11/28 by uliaj06

seven

This is a flash back chapter so you can get into more understanding of what the characters are like <3

FLASHBACK

8th grade

Rowan Lane

As I wander around this boring party a friend invited me to, I see a familiar boy sitting against the wall of the dim hallway.

It's the feeling of familiarity that reveals it's Tate, like that instinct because you know the person so well. I had a guess it was him, quietly walking towards him, his shadowed hair and body confirmed it.

Tate had his head buried in his hands. He hasn't noticed me yet and I should probably go before he does.

I should leave him alone.

Perhaps it's the right thing to do, the easiest and safest option. But as I force my feet to retreat, there was a tug in my heart urging me to check if he's ok. There's no doubt he isn't, but I've learned that sometimes you just want someone to care enough to ask.

I contemplate whether to do it or not, knowing once I did, I can't go back. But I didn't want to regret not asking, my brain then wondering the possibilities if only I did.

The closer I approach him, the more I start to notice that his hands are trembling, and quiet sobs are wracking his body.

"Tate?" I say barely above a whisper, trying not to alarm him.

He looks up at me momentarily with swollen, red eyes but quickly averts them as soon as he realizes.

I kneel down and sit next to him, against the wall of the dim hallway of his house, the faint sound of his father and the other people's voices in the background.

I hear him sniffle before he brings his head up, resting it against the wall too and looking ahead numbly.

I look at him, not really knowing what to say or do. He blinks slowly, clenching his jawline, seeming to be focused on the wall as he tried to slow his breathing.

My heart raced, wanting to say something but too nervous to actually do it.

Ask him, ask him, ask him.

I replay what I would say in my head, how I would do it so I won't look stupid or say something wrong. I can't mess this up.

It's now or never, Rowan. Come on.

"Tate?" I try to catch his attention since his gaze looked occupied.

He looked down at me and my heart started to pound against my chest, knowing I have his full attention now.

I spoke carefully. "Are you ok?" I held brief eye contact with him, his eyes and face clearly telling me he isn't.

He simply nodded, turning away from me again.

I hold onto his elbow. I don't know what brought me to do it, but that small touch was like secretly telling him "I'm here." And "I'm with you." Since the contact was hidden in the darkness of the hallway.

It did bring his stare back to me. "Are you ok?" I repeat once more, a way to acknowledge I didn't believe him.

"Yeah." He voiced quieter.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask softly.

He shook his head no.

I nod even though he can't see me. I didn't really know what to do, or if he wanted me to stay, but without thinking, I hugged him.

Whenever I'm going through something or I'm sad, sometimes I just want to be held. Sometimes I just wanted someone to hold me while I break down in their arms. So that's what I did, I wrapped my arms around him.

I was surprised when he sank into my arms and held me back. He held me tightly and I felt my shirt get soaked in tears. I hugged him just as tight.

He was trembling as he broke down into my arms until there were no tears.

And I let him.

I whispered little calming things into his ear while stroking his hair, hoping it would help.

"I'm sorry." He whispered weakly.

"Don't be. It's ok to cry and be sad..." I tell him softly in the embrace. He nods.

After staying there for a few minutes, his tears eventually ran out, we went back into his room.

I didn't want to ask him what had happened, or why he was crying in case he wanted to forget about it, but later in his room, we were watching tv, and he told me it was his father.

He showed me the bruise forming on his stomach and said his dad kicked him.

His dad emotionally and mentally abuses him and his family but at times he can get physical.

His father is honestly terrifying.

He's probably one of the most controlling, toxic, arrogant people I know. His mother's nice, but she just follows and does whatever his father wants because in reality, we're all scared of him.

His sister, Syd, I don't know how she does it, rebels a lot and never listens. She's reckless and does whatever she wants but doesn't think of the consequences. Tate always pays for them in the end. He cares about his little sister more than he leads on.

His older brother Nick is the nicest. We all know his father picks favorites and it's Nick. Tate always gets compared to him. He's away right now in college, in hopes to get away from his dad.

I hope one day we'll get out of here.

FLASHBACK

March, freshman year

Tate Woods

It was spring break and me and Ro were back at our spot, in the field.

