If I Stay✔️

89

tw; brief mentions of m*rco

L E O

I stepped out of the car, my feet crunching against the gravel as I stared at the house in front of me. I took in every detail, as if this place hadn't been my home for fifteen years.

A strange sense of nostalgia crept up on me as my eyes ran over the white bricks that made this place, reminding me of Carter's wresting era, instantly bringing a subtle smile to my lips.

He must've been around twelve at the time, being the strange preteen that he was, and still is, he wanted to try out a new "move" as he called it. Before any of us, mostly Cal, had the chance to talk him out of it, because Carter's "moves" were never what one would deem as safe, he moved faster than the speed of light and rammed his head full force into the white bricks.

I don't know what he thought he'd achieve by head-butting a solid house, none of us did, but when the bricks stained red and Grey's face matched the colour, Carter knew he'd fucked up. Still, despite Car's two-day-long headache and butterfly stitches, the day ended on a high. Grey made us all scrub the tiles until they returned to their pristine shade of white, before he lit a fire at the end of the garden and told each of us to join him, including Zac, as he made s'mores for all of us.

It was a memory that always stayed close to my heart. It was one of the few times we managed to laugh together like brothers should, without the tears for our missing family members.

My eyes drifted from the bricks to the two tall pillars at either end of the porch, then the flowers in the dirt beds that littered each side of the front entrance, all of which were my mothers favourites; roses, lilies, tulips, baby's breath. We even had her favourite trees, cherry blossoms, surrounding the bottom of the garden. I don't remember much of my mama, but whenever I asked about her as a kid, Grey always told me bedtime stories about her and her love of all things nature.

I sighed and stuffed my hands into my pockets, my gaze lingering on the cherry blossoms. They hadn't reached their full potential just yet, some slender branches still more or less naked, small, barely noticeable, pink sprouts peaking through the bark as they slowly began to bloom.

As my eyes drifted to each branch, I could understand why these specific trees had been her favourites. I think they might be my favourites, too. The way they strive and bloom, creating the prettiest of flowers, just for one harsh gust of wind or season change to strip them bare of every piece they'd grown.

To me, these trees represented strength and courage and bravery; to lose everything, but to grow again, coming back just as, if not more, beautiful than before.

It might not have been my mother's reason for loving them, maybe she just found them nice to look at. But a part of me thinks she seen the deeper meaning and maybe, she's looking down on me, encouraging me to see these trees she'd planted as if to say; it's not all gone, you'll grow again.

When Charlie told me yesterday that I'd be going home today after a seven day stay in hospital, I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. I wasn't ready for old doubts to resurface. And I sure as hell wasn't ready to leave the five friends I'd built a home within, I wasn't ready to be without them and all their traits I found comfort in. But with thoughts of my mother and trees in mind, maybe this was necessary, maybe this was exactly what I needed to do so that, just like the cherry blossoms, I could begin to grow again.