Dahlia Wellburg hates her misery as much as she loves it. She sees herself as a stone: ordinary and unwanted. Yet, they know her to be a rose: soft, but with thorns.
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"Memory blurs, that's the point. If memory didn't blur you wouldn't have the fool's courage to do things again, again, again, that tear you apart."
- Joyce Carol Oates
. . .
Dahlia
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I felt pathetic coming here. I really did. But this was what I had done my whole life. Whenever I got yelled at home, or felt bad, I came straight running to my uncle. But, it wasn't my uncle in that house now, it was them. And they comforted me, too. In a different way, of course. But their presence calmed me down, especially Andros and Hedeon. I didn't quite trust the Monet brothers.
I didn't know who'd be inside right now, though. It had been a few days since Andros and I had ice cream. None of them had texted me, but I wasn't surprised by that. They didn't seem like the people who texted much. Calls? perhaps. But no texting. I still checked my phone like an addict looking for her next fix.
I didn't hate the feeling. But I needed to tear it out soon. Hoping wouldn't make them like me. I wasn't even sure what they liked about me. maybe they just saw a lonely, angry girl and were like 'Yeah, she seems fun to play with'. I didn't even know what they were doing in this town. I didn't even know their fucking job.
I wiped the tears off my face and got out of the car, shielding my head and freshly washed hair from the rain with my bag. I climbed the porch, took in a few deep breaths to calm myself, and raised my hand to knock.
But the door opened before I could.
One of the Elliot's looked down at me. He looked confused, but then his eyes ran over my face which I knew must be red.
After getting out of my parent's house, I spent about half an hour in my car having a breakdown which refused to leave. After having breakdowns for years, you'd think I'd know how to deal with it. But I was as clueless as ever. And I refused to get help.
Because I was nothing if not self-destructive.
Without a word, he pulled me inside the house, shut the door, and wrapped his arms around me. Warmth. I dug my head into his chest. I had hoped for one of the Kozlov twins, but I would take anything I could.
He caressed the back of my head, tucking me under his chin. Why did he smell so good? It made not liking him hard. "Dahlia. What's wrong?"
I sniffled. "My dad is a dick."
He picked me up, bridal style. "Let's get you comfortable."
. . .
Both of them were there. I didn't know who had been the one last time, but I didn't ask. One of them, the one who had opened the door, set me down on a couch with a blanket while the other sat across from us.
"I should leave," I said while wrapping the blanket tighter around me.
"No," the one beside me said. "It's raining too hard, Dahlia. It isn't safe."