We were under one of the big trees, protecting us against the bright sun. We had a small blanket below us, separating us from the dirt and soil underneath. I'm on my back, a book in one hand, the other playing mindlessly with the grass. Next to me was Rowan, sitting down with a small canvas and a paintbrush in her hand.

She was wearing leggings and her brother's flannel. It was too big for her as it flowed with the soft wind, and pooled down around her. She had the sleeves rolled up of the black and dirty white flannel since it was too long on her arms.

I'm wearing a random black t-shirt and grey sweatpants.

She had small bottles of different colored paint, and some paint brushes of different sizes all around her. She also had a small wooden thing that held the colors of the paint and a container of water, along with some bottles of water incase she needed to change out the water from being too inked in paint.

Rowan loves painting even though she's no good at it. She calls it "abstract." and complains about wanting it to look prettier, or wishing she had the talent for painting so one day she could truly paint something that is "art".

I think it is art though. I think any art is a type of art whether good or bad. It all depends on the perspective. I think her paintings are pretty. Sure, they would never end up in an art museum, but I like looking at them. They make me smile at how bad it is. It's cute though.

She's painting the field around us. She's trying to add the details of the grass, the different colors, but it turned out becoming some weird splotches. It's entertaining to watch.

It's spring, meaning there are flowers everywhere. Pink, yellow, white, purple, blue, all around us.

I place the book in my left hand down to lay on my chest. Soft breezes pass by, keeping us cool from the sun. I pick off a yellow flower at the end of the blanket and twirl it around with my thumb and index finger, studying the small flower.

I reach over to my side at the end of the blanket, where the flowers were, and decide to collect more flowers. I picked off different colors to make a little arrangement of flowers.

I look over at Rowan, focused on her painting, trying to paint the flowers, her black hair blowing gently in the breeze.

I take a flower, a purple one, and set it in her hair.

I take another one, a yellow one, and leave it in. I take more from my little bouquet of flowers I collected and set them in her hair one by one, trying to see when she'll notice.

I put about nine in before she caught me and asked what I was doing. I didn't respond, only handed her a yellow flower. She set it on her leg.

I studied Ro, the way her oversized flannel made her look so much smaller than she is, the way her eyes looked up at the field in front of us then went back to painting it. The way she moved the paintbrush on the canvas and how her hair moved in the light breeze. I like her hair. It's straight on good days and a little wavy the rest of the days. Her hair was straight but it had some waves in them. She said she didn't like them, so she curls her hair most of the days.

"Ro?" I question.

"Mmm?" She hums.

"What's your favorite flower?"

"Daisies. Or anything purple." She looks back at me.

I picked a daisy and a purple flower I found off the field then handed it to her. She smiled.

"What's yours?" She murmurs.

"Dandelions." I respond.

"Because you used to pick them for your mom when you were younger?" She remembered.

I nodded.

She gave me a small smile then turned back to her painting.

I looked up at the clouds, the tree blocking parts of the sky.

I told her I used to pick dandelions for my mom when I was a kid on this very field.

I recall the memory; It was Valentine's Day, sixth grade, a boy gave her chocolates which we ate together, and while we sat in the grass, there were a lot of dandelions that day. I told her I used to collect them for my mom up until I was five, back when she wasn't so busy and she was happier.

I look back at Rowan. I didn't want to think about them anymore, my family. Rowans like my escape. She makes life easier.

She's painting trees now.

FLASHBACK

Sophomore year, September

Tate Woods

I'm sitting on my bed, my back against my black headboard with a book in one hand, a pencil in the other, next to me Ro peacefully sleeping.

It gets bad with her parents sometimes. So bad that she needs to sneak out and I bring her here. It's a routine; I get a text from her late at night every once in a while, asking if she could come over, I drive there, bring her over, and she sleeps in my bed for the night. She's the reason I stay up later now in case she needs me.

Puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, a red nose, and swollen lips. I always ask her if she wants to talk about it or if she needs me to do anything for her, but she always just shakes her head no. Sometimes she gives me a brief description of what happened, but she never has enough energy to say more.

