Lonely Flowers

25: tattoos

Song: ferester - songbird

~~~

Zeke

I'm in way over my head.

The evening wind is blowing Iliana's hair around her face, silhouetted by the late remnants of the sunset. We're sitting on the grass in a park down the street from Delacroix's house. It the kind of park designed to be perfectly manicured and not equipped for human engagement. Iliana is absently ripping grass out of the ground, examining whichever blades she deems outstandingly interesting. I can't stop watching her.

Keeping my mind in check today has been a nearly impossible challenge. When she opened her bedroom door earlier in that fucking dress, I swear she cast a spell on me to burn away every braincell I had left until I was left a fumbling mess.

Then every word she's said to me has me flustered, like I've never even spoken to a girl before. I doubt she's even flirting with me, I'm just so fucking hopeless that I don't know how to deal with attention from her. And then I had to be an idiot earlier and pull her tight against me, and act like it didn't nearly kill me to feel her like that. Because that feeling was better than even my dreams thought it would be.

"Zeke?"

"Hm?"

She tilts her head, and I realize I missed something she said. "How'd you meet your band? Vera said you met her during music classes."

I clear my throat, looking away. "Yeah. Her family runs a music education program. It's where I learned guitar after my parents and Jenelle started shipping me off to it every week to get me out of the way."

Her eyes widen, only accentuating the sparkly makeup around her eyes. "That doesn't sound like Jenelle."

"I don't think her motivation was to get rid of me like my parents wanted, but she probably just thought it'd be a good way to socialize with kids my age outside of that godawful prep school my parents threw me in." I chuckle. "I think she's the only one that realized ten yer olds need actual mental stimulation beyond just a fancy house and a rotation of employees."

She nods thoughtfully. I'm sure I sound like an asshole, complaining about my life when hers was probably harder. But I don't see any bitterness on her face. Just...understanding.

She's always been understanding to me, hasn't she?

"Is that where you met the others, too?"

"I met Patrick there. Patrick is our drummer, you'll meet him when they show up. Damien is a year older than us, he went to public school with Pax and Vera. When I left my parents' house, we all just sort of fell in together." It feels strange to talk about it without mentioning Hayden, who was also a part of that music program, but I don't have any urge to reopen that door. He has no place among my actual friends anymore.

She leans back on her palms, her legs oustretched and crossed in front of her. "You like playing guitar?"

"Yeah. A lot."

"You good at it?"

My blood feels like it's coming to a halt, seeing her there in the grass and flowers, looking like a princess and asking me if I'm 'good at it' in her pretty voice. My brain knows she's talking about guitar, but I dare you to try to tell that to my dick.

Down, boy.

I run a hand through my hair, trying to buy time for my head to clear enough to answer. "You'll just have to find out, won't you?"