In the Language of the Flowers

| 9 |

✾ Red Poppy ✾

"Copper," he whispered. The moon illuminated his form. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and his tattoos stood out stark against his skin. It was the middle of the night, so I couldn't make his expression out properly.

"Ren?" I mumbled. I struggled to shake the sleep off, but it wouldn't leave me. I felt like I was floating. The world around me was vague.

"Copper, I need something from you," he said.

"Are you finally going to paint me?" I asked. I didn't know why I asked that. I felt like some sort of realization was hiding from me, but I couldn't see it. I was too tired.

"No. I'm not going to paint you." For some reason, I felt my heart speed up. Or...did it? I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure about anything. "I want you for something else," he said huskily.

There was a delay between his words and my realization. I pulled myself upright, my blanket falling away. My body suddenly felt hot. "What?" I said. But I knew. I only asked because I wanted to.

Ren didn't say anything. He just slowly walked across my room. His trained muscles tensed as he leaned over me, his eyes dark. He didn't say anything as he reached forward and took my face with one hand. 

I didn't know if I wanted him to say anything. Maybe if he had, it would have ruined it, whatever it was.

Ren's hand was as cold as I remembered. There was this moment before we kissed when his face was close to mine, I could feel his breath on my cheeks, and I was staring at his shining, parted lips in anticipation.

His lips were warm. It was slow, no tongue. I just felt him close to me, my jaw instinctively moving with his, following his lead. I would follow him anywhere.

And then it changed. Ren pushed my bare back into the bed frame. The wood bit into my skin, but I kind of liked it. His hand pressed against my chest, his fingers caressing my skin softly. The contrast between the two sensations was messing with my head.

Ren's tongue entered my mouth, and I let out a small, weak moan. Ren was actively destroying every ounce of me that might have resisted this. My body shuttered as our tongues mingled, soft and wet. Just the sound of it would have made me hard, but it felt like nothing I'd ever experienced before. It was painful. I ached for him to touch me.

But he didn't. He never did. I reached for him, pulling him down to the bed. When he fell, I mounted him, barely noticing that I was now entirely naked despite having gone to bed wearing pants. I immediately closed the distance between our bodies like I was controlled by some sort of magnetic force.

But Ren's expression was blank. I kissed his chest, but his eyes were dull. "Ren," I whimpered, trying to capture his attention. But he didn't look at me. "Ren," I begged.

I got angry. I reached down and grabbed him. For a brief moment, he looked at me. But I don't know what it was that I saw in his eyes. It could have been desire. It could have been hatred.

But then he started to fade. Each time I blinked, he was farther gone. "Ren! Stop," I cried out. I touched his face, trying to get him to look at me again. But he wouldn't. He looked right through me like I wasn't even there.

"I'm sorry! I didn't want to...I couldn't stop it," I sobbed. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't. I choked on my tears, collapsing in shame.

When I woke up, I was still crying. I slowly sat up, realizing gradually that it had been a dream. It had been a dream the entire time.

That thought only brought about a fresh bout of tears. I lifted my blanket and looked down. I felt frustration. Blinding anger rushed at me like a swarm of bees, stinging me, making me wish I could run from something that I couldn't.

❦

"My little boy, off on his first day of school," I said. "I'm so damn proud of you."

Beau frowned at me. "Stop smirking like that."

I forced my face into a neutral position. "I hadn't realized I was doing anything with my face," I said, touching my cheek lightly.

Beau crossed his arms over his chest. "You do that a lot, actually. You have this little smirky thing that you do all the time," he said, leaning against the counter.

"Oh," I said, "sorry."

He shook his head and turned away from me. "I didn't say I hated it."

I stared at his back. His bony shoulders showed through his shirt. I smiled to myself. Just looking at him set me at ease. But there was something about how he saw the world that I found inspiring. He was so much stronger than I was. I admired him.

I walked up behind him, so close that I could feel his body heat. He turned around immediately and looked up at me, his shoulder brushing my chest briefly as he did. "What are you doing?" he asked. He seemed a little panicked. He tried to play it cool, but I could tell he wasn't.

I met his eyes. Beau was a little shorter than me, but not by much. I kind of liked that I could meet his gaze so easily like this. "Are you nervous?" Being this close to Beau reminded me of the night we went out together. It was a while ago, but the memory still felt fresh. Seeing Beau move freely, not worrying about how people saw him, was like a religious experience. I'd actually stopped dancing myself for a second just to watch him.

Everything he usually did was a little bit meek. That wasn't to say that he was scared all the time. He was just not presumptuous, content to fade into the background. But I didn't see him that way. The real Beau—the one I'd seen the moment I'd met him—burned vibrantly.

That night, he'd come alive. He'd forgotten about the rest of the world, about all of his troubles. He was just himself. And he was beautiful. He was mesmerizing.

I thought about it often. I thought about him often.

"Am I nervous?" he repeated. His eyes flicked away briefly. "What do you-"

"About starting college, I mean," I said. I'd let him struggle long enough. I had to reel it in. 

"Oh," he said, looking down. I stared at the curls piled on top of his head. I resisted the urge to lean forward and inhale his scent. "I'm pretty nervous. But I think it'll be ok."

I nodded as he met my eyes again. "It will be. You're pretty damn smart, and you're a good person. You'll make lots of friends who are cooler than me."

I chuckled, but he didn't laugh. My smile faded. "I don't think that's possible," he said, shoving past me.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Nothing," he said quietly, picking up his bag and slinging it across his chest.

"You're worried about making friends?" I asked.

"Not really," he replied. "I don't need friends."

I wasn't sure what was going on in his pretty head. I stared at him as if my staring would be enough to drill a hole in his skull that all of his secrets would pour out of. It didn't work. "You need friends. We all need friends," I said quietly.

"I've never really had any before. I don't need them now," he said, walking towards the door.

I reached out and grabbed his arm before he could pass me. He stared at me, waiting for me to say something. "Maybe now's a good time to start fresh?"

He didn't seem to take the advice to heart. "It's fine," he said as I released his arm. "I've got you, remember?" He smiled all innocent. 

My heart melted, and the tension in my shoulders relaxed. "You've got me," I agreed, nodding.

"That's more than enough," he said, spinning on his heel and starting off again. "I'm used to my world being tiny."

"Hey," I said. He paused and turned once more to look at me. "Come here," I said, walking towards him.

"What do-" He stopped talking when I pulled him closer, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

"Do your best, Beau," I said quietly. I could feel his tense body start to relax. Finally, he reached up and grabbed my shirt lightly, resting his head on my shoulder.

"Thanks," he whispered. "I will."