I feel helpless whenever this happens, lost because I can't do anything more than be there. To just watch her sit in your car, silent and numb, then passing out as soon as we get back to my room, I hate it. She always says that me just being there was more than enough whenever I offer to do anything. I believe her, I have to. But I wonder if I truly am enough for her.

I just wish I knew the right thing to say.

Just tell me what you want to hear and I'll say it. I'll say it a million times over. Just tell me the right thing to tell you and I will.

I just want to somehow end the pain for you.

I don't know what to say, I don't know what to do, just watch you suffer.

"What can I do to make them love me, Tate?" She whispers, with her head on my shoulder.

I hear her voice as my mind takes me back to a night a few months ago.

"What can I say or do to make them proud of me, because I'll do it." She says weakly.

I remember how her tears fell without her even trying.

"I'll do anything to just be enough for them."

I start to scribble in my notebook, anything to silence my mind.

"I just- I just need them to tell me what to say. Or do to make them love me."

Can I get a new brain?

Her silent pleads to the universe kills me more than I'd like. I didn't know what to say so I just held her. I held her as she shook, tears pouring out of her eyes.

"You are good enough, Ro. You're more than-"

"No- No I'm not." She interrupts, shaking her head.

"Yes, you are." I try to sound as sincere as possible.

"No. I'm not." She cried softly. "Not to them I'm not."

"Rowan..."

"You know, I don't even remember the last time they genuinely smiled at me."

Rowan's parents aren't emotionally there. They're "there" when they need her for something. She told me that's why her older brother turned to drugs, because that was the only thing he had. She had me.

Her parents work a lot too and they're never there, physically and emotionally.

She moved, starting to wake up so I looked back at my book, pretending I wasn't reliving that night in my head.

It was the weekend so we didn't have school. She had to go back home eventually, we just didn't rush because her parents don't even notice if she's there or not. They're probably at work anyways.

FLASHBACK

sophomore year

Rowan Lane

Tate invited me to go to the park with him and his friends to play football, I didn't actually want to play but it's better than going home. Ana and Jocelyn were going too, I'm the closest with them out of everyone else in Tate's friend group so it wouldn't be too bad as long as they're there. His other friends that are part of the group are really fun and nice too but it's just better with them.

While the guys were in the field playing football, me and Ana are laying down on the pavement, next to the field, just talking and watching the clouds since we didn't want to play.

It was peaceful. Not too hot since the clouds are blocking the sun, a perfect neutral temperature, the rustle of leaves, and the noises of the guys in the background. I love clouds. They're so pretty and light. From time to time, it still amazes me how they exist when they look too good to be real.

I hear someone running towards us.

"Hey." I recognized Tate's voice.

"Hi." I say back, not bothering to look at him.

I hear him lay down next to Ana.

"How was the game?" Ana questions.

"They're annoying the fuck out of me, so I decided to hang out with you guy instead." He responds. "What are you guys doing?"

"Talking." I tell him.

"And watching the clouds." Ana asks.

"Hey, where's Jocelyn?" He says confused.

"She saw a cute guy playing baseball and now they're over there by the swings." From the corner of my eye, I see Ana sit up and point to them, over at the playground.

Then she lays back down with her faded pink hair fanning around her head on the pavement. She dyes her hair a lot. Her and her "boyfriend" broke up for the 5th time and I think changing her hair every month is her coping mechanism. She somehow pulls off every hair color though, she's naturally pretty without trying.

I zone out, mesmerized by how the clouds move and all the background noises I'm hearing.

"Rowan!" I suddenly hear Tate say very loud, snapping me out of my own world.

"Jesus, what?" I asked confused.

"I said, what are you looking at?" He repeated.

"What else would I be looking at? A fucking elephant?" It isn't hard to see I'm watching the clouds when I'm literally staring up.

"Ok, ok. No need to be bitchy about it."

I flipped him off, but then I noticed that she left. Where did she go? "Where's Ana?"

"She wanted coffee so she's going to get some, she'll be back though."

"Damn it, I wanted some. Why didn't she ask me?" I frown, my head still turned to face him.

