A for Anonymous
May laid flat on her bed like a plank, her eyes about ready to close in sleep, staring at the vase full of preserved roses that sat on the nightstand next to her bed. She knew each and every rose by heart and its story of how she obtained it from the same person and again. But what she remembered best out of all of those feelings and memories was Drew.
His image constantly haunted her thoughts when she had nothing to think about, and even when she did, he was somehow always there in the back of her mind with lingering presence that never stopped. She remembered that time in the contest hall when she had told him that she was thinking about him; that pure adrenaline when she realized what she had said.
Are they good thoughts? Of course they were good thoughts!
He'd changed, hadn't he? Or was it her that changed? Somehow he went from someone she bickered with to someone she trusted more than anyone. He'd become so much a part of her life that she really didn't know what to do anymore except mumble his name to ease her pain of not seeing him.
She could remember the last time she saw him, somewhere on the road she was traveling. She was stopped on the side of the road, trying so hard to figure out what her map was saying. It was shoved in her face, almost ripping at the edges from her brute, maddening strength. Then came the laughing. She thought it would stop, but she could hear it continue down the road. Finally, she looked up. And there he was—his back like she'd seen so many times, and yet it wasn't the same back she remembered.
"Drew!"
He half turned and smiled, pointing to the ground.
A red rose. When she picked it up and looked back, Drew wasn't there anymore. There was no point in following him, she knew; no point at all.
That was the last time she had seen him. It might've hurt worse to know that he didn't even talk to her that time. How easy it always was to talk to him when they were together. It was like they were always somehow pulled together, meeting strangely like that, so she never had to time to miss him because he was always just there. And now that he wasn't, she realized it all.
He has feelings for you.
"Oh, Solidad," May sighed. "If only you were right. I just can't understand him, though. There's a lot of people I don't understand, but why does it scare me to know I don't understand him?"
No one was there to answer her questions.
A knock came at her door. May scrunched up into a ball and closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. She didn't feel like hearing her mother ask her to do things right now. She wasn't in the mood to do anything.
Soft feet brushed through the room. They stopped at her bed. A hand was placed her sheets, right by her body. Then a soft pair of lips marked her cheek.
When she opened her eyes, all that was left was a red rose and a note saying:
I'm back, May. Hope you didn't miss me too much.