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Indigo

WHEN KADE LEAVES, I’m on the couchwatching She’s the Man for the millionth time. I catch Scarlett lingering against the wall awkwardly in my periphery, almost as if she’s waiting for me to acknowledge her or something.  I turn around, my eyes meeting hers. She clears her throat. “Um. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Thanks, by the way.”

She doesn’t go away after that, though. Just shuffles awkwardly on her socks as she considers me. “It shouldn’t have gone that way.”

I glance up at her questioningly.

“What I mean is,” she says, like it pains her, “If you need help, you shouldn’t have to hesitate before asking me.”

I nod slowly, because really? The girl had made it abundantly clear that she hated my guts and she ignored me every possible chance she got. If I was going to be a burden to someone, Scarlett was the last person I’d choose. I didn’t really hate her back, but I learnt to make myself sparse around her.

Like she’s choosing her words carefully, she speaks again. “I’m sorry if I made it seem otherwise.”

In awe and slightly confused, I nod tightly, and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips at her clear discomfort just from being nice. Maybe she isn’t that bad after all.

She frowns, noticing. “I don’t think you’re getting what I’m trying to say. I—You were—it’s like, how terrible of a person am I that you couldn’t ask me for help, you know?”

“It’s fine, Scarlett,” I say, chewing back my smile. “Really.”

Her gaze falters, only for a second before she rolls her eyes. “Plus, if you die, it’ll be too hard to find a roommate, and I’ll have to move out.”

I can’t help the dry laugh that bubbles out of my throat. “Okay. I’ll try my best not to die.”

She nods grimly, disappearing back into her room. I go back to watching when a moment later, my phone lights up with a text. I tap the space bar on my laptop to pause the movie, pulling up my phone squished under me to find that it’s from Mae.

Uh…why do I have five missed calls from Scarface?

Come over, I type back, I’ll explain.

Twenty minutes later, Mae’s on the couch next to me, perfectly cropped black hair landing on the shoulders of her pink cardigan. Chocolate milk box in hand, I’m explaining a very summarised version of the events of the day, taking small sips from my stupid little straw during the gaps in my stupid little story. By the time I’m done, my friend’s eyes are wide, filled to the brim with disbelief.

“Indigo,” she says, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug, pulling the tan-brown blanket around more around my body so that you couldn’t tell the difference between me and a kangaroo. “For what?”

“For not being here.”

“It’s fine. It happened pretty fast. What you should really be sorry about,” I pause, giving her a pointed look, “was leaving me alone yesterday, you little—”

 “Oh? That?” She sucks in her cheeks and gives me a half guilty look, daubed with nonchalance. “One, I wouldn’t have left you if I didn’t trust Eli. He’s a nice guy. Two, your deadweight ass wasn’t budging from the bed and I wanted to go home. Three, Eli used to have a thing for me in high school and I didn’t want to stay in the apartment for too long and lead him on. Four,” Her gaze is slow. “Jem seems a like a nice guy, too. It’s like the universe wants you two together, and who am I to interfere, am I right?”

I make a face, ignoring the way my chest clenches at the mention of his name. “We’re not anything.” I pause, the air turning stale. “Mae that’s not all…”

She senses the shift in the atmosphere. “Wait. Indigo, if I wasn’t here to help you, who did?”

I’m quiet as I sip on my chocolate milk box.

“Indigo,” she repeats again. “Was it Scarlett? Did she help?”

I shake my head no.

And that’s all she needs. Her eyes go wide. “Kade?

I nod my head yes.

“Indigo, please, please do not tell me you got back with that douche nugget?”

Taking a slow, deliberate sip from my choc milk, I avoid her scorching gaze.

She explodes. “Son of a bitch! That manipulative motherfucking asshole! Pompous piece of shit! Indigo. Indigo.” She places her hands on my shoulders, shaking my human blanket ball. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He totally caught you at a point when you were woozy on fucking pain meds and made you agree to something you would never, in a million years—”

“The meds don’t work that fast, Mae. I knew what I was doing.”