"She did."

"When?"

"Just a few minutes ago..." He looks at me confused.

"Oh... Can you text her and tell her I want some?" I asked him.

"Text her yourself." He mumbles.

I groaned, not wanting to take my phone out and text her.

"Why the hell were you guys watching the clouds?" He asks. I see his eyes looking around the sky as if he were trying to find something.

"What are you looking for?"

"What you both seem to find so interesting."

"See how the clouds are moving?" I point up at the sky. "And how they're forming into new clouds. Like that one over there-" I pointed to one of the big clouds directly in front of me. "That was many different little clouds that mushed together and became that big cloud. It kind of looks like a pig."

I look to see if he understood, but he was already staring at me. "A pig?" He asks in disbelief.

"Yeah. Those two little holes in the clouds look like a pig's nose and there's the head and the ears." I explain to him while pointing up at the different parts of the clouds that resembles the pig, trying to make him see it. "Then there's the body, and his legs and right there at the end is its tail."

"Where?" I hear him ask from beside me.

"Maybe if you try looking up, you'd see it too." Stupid idiot.

"Oh, the swirly thing?" He asks when he finally turned his gaze away from my face.

"Yeah. You see it now?" I look over to him, he has his eyebrows kind of raised like he was finally seeing what I was seeing.

"Yeah actually." He chuckles.

"Now, that cloud looks like mickey mouse." I say, pointing to another cloud.

"That's a duck." He murmurs.

"That is not a duck, how does that look like a duck?!"

"How does that look like mickey mouse?" He said condescendingly.

"Well those are his ears." I point at the two round clouds.

"Those are the duck's feet."

"What?" I am so confused.

"Well if you turn your head, It's an upside-down duck. See-" He points to the rest of the duck's body below the feet. "that's the body and that's the head, and here's it's weird beak, or whatever that thing is that ducks have." He explains.

"How did you even see that, an upside-down duck?"

"I don't know."

We laid there for a few moments, arguing about what we saw.

"I like the color of the sky, like your eyes." He says suddenly.

"My eyes are brown.." What the fuck?

"Oh, I could've sworn your eyes were blue."

"They were blue but I decided to dye them brown." I say sarcastically.

"You can dye your eyes?" He says, genuinely asking.

"No, you dumb fuck." I stood up and started to walk away because he's irritating the shit out of me.

"Where are you going?" I hear him call out.

"I want to go on a walk."

As I'm walking, I hear Tate coming up behind me and starts walking beside me.

"What about your game?"

"They can continue without me. I'm just making sure you don't get kidnapped or something." He shrugged.

"Kidnapped?"

"I mean you never know, there are creeps here."

"Aw, you care about me enough to not let me get kidnapped?" I tease him.

He hits the back of my head.

"Ow!"

It was a big park. A playground in the middle and sections dedicated to different sports, sidewalks with people riding their bikes, running, walking their dogs, and large trees everywhere.

I love trees.

I love appreciating the little things like how the sidewalk feels when I walk on it, or how the metal fences feel against my fingertips, or how the basketball hoops look rusted and used, adding background and history.

I liked the sound of all the chatter together. The mixture of people talking, and everyone in the park doing their thing, along with the cool breeze brushing against me. It's comforting.

I look over to Tate and he looks like he's got a lot on his mind, just staring off wherever.

We started to walk on the road, and I saw something.

"Tate..." He didn't answer so, I gently tapped on his arm to get his attention.

"What?" He asked.

"Is that... Is that a dead bird?" I ask, pointing to the thing in front of us.

"Yeah." He made a disgusted face.

It was a black-ish bird. I think it was a white and grey bird but, his head is black and completely flat and so is half of its body... I think it got run over.

The other half had lines of blood. This is disgusting. I feel horrible...

"Tate...?" I ask again, making him look at me. "Should we give it a funeral?"

"What?" He looked at me confused.

"I feel really bad I mean- I think it deserves to at least get buried, you know? Like we can't just leave it here."

"Yes, we can."

"No, we can't. I feel bad for it." I frown at him.

"We don't even know the damn bird."

