hand through my hair, sighing softly. I know why she keeps asking. I know that he’s going to be around. I'm not stupid. I know that his mother and my mother still talk all the time. She tells me. Every single time she calls. All about how he’s doing. Like I really want to know how successful and happy he is without me in his life.

I know she doesn’t do it to upset me. She thinks that I want to hear about him. She thinks that deep down I'm waiting for Wesley to come back and apologize and explain what happened and profess his undying love for me. And maybe, deep down, I want that to happen. But, I've given up on that hope. It’s a false hope.

A flower that is ripped from the ground can no longer grow.

&&.

It feels weird to be here. At this time of the year, back at school, I'm wearing a coat and scarf and hat and gloves. But, here, where I've live all my life, a place that seems so foreign, I'm able to get away with jeans and a sweater. I don’t want to admit why it doesn’t seem like home here, because I know that I have to move on from him, but I just can’t get myself to move on. I've tried to; I've been on dates, I've cried over the loss of our relationship, I've gotten angry, and I'm pretty sure I've gone through all the stages of grief.

Yet, it still doesn’t feel like home.

Deep down, I know it’s because he isn't here and whatever we used to be is no more. It’s pathetic that I can’t get over a childhood love. But, really, I wasn’t a child. So it’s a lot more than a simple childhood love.

I can feel the tension growing inside of my body. My head is pounding. My palms are wet with sweat. My breathing is uneven and choppy. Trying to breathe doesn’t help me calm down. And wringing my hands together doesn’t help at all. I'm still shaking. My whole body is shaking.

All I'm doing is walking down a hall in a high school. But, it’s more than that. It’s so much more than that.

Larissa looks at me, glaring at me as I walk by her. She’s standing by her locker, one that’s right next to the locker that was once Wesley’s. If looks could kill, I would be dead, six feet under. Ever since she was little, she was told that Wesley belonged to her. It was perfect. The popular girl would be dating the popular guy. It made sense. But, it didn’t happen.

He found me. And that means whatever plans she had were no longer going to happen. I was to blame. I, according to her, took Wesley from her. And ever since then, it’s been her mission to destroy whatever Wesley and I have.

But, he already did that.

Walking toward her, I bite down on my lower lip, glancing to my side as Charley wraps her fingers around my arm, silently telling me that I don’t have to do this. But I want to. I want to end this. I want to end Larissa’s hatred for me. I want to end this whole illusion that Wesley and I are still together. I want to end the denial. I want to end the pain.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she raises an eyebrow, her eyes raking my body as if to say that I'm no threat. I know that I'm not a threat to her; appearance wise or anything else wise at this point. “You can have him.”

Everyone in the hallway is watching us. I don’t think anyone is even pretending to not watch us. “He finally realized he can do better?”

“No, I did.”

Everything after that at school was just a blur of spending lunches in the library with Charley, going to class without talking to anyone, simply trying to get good grades. This place hasn’t felt like home for a long time.

There’s a look on my mom’s face, one that tells me whatever she’s going to say is something that I don’t like. I turned down the opportunity to conduct research with one of my professors, and if she says that we’re not going to decorate a tree and get presents then I clearly should have stayed in New York and they should have come to visit me.

But, the last time I decorated a tree, Wesley was here to decorate it with me.

See, everything, everything can revert back to him.

French fries?

He would always try to steal my fries and I would freak out every time. It would end with him tickling me and stealing a bunch of fries as I was crying from laughing so hard.

That love seat in the living room?

We would cuddle on that love seat when we would watch movies.

I've been doing a really good job staying away from things that involve him, especially at school. There are a few girls on my floor, in my dorm, who are obsessed with the three of them, and while they're very nice girls I've stayed away from them. But, I still know what’s going on. Charley tells me. She’ll send me a text, knowing that I’ll delete it. The two of us know that I appreciate the updates, but I’ll never say it out loud.

For whatever reason I can’t get over him.

And from what she’s told me, he doesn’t even miss me.