The Florist {HS}

Rosaline

I could feel a warm beam of sun slip through the curtain and hit my face. The warmth from the sun dancing on my skin and the comfort of my bed slowly luring me to the conclusion that I never want to leave, why would I want too when I feel like I could almost melt into the bed itself?

Even though I could gladly spend the rest of my life in this moment I sit up and take in the area around me. Dirty cloths pushed to a pile, stacks of books yet to be put into a shelf and a puddle of paint on the floor. Instantly I felt my heart drop into my stomach, laying there a heavy pit.

Oh God.

There's a puddle of paint on the floor.

I rush out of bed nearly tripping myself with the blanket being tightly wrapped around my foot. It seemed as if even my bed couldn't bare to see me leave.

Racing into the washroom I grab a small paper cup from the pile for mouth wash and fill it up with warm water. I have yet to use mouth wash, so I always seen these flimsy cups as useless, but now, they are my saving grace.

Quickly I rush back into the bedroom, feeling drops of the warm water splash on my skin in heavy drops. I kneel to the floor and put the warm water over the paint, I had nothing to scrub the paint out on hand so I grabbed the shirt I use while painting that lays scrunched up on the floor and start scrubbing, nothing this shirt can't handle right?

Moving here I had hopes I would live life in a new light, somewhat like in the movies where I wake up and get a fine meal while reading a classic peace of literature and use big words I hardly know the meaning of but instead I'm here hoping this paint will get off my floor while I scrub it with a piece of clothing.

"That looks good enough"

I sigh reassuring myself, my arm feeling numb and weak from the scrubbing. Though there is a small stain left behind, it stood unnoticeable unless you were looking for it.

Now that all of that has come to an end, I can start my day hopefully without any more bumps in the road.

I head down my narrow hallway to the front door. I never actually get any mail from anyone but I find junk mail exciting, I am easily entertained by it.

I open the door to see a couple letters resting on my doormat, clear that they had just been tossed there, not a thought if any wind blew it away.

I bend down to grab the mail when I hear a whistle from across the other side of the apartment complex, suddenly I became brutally aware of what I am wearing. All I have on is what I slept in, an old shirt and some underwear, not necessarily attractive underwear, unless you would say little cartoon monkeys on a girl panties is sexy.

I reluctantly look up to see a man, leaning over the railing that goes around the outside stairway and garden area of the apartment complex, a lighter in one hand and his cigarette in the other. I can feel my cheeks beginning to burn, I want to melt away right here.

"Would you like one?"

the man asked me. It seems like a simple maybe even kind question but I could tell from his tone of his voice, that wasn't really his intentions. Instead I think he meant "I want to sleep with you".

"i'm fine thank you."

I reply giving a quick smile before entering my apartment again, glad to be out of that situation as the air was becoming suffocating.

I drop the mail onto the table that sits by my door usually holding my keys, purse and anything I don't feel like carrying around. I'll go through it later.

As I head back to my room, I mentally plan what I was going to wear that day. Once I got there I went through my drawer, trying to find the cloths I want but it's hard to find things in here when I kind of just shove things in instead of folding them. As I rummage through I can see the shirt I need, hidden under a couple other tops. I reach and pull it out, throwing it and the other clothing I had behind me on my bed. I grabbed a clean towel from my closet in the hallway and headed to the shower.

The water felt amazing, there is nothing I love more than a warm shower in the morning. I could feel every tense muscle loosen up as the water ran down my body. I run soap through my hair, letting out a sigh.

Once I got finished I could feel the cold air hit my body, rushing to grab my towel so I could protect myself from the harsh air. The towel isn't much warmer but it is an improvement.

I decided i'm going to skip the makeup part of my day and only put on a bit of mascara then go straight to hair. I brushed the tangles from out slowly. My hair is thick so even conditioner doesn't help as much as it does for most. I dried it using a blow dryer, not wanting to risk tangling it in the towel. Even though I hate the blow dryer as it's just so damn loud, it is one of my closest friends on mornings when I have to just get out of the house.

That was about all I could do for myself, or really all I felt like doing.

I walk back to my room, the floorboards cold against my feet, I could hear tiny drops of water falling if my body and hitting the cold surface with every step. I grab my cloths if my bed and put them on as my outfit for the day, nothing too fancy, a pair of wide cut jeans and a simple t-shirt only slightly tucked into my pants.

I head to my dresser, taking out a pair of light grey ankle socks and make my way through my apartment to the front door.

I slip on a pair on converse, not exactly walking shoes but they are my favourite. The day these shoes are ruined, to worn in or too small, really any way that I can't use them any longer, is the day I will slowly begin to die inside.

Off the table I grabbed the closest pair of sunglasses and my purse, putting on a baseball cap that matches my shirt, only slightly darker, and head out the door, today I am visiting Grandma.

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Walks in the morning here are just enchanting. The air is still cold since i'm not too far from the water but the sun is so warm. I can smell baked goods and hear people talking from outside different shops.

This is my first time walking down this way, i've been talking a route that extends an extra five minutes on the walk. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade these walks for the world but jeans aren't helpful in times like these and i'm not that's skinny if a girl, the feeling of my thighs rubbing together in jeans while i'm close to sweating buckets, not that comfortable.

As I walk down the street I notice a small flower shop, tucked away and much smaller than the rest of the buildings here. It has plenty of window for people to see the flowers inside which looked like every type of flower imaginable, bursts of colour against the white walls of the building. It looked cozy in there, calm and peaceful, not to busy either as the only costumer just walked out.

Something about the shop is drawing me to it, I feel like it's just a place I need to stop at but I don't know why. I enter the shop and look for one my grandmothers favourite flowers, trying to make reason as to why I came in here.

"hello, can I help you with anything at all?"

I hear behind me, slightly echoing throughout the shop. From my guess it's a male, the voice a odd mix between deep and slightly higher pitched but not with an Italian accent but a British one.