when mike wheeler crashed his bike past the fence and into the police chief's rose garden - he never expected the garden to belong to a mysterious brown-eyed girl, a girl sweeter than the freshly bloomed roses they would soon plant together.
~ roses...
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When he was younger, Mike Wheeler would count the number of seconds until one of his parents walked out of the door. It started off as a silly game for his naive mind, as if they were simply bored, arguing over what television channel to watch. He would whisper the numbers underneath his breath, jotting down the seconds that it took into his notebook, maybe hoping that one day they would break their high score. Mike would eventually be joined by his little sister Holly, introducing her to the game with the excuse that it was for practicing her counting. Over the years, he had tried to drown out their yelling by playing music, mumbling under his breath while studying so that he could distract himself. It became a pattern every single night, their arguments never straying away from the same topics, always ending with someone slamming the door behind them. As he grew older, he had tried to convince himself to grow out of the stupid habit of keeping score in the back of his notebook. But there he was, at fourteen years old, still counting how many seconds it took until he heard the slam.
"...two hundred...two hundred and one...two hundred and two...two hundred and-" his body involuntarily flinched before he heard the noise, a long breath blowing out of his mouth, "...two hundred and three seconds", his nimble fingers absentmindedly jotted the numbers down on the edge of his textbook, "...a whole new record, probably."
His fingers trailed over the scribble, shaking his head with frustration at the silly habit. He sighed, head drooping as he muttered to himself, "...pathetic."
"You never listen to me-"
"I don't know why I even-"
"Oh, just stop blaming-"
"I can't believe you-"
Mike squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his tired eyes with a sigh as he recalled the common phrases that they often spat at each other. He may have been clueless when it came to love, never having any experience of his own - but he knew enough. He knew enough to know that whatever they had, certainly wasn't anything close to love.
Clearly needing some air, he shuffled downstairs to grab his bike, soon enough strolling down the dimly lit street. For a short while, everything was quiet and he could almost convince himself that he was just going for a peaceful bike ride. As he grew older, part of him had started to resent biking everywhere, thinking it childish. But a cowardly part of him was convinced that maybe he had come to resent what the bike rides represented - escape.
It wasn't long before small raindrops started splashing down onto his pale freckled cheeks, a groan escaping his lips at how the universe always seemed to be against him, "...of course" he huffed underneath his breath. As the rain became heavier, he cursed under his breath and sped up his pedaling, his long legs working as fast as they could. But as the rain continued, it was increasingly difficult for Mike to see through the storm. His pale wet hand rose up to his face, squinting as he tried to wipe his soaked locks away from his dark eyes. It wasn't long until he could barely make out where he was, cursing loudly as he struggled to keep going, the path growing more slippery.
