2 months later...
"Peaches do you ever feel the need to do something without rationally thinking?" Fletcher asks. "Well I know you have, judging by where you live", Skye snarky replies. Both have taken quite the liking of quiet afternoons, lazily picnicking upon a massive hill that over looks a cemetery. Skye finds it near sadistic to have a graveyard next to the asylum, practically taunting the inhabitants.
Fisting handfuls from a small patch of daisies, Fletcher begins to nestle a few in Skye's hair, exercising extreme focus. "Strawberry?" She asks holding up a plastic container, housing a dozen ripe berries. Without verbal refusal, Fletcher placed his hand on top of hers and nudged it down to the blanket, which sat beneath them. Skye had noticed he would go through spells of obnoxious conversation ranging vastly in topic. Other times, he kept rather silent, letting his actions communicate his thoughts.
"Look", he whispers into the breeze. His fingers gesture over to a burial service beginning to start. "Wanna crash it?" he softly suggests.
"Wedding receptions, parties, cars; all crashable things. But a funeral? That is too far, Mister, even for you". She crossed her arm in sheer disbelief at such a suggestion. Why would he even propose such an idea? Then again, he was a mental patient, so she questioned why she would expect anything different or sane to escape from his mouth. In fact, she should know better then to snap at him. Especially when it could prompt an outfit of an episode.
"Your right, Peach"
Skye thought her ears had deceived her, so she turned to peek at Fletcher's dejected face. He begun to pick up the daisies and sprinkle them strategically in her hair again. Reaching out, Skye grabbed his hand and urged him to stop moving. Fletcher's head snapped up and the contact and looked at the intensity that lied in her furrowed eyebrows.
"I'm fine. Geez. Stop worrying" he says with a roll of his eyes.
That phrase alone is enough to take her back to a time she'd rather forget about. Bright flashes of memory cloud her brain, frantically spinning into airy wisps of cotton candy. She becomes silent as she mentally remembers the last time anyone ever called her out on her maternal like instincts. As soon as Fletcher catches her sudden stiffness, he asks if she is okay. Is "Okay" considered a true feeling? Skye always thought of "being ok" as a state of mind rather than fervour of the heart. Which is where emotions originate, right?
Fletcher delicately places his hands on her achingly warm shoulders, silently urging her to share her thoughts with him. Heavily sighing, she cranes her neck to observe him, before finally giving in.
"At the time, I was only twelve years old and had no clue as to why the world could be so cruel. I was going to be sent to my uncle....who finds joy in verbally, sometimes physically torturing the people surrounding him" Skye pauses, swallowing audibly and shutting her eyes to prevent salty tears from escaping.
"The abuse got to much. He eventually hospitalised my older sister after one of his infamous drinking binges. Everyday she would tell me that I was a worrywart, and that everything was fine. The whole time I felt like I couldn't do anything to help her, despite my best wishes. She died the next day, my sister.
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YOU ARE READING
Yellow Paper ♡
Romance"Fletcher is our hopeless case here. Kid pushes everybody away due to his personality disorder", he says. Leading her further down the corridor, her boss stops her in front of the only cell without clear windows. A chill of uncertainty cooly slides...
