Robbers // H.S.

sixteen

I hobble into the bathroom, instantly destroying a towel I grabbed from the hanger by using it to wipe off my foot. I feel a bit of sweat prickle along my hairline, stress getting to me.

I leave the towel discarded on the bathroom floor, and hurry to the front door. When I swung it open, I couldn't help but let out a small gasp.

Jesse Spade standing on the doormat with a singular rose in his hand.

He takes in my expression, and instantly starts stumbling on his words.

"Oh, I'm sure this looks like- I didn't mean-" He chops up each sentence.

I cut him off, stifling my smile down. "To me it looks like a friend bringing another friend a rose."

He lets out a breath he seemed to be holding for way too long. "Exactly."

I look down at the flower. The way his longer fingers wrap around the stem makes it look so small in his grasp. There is a small scrape on his knuckle, looking like it is from one of the thorns.

"Jesse," I say, the flimsy flower's petals already starting to wilt. "That's very kind, but-"

He tries to brush it off. "No, it was a stupid idea." He says, looking anywhere but my eyes. He tries to put the flower behind his back.

"I'm allergic to roses."

I place my hand on his shoulder as his brows furrow. I feel the need to bring him in rather than talk through the threshold of the doorway. I wave him in and his eyes dance across the room.

"You have flowers everywhere in here." he whispers.

I turn over my shoulder, seeing all of the foliage that Vivianne so meticulously takes care of. Vases overflowing with petals and potted plants on the balcony.

"It's just roses I'm allergic to." I told him. "It breaks me out in hives. Not a pretty sight."

He finally meets my eyes when I say, "I'm going to grab my shoes and then we can go."

I rush down the hallway, grabbing the converse that sit right next to my door. I catch my reflection, seeing and now feeling how red my cheeks are. Almost matching the deadly flower.

With my sneakers still in hand, the combination of the sleek wood flooring and my socks don't mix well, nearly sending me flying down the hallway. I'm out of breath by the time I'm back in the living room.

Jesse sits on the orange couch. He drifts his gaze around, capturing each bit of the place like there is a pop quiz.

"You ready?"

He snaps his head over to me, melting back into the cushions. A smile lazily forms on his lips as he places his hand on the couch beside him. "Can we just stay here? Hang out like old times?"

I dip my chin down, hoping my dimple isn't popping out. "Like old times." I repeat.

I weave through the furniture to find the remote. The rose lays atop the trash can. The stem is snapped in half and the petals look darker than before.

I found out I had the allergy when I was eight.

Kitty had just turned four a few days before and I'd taken her out into the backyard to play. Dad built a tire swing at the beginning of the summer, so I tried teaching her how to use it. By the end of the day, Kitty found her way into mom's rose garden. I dug around the dirt with her, looking out for worms hiding.

When we were called back inside for dinner, mom's first reaction wasn't 'what has happened to my daughter' but instead 'if you ruined my roses...'.

Always with the unfinished threats.