Red flowers; they were beautiful but deadly.
I tried to contact Tord, sending him multiple messages in succession telling him that I had something I needed to get off my chest...literally. He sent back a response, but it was a request for me to stop trying to get through to him. I tried to find out why and he said that he didn't have time to waste for him to keep trying to answer me consistently. I knew it: he was sick of me. Every breath took a little more effort to take. What was wrong with me?
I ignored what he typed and perservered a while longer, though he didn't reply to any message I sent following that.
I coughed up an entire flower one day, an azalea, and I only knew that because they were my favorite. Covered in blood but still whole and pretty all the same. I tried spending less time around the flowers in our house, consequently spending less time around Edd. Tom even knocked on my door a few times out of concern.
I was shutting myself off from them to try to hide what was happening. I prayed it would resolve itself and that the insanity would stop. I even tried to research it online, but there was nothing on Wikipidea or WebMD or anything. I saw a handful of drawings, though that didn't tell me much anything. At that point, I became too scared of what I might've found to keep searching and shut my computer off.
Tord had been gone for a month. I tried my very best not to think about him most of the time, but when he crept into my thoughts, it was practically impossible to get rid of him. He was like a weed, sprouting up in the crevices of my mind and leeching off of my energy. The more I thought of him, the more my chest hurt and the more I'd lock myself in the bathroom to hurl flowers into the sink. One day, he threatened to block me. I thought he was simply joking, however, he really was pissed off. Mentioned wanting nothing to do with me now that he left. I suddenly wished he hadn't said a thing, dissecting every single detail of these messages in an attempt to recover the moment his attitude flipped. All the while, I felt no better. I didn't know what to do at that point: taking more cough syrup was strongly advised against on the bottle and I had no references. Though I might've had to go to the doctor, that was a terrifying thought and I was dreading it. Maybe I was losing my marbles and imagining the entire flower thing. What if that was the case and the doctor was going to call me crazy? And what about Edd and Tom? They'd worry themselves up a wall if I went and I hated doing that to them, especially if it would've resolved itself.
"I'm not hungry," I said for the umpteenth time. Edd looked taken aback and I saw the sweat beading on his forehead.
"Matt, you're starting to scare us. This isn't okay — you hardly come out all day and I never see you eat anymore!"
I shrugged tiredly. "I sneak around the kitchen after you're sleeping." It wasn't entirely a lie.
Tom chimed in, "You're acting really weird, and that's coming from the guy who replaces some of his meals with Smirnoff."
"Tord would've been saying the same thing," Edd said.
I stood up hastily as he pulled my trigger, because everything was okay until he dragged Tord into the conservation.
"You don't even know what you're talking about." The cola lover gasped, apparently offended.
"What's wrong with you?" His hands came down hard on the table and it was undeniable that things were getting a bit heated. "We want to help!" he said sternly, looking at me like I was vanishing before his very eyes.
"Tord was a bloody good liar! Made you think he actually cared about me! Doesn't mean a thing now that he can just press 'block' by my name, does it?" My breathing got fast and loud and I felt something rising up from my throat.
"Matt?" I heard Tom say, but I was already out of it.
I started coughing into my sleeve and trying to escape the people that said they were wondering about me. They cared, not Tord. That's why I needed to stop wishing he loved me like I loved him. I pulled my arm away and observed that there was now a red spot on my jacket. In the back of my mind, I wondered if I dropped some petals in the hallway. I flung off the garment like it seared my flesh and threw it into a pile on my bedroom floor. I pined to go to bed and never get back up.
Within seconds, Edd was banging on my door. I even heard Tom telling him that it was futile. I didn't want them to see me in my pitiful state. I didn't want them to know that with every passing day, I was losing air.
I started spending entire days in my room, leaving only to go to the bathroom or get some water and a snack when my stomach was settled enough for me to eat. The petals were coming up with blood and bile and I'd find myself throwing up bouquets of red flowers by the end of the day. I was never able to get the taste of grass out of my mouth or aid the phantom stems I could feel scratching my throat.
Grey eyes were in every dream I conjured up.
On one of my trips to the kitchen, I saw Edd sitting by the table, staring into a mug and crying silently. I stopped dead in my tracks, because despite what I was already feeling, I still had my spirit dampened further by seeing him in that state. If I was the cause of it, I would've had to reconsider my whole approach.
"Eddie?" I forced out, voice hoarse from coughing and severe underuse. I hadn't called him that in weeks and had to pause after I caught the nickname leaving my lips.
"Matt?" he croaked, and I hated the sound so much. I knew what I had to do and I dropped myself into the seat opposite his, feeling absolutely exhausted.
"I'm surprised you finally decided to leave your room for once." I could taste the bitterness in his tone and it made me even more nauseous.
"Yeah, I suppose. Want to tell me why you're crying?"
He sniffled loudly and frowned in my general direction. "Oh, I don't know. Want to tell me why this is the first time you've spoken to me in a week?"
I swallowed the petals I felt trying to escape the prison that was my body, trying to feign strength for at least a little while. "I've been so...tired."
"This is more than tired," he mumbled, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Have you spoken to Tord lately? You've just been getting worse and worse since he left." He looked down at his mug again.
"Tord said he wants nothing to do with me anymore," I admitted, and like everything else in recent memory, it hurt me to do so.
"What? That's...I mean, he stopped saying anything to me a few weeks ago. It's making it harder to stomach him not being here."
"Tell me about it..." I muttered sadly.
"But for him to push you away like that is...a lot. I'm sorry. He's always been there, and now he's just not. When I started growing flowers, all I wanted was to get rid of the smokey smell. Now the house is perfume scented, but it smells too nice." His laugh was devoid of humor. "Tom won't confess to anything, but I know he misses Tord, too, no matter what he says. It's too quiet around here. I miss our late night talks over coffee. I miss his unique laughter. I wish he would at least write back...I really just miss him. Do you know what I mean?"
I felt the tear roll down my freckled cheek and I was quick to wipe it off. I felt embarrassed for this display. "He was typing about how I'm being annoying and how he should've known I was this...this 'needy.' Needy? What the hell is that supposed to even mean? If it's so easy for him to press 'send' now, how much was he not telling me in person?" My voice got low and soft. "It's not fair of him, not after everything I went through," I almost whispered.
"I know," was the delayed response. I wiped my face wearily with my right hand as I felt something touch my left. When I lowered my hand to my mouth, I saw Edd maneuvering so that our fingers were intertwined across the table top, and somehow, it felt so right. His hand fit well in mine, his fingers shorter but his palms soft and delicate like a woman's. He tended to flowers and drew — of course that would be the case. Those were the hands of a lover, not a fighter. He smiled slightly, giving my hand a comforting squeeze.
We stayed like that for who knows how long until Tom came into the kitchen and saw us sitting there.
"Oh, look who's finally back," he smirked.
Edd turned a pretty shade of pink, as he often did around me. "We're reminiscing: that's all."
Tom sighed and shook his head thoughtfully. "I guess it is kind of weird not having the commie bastard here." The alias sounded almost affectionate, like a nickname instead of the insult he hissed for all those years. Tom proceeded to retrieve a bottle of his favorite beverage from the fridge and took a swig.
I stayed with them a little while longer while we simply chatted and laughed, enjoying each other's company. I went to bed surprisingly happy and sleep took me soon. When I woke up the next day, I discovered something: for the first night in weeks, no more flowers had come up.
Maybe my condition was improving.