Hanahaki Disease

She smiled up at the boy and forced down the urge to cough. She waved goodbye, keeping her mouth closed for fear of what would show if she didn't. She walked away and into her house, running as soon as she shut the door behind her. She ran to her room and began coughing, petal after petal falling from her mouth. The familiar sickly sweet scent filled the air as she heaved, her body pushing and pushing the petals from her lungs. She sat back and glanced down at the petals that now scattered the floor with a bittersweet expression.

Black and white.

She smiled lightly at them and scooped a few into her hands, rubbing her fingers over the velvety surface and feeling her heart clench. She clenched her hand around the petals, squeezing them before letting go and watching the wrinkled things fall to the floor. A speck of color caught her attention as she turned away from them.

Red.

She leaned over curiously, picking up the tinged petal. It started white and faded into a bloody red shade, bright and glaring at her.

Time.

Her time was running short, and yet she refused to let anyone know. To let him know. She refused to get rid of the petals. She loved him. She loved him so much it hurt, and she wasn't willing to get rid of the feeling, even if it meant dying. Another coughing fit came over her and one thing flooded her mind.

Him.

His face flashed across her vision as red petals cascaded around her. She picked up a few and dropped them quickly, the petals dripping with red. His smiling, happy face was all she could think about as her body convulsed, the petals seemingly endless.

Hands.

His hands came to mind next. His hand wrapped around another. His hand wrapped around a hand that wasn't hers. Tears fell down her face as she caught her breath after the coughing fit, memories flitting across her vision. Watching him walk and hold hands with another girl. And seeing their pictures. And seeing them kiss.

She felt a hatred grow in her chest. Pure, and dark, and endless. And yet not for him.

Not for him, or the girl he chose to love, but for herself.

The feeling grew and she coughed again, almost smiling as the drenched petals came from her lips. She wanted it to be over. She wanted to be gone. She didn't want to see him happy when she wasn't the one making him so.

She coughed,

and coughed,

and coughed.

She lied on the floor, chest heaving as she caught her breath. She wanted to scream his name until her throat was so raw she couldn't scream it anymore. She wanted to cry until she couldn't anymore. She wanted to have him and never have to deal with flowers again.

But she didn't.

She got up and wrote. She wrote one last thing to the boy who made her feel her best and her worst.

You made flowers bloom in my heart

You took my breath away

And so did they.

She hoped there wouldn't be any flowers at her funeral, after all, they did start this whole thing.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, letting herself fall asleep to the slow sound of her thumping heart, and the terrifying feeling of roots growing even deeper.