She makes a frustrated sound, her cheeks warming with anger. “No, you don’t get it, do you? He deliberately chose a time when you were vulnerable, physically, emotionally, to get you to go back to him. You can’t do this, Indigo. It’s bad news.”

“Whatever.” I shrug, chucking my empty milk box to the bin, but I miss the shot. “It’s too late, now.”

AFTER THE WEEKEND flies by, I dive headfirst into studying to catch up the many sessions I’ve missed. Despite trying my best to study the theoretical parts, I still haven’t figured out how to get dissections to go well. So not surprisingly, when Chad puts me on the spot and asks me to cut out a very small, precise spot, I freeze up.

“Indigo?” he presses.

And this time, before Mae can nudge me in the right direction, Scarlett jumps in. “I’ll do it,” she mutters irritably.

I can’t help the small smile on my face. After the session, when we’re cleaning up, I edge closer to my roommate over the clinical sink. “Thanks.”

Scarlett lifts an annoyed brow. “For what?”

Embarrassment floods my chest. Right, I’m an idiot for thinking she’d tried to save my ass back then. “Nothing.”

She gives me a look before turning on her heel, and walking out the dissection room. Mae notices the scene, then passes me a look that says forget her. I do.

The rest of the day is a blur of assignments and studying, and I become so swamped that on Tuesday morning, I find myself a tired, hollow cusp of my full self. I really, really should’ve tried to remember why Tuesdays at the were so important, though. Because when the doorbell rings at exactly 7:30, and, before I can fully register it, someone so tall they need to duck their head at the door enters the shop, I feel like dying.

Buzzcut. Dark ink scaling his arms, covering every inch of the tanned skin.

And I’m in plain sight.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Before I can duck, or even take a run for the storeroom, I hear his voice. Low. Rough, but only on the edges. Wood and smoke. “Indigo?”

My eyes are wide, and I’m caught, there’s no way out.

He speaks up again. “Indie?”

I puff out a dejected breath of air, accepting that there’s no way out of this. “What?”

Jem walks over to the cashier desk I’m standing behind, and thanks to the elevated decking, I’m almost his height. But this only reminds me how tall he is, because even on this stupid deck, I’m still not taller than or even as tall as him.

My eyes latch on his slate grey crewneck, and I gulp at the ink peeking out at his biceps, trailing down his arms all the way to his wrists. Some go down to his knuckles.

He tilts his head slightly. “You work here?”

Swallowing, I wrench my gaze away from his arms. “Yeah.”

“I’m here every week,” he says, “How come I haven’t seen you around?”

That would be because I was deliberately hiding from you.

“I’m new,” I say, lying through my teeth.

And then, because the big guy above must detest my guts, Kat appears from the storeroom. “New?” my boss from hell bursts, “You’ve worked here before I even bought this shop.”

I smile like the awkward freaking idiot I am. “Yeah…”

Jem’s grey eyes slowly fill with light as he comes to some conclusion in his mind.

“I mean,” I say, “I feel like a new person, you know?”

There’s a baby grin forming on his annoying attractive face, and his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek. “Right…”

Kat, the evil wench, makes a confused face as she heads back into the storeroom, trying to figure out what exactly is going on between Jem and I, before concluding that I could never pull someone as pretty as him. Or something like the sexist crap she’s tried to feed me earlier.

When I turn my glance back to Jem, his eyes are bright. “So much for never seeing each other again, huh?”

“Yeah.” I plaster a smile back on my face. “So, um, can I help you with anything?”

I know he’s going to say no. Every single time he’s come in here, he’s only gotten one thing: pink tulips. He’s going to say no, and we’re going to carry on with our lives, pretending like that almost kiss in his room has never come close to happening. And I’m going to love everything about my Jem-free life.

 “Yeah, actually.” He grins. “I’d like a tour.”

My face falls. “A tour?”

“Yeah. Tell me a bit about your bouquets. You know,” —his eyes are more silver than grey— “the same way you gave me a rundown of the urinary system the other night.”

My neck flushes as I recall only blurred memories of stupid, drunk me on his back. “No.”

He furrows his brow mockingly. “No?”

I clear my throat as I stare at him. “Just pick the one you like most. I’m working the cash register. If you need help, Mae’s working the floor.”

His eyes follow mine to where Mae is on the other side of the shop, arranging fresh pot plants. She’s being a bit too attentive, and if you ask me. I just know that little beast could hear every word we were saying.

“Yo, Mae!” he yells.

My best friend turns, and when she recognised the both of us at the front, her eyes widen a little, then a slow smile spreads on her lips.

I make a face as I stare at Jem. “What are you doing?”

He ignores me. “Mind swapping with my girl?”

My mouth drops open. “My girl? What the—”

“Sure!” Mae pipes.

This bitch.

She flattens the front of her apron, walking over.

“Great,” Jem says, tapping the desk twice as he glances at me, cocking his head. “Let’s go.”

I have to force myself to peel my eyes away from his inked fingers and the two glinting rings on his big hand, meeting his gaze with a steely determination. “I am not your girl.”

“Fine,” he says, shrugging.

“Fine,” I huff.

“You’re my Indie, then.”

My mouth drops open for the second time. “I’m not your anything!”

At my outburst, Kat appears again. “Indigo! Is that any way to speak to a customer?” She faces Jem, and when she does, I swear her pupils dilate for a second, and the urge to rip out her throat has never been stronger. “I…am so sorry sir,” she says, her voice abnormally airy, “Please, how can I help?”

“I’d like a quick rundown of the bouquets.”

“Sure,” Kat, “I’ll happily give you a—”

“From her,” Jem cuts in with zero remorse, pointing to me.

Kat’s mouth forms an O and I swear to God she buffers like a freaking YouTube video. Mae snickers, and I’d laugh myself if I wasn’t so consumed by pure rage.

“S-sure,” she says, nasally voice returning, “Indigo, apologize to the nice man and give him what he wants.”

I grit my teeth as she click clacks her way back into the storeroom. Then, instead of going around the front desk like a normal person should, I jump onto the counter, sit on it for a half a second, and then push off it, landing on the other side with a dramatic slap as the soles of my feet meet the floor in front of him.

It’s meant to communicate my frustration, but Jem’s grin just widens.

“Wipe that stupid grin off your face.” I glower at him. “And you’re delusional if you think you’re getting an apology.”

“Indigo,” Mae warns, from behind me, “Be nice.”

Turning, I give her a poisonous glare. She puffs air into her cheeks in the lamest attempt to hide her grin. Huffing a breath, I face the current encumbrance in my life, also known as Jeremiah Valentine.

The said encumbrance doesn’t take my threat seriously, because for a second, his gaze lowers to my chest, where my blouse’s neckline plunges a little, before coming back up to meet my eyes. He digs an incisor into his lower lip to keep himself from grinning harder.

 “Let’s get this over with,” I growl.

He follows me silently as I lead him to the centre of the shop, where the bouquet rack is. The ruffled cerise petals of the dahlia bouquet fade to a dull pastel pink.

“Dahlias,” I say, pointing to them, “They stand for dignity and celebration, so they’re bought for momentous occasions like a graduation or new job.”

Then, I point to the bright purple flowers.

“Irises,” I drone on, “They stand for royalty, but also for wisdom and respect. They come in white too, but we usually mix these into other bouquets.”

I turn to face Jem, and his gaze freezes before he nods twice quickly, like he wasn’t really listening to me speak. He clears his throat, like he knows I’ve caught on. “Which one’s your favorite?”

“It changes every day.”

“What’s it today?”

I point to the peonies, and he patiently waits for me to explain what they represent. I sigh. “To Victorians, they represented anger or agitation.”

And I turn so I don’t have to catch the return of that stupid grin on his face. I’m about to delve into a brief explanation of the next bouquet, but…they’re roses.

Obviously, the represent love and…desire. And for some reason, the thought of him giving a girl roses makes me want to puke. Jem shakes his head when he follows my line of gaze and some part of me calms down.

It doesn’t even mean anything. It doesn’t strike out the possibility of him getting them for a girlfriend — the person he’s getting flowers for probably doesn’t want roses. Besides, I have no right to have any opinion. I’m tied to someone else.

Irritable, I mumble, “It’s not like buying a bouquet is such a great choice, anyway.”

This catches his attention. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No,” he says, “Explain.”

“A pot plant,” I say, “Will live forever, and might even grow bigger.”

His face warps into a frown.

I sigh. “And a bouquet will die no matter how well you take care of it.”

And then, his expression turns so morbid that I feel bad I said anything at all. There’s an empty, hollow silence between us, that’s somehow worse with me being annoyed. A few seconds, which feel like an eternity later, he speaks.

“I’m driving to Virginia this Saturday,” he says, gaze precarious as he considers me. “Do you want to come?”

My eyes go wide at the sudden proposition. “Virginia? That’s a six-hour drive!”

His expression is flat. “So?”

Is he insane?

“What are you driving two states away to do?!”

“Street racing,” he answers simply.

“Street racing?!” I burst. Then I lower my voice to a whisper, “Street racing? Isn’t that, I don’t know, illegal?”

The corner of his mouth lifts a little, like this entire interaction does nothing more than amuse him. “Yeah.”

When my eyes go even wider, he shakes his head. “You won’t get arrested. I promise.”

I stare up at him, still confused. “Well why do you want me to come?”

“Because there’s no one else I’d rather spend six hours with.”

My heart beats wildly in my chest, disregarding rational things like the fact that I barely know him. The fact that I agreed to try again with Kade. I manage to calm my pulse down just enough that tiredness manages to leak its way in. “Jem…” I take a short breath. “Things with me are kind of complicated right now.”

 “So?”

I frown. “What do you mean, ‘so’?”

He shrugs. “It’s not a date.”

I sigh. I can’t deny that a big part of me is excited by the idea. Of going with him or being friends with him. We can be just friends, right? Right? Another part knows I owe him for the whole “using” thing at the party, and it just doesn’t sit right with me thinking he’ll have to drive all that way alone, even after asking me. Before I know it, I’m blurting, “Fine.”

He freezes for a second, clearly not expecting me to agree, and honestly, neither was I. He narrows his eyes the slightest fraction. “Fine?”

“Fine,” I say, “But I have to be back by Sunday. To study.”

Those grey eyes catch fire again. “We’ll drive back the same day.”

Sighing, I point to the next batch of lilac flowers, trying not to freak out over what the heck I just did—and just how badly twelve hours in a car with him could turn out.

“Lavender,” I say, but my voice isn’t clear. I try to steady it. “A bouquet of lavender is a message of devotion. It also has calming aromatherapy properties.”

“Aromatherapy?”

Rolling my eyes, I prick a sprig from the bunch before popping on my tiptoes in my sneakers to bring the sprig above his upper lip, just under his nose. “Here.”

I stare up at him, and for a second, my heart catches in my throat. Because he’s looking down at me, really looking, and his face is so painfully carved. With a gentle tan, every edge is a masterpiece — the high cheekbones, the sharp jaw, the silver alive and molten in his eyes as they inspect every inch of my face.

And I’m about to pull my hand away, when in a flash, his hand lunges for my wrist, keeping it there, the skin of his palm rough and searing hot on my skin. I’m still on my tiptoes, and my ankles start to burn.

Then, the doorbell rings, and we both dissemble from each other hurriedly, the sprig of lavender flying from my fingers to the floor. The last person I want to see walks in, and there’s a headache at my temple already.

Kade’s eyes settle on Jem, and he strides across the shop to sidle up next to me before arm comes my midriff. I look down, watching as he steps on my little lavender sprig, crushing it. Then, he leans down, his lips brushing my temple. “Hey babe.”

Jem’s gaze burns a hole into my face, realisation dawning on him as I turn to look up at Kade, pushing him away slightly as I create some space between us. “Why are you here so early?”

“Just wanted to see you,” Kade says, but he’s not even looking at me. “Maybe walk you to campus?”

When I turn to face Jem again, his gaze is stormy, and suddenly, I’m hyperaware that he’s six three, muscled, and covered in ink. His energy is all intimidation and malice, and I’ve never felt this kind of icy coldness radiate off him before. He’s always bright, light, and joking around me. Even when I