I glance down at the dead animal. "Tate, it still has feelings." I try my best to keep a straight face.

He stares at me for a good five seconds. "It's dead."

"But still. We should at least bury it. I don't want it getting run over more. Please?" I beg with a smile.

"Fine. but we're only going to bury it, not give it a whole fucking funeral."

I nod, waiting for him to pick it up. Then I realized, that's a dead fucking bird. I don't want him or anyone touching that thing.

But... it would be funny.

"Pick it up." I tell him, trying not to smile.

"Pick up that dead, bloody bird?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not picking that up." He mutters.

"Don't be a pussy, it's just a bird." I say, trying to convince him.

"Then you pick it up."

"I just got my nails done." I show him my nails with a small smile.

"I don't want to touch that." He tells me in disgust.

"Well, your hands are bigger and that won't even fit in my hands." It's a big bird.

"How the hell am I supposed to pick that up? What if it's stuck to the road?" He complains.

I let out a laugh.

I swear if it's stuck on the road...

"Do it before I post that video of you at thanksgiving." I try to blackmail him.

"What video?"

I don't think a video of him at thanksgiving even exists. "That's a surprise."

"Are you blackmailing me?" He grinned at me.

"Yeah. Now hurry up, we need to bury it before another car comes and runs it over."

He bends down, about to pick it up.

"How the hell am I supposed to pick this up?!"

"I don't know! Maybe its feet?" I suggest.

"It stinks." He comments.

He bent down and hesitantly touched the birds' feet. I couldn't contain my laughter.

He started to pick it up, but it wouldn't come up.

I think it is stuck to the road...

"I think it's stuck." I tell him.

"Really, Rowan? I hadn't noticed that." He awkwardly tries to move it again. "Maybe because of its dried blood."

I scrunched my face in disgust.

Before I could stop him, he kicked the bird to see if it would move and the body detached from it's flattened head.

With wide eyes, I instantly slapped my hand over my mouth and turned around, not wanting to see it anymore.

I started walking back towards the field, wanting to forget about this.

I hear him running from behind, trying to catch up to me.

We walked in silence for a few moments.

"So, how do you think it died?" He asks, breaking the silence.

PRESENT

September 13

Rowan Lane

The event was on Friday and it's now Monday.

Monday.

Ugh.

Why is that word so unpleasant to even think about? Something about the start of a new week automatically turns my mood bitter.

Mondays are just overall dreadful. Tuesdays just have a nice sound to them, I love Tuesdays. Wednesdays mark the middle. Thursdays are just amazing. Friday: the reward we all looked forward to. Saturday is the definition of relief. Sundays just suck.

Labeling the days was what occupied my mind as I forced myself to get ready for work.

A baggy sage colored jacket with a few buttons undone so it fell off my shoulder just enough to expose my white tank top underneath, high waisted mom jeans, my hair like how I have it every day; curled, a small black purse to carry my belongings, and black converse. Along with some dainty necklaces.

I drink my coffee, like I do everyday.

Take the elevator down the lobby and greet anyone there, like I do everyday.

Then take a cab to my job, like I do everyday.

The building's pretty big, with different floors belonging to different sections of the company.

Media, advertising, magazine, production, you get the idea.

"Good morning." I greet the people at the desk I've become acquaintances with.

I don't do it every morning, but I make sure to either say hello or compliment them on something if I don't. I've learned that for some people, on some days, acknowledging them starts their morning good.

It's the same spacious lobby, the button I press for the elevators, and delicious smell of coffee and fabric as soon as the doors open to my floor.

I like my routine. Expecting to see people walking around with coffee, clothes, or clipboards in their hands. Expecting the messy modern space I love, setting my belongings on my desk and heading towards my manager, Lynn's, office to see what's needed to be done.

Today I needed to update her about the event.

I made my way towards her office with my phone in my hand, texting Aelin about something that happened at her gig.

I opened her office doors and looked up to start talking to Lynn.

As soon as I looked up, I froze.

Now this—him—was not expected.

What the fuck?

***

the bird scene was RLY random but my friend gave me that idea so.. enjoy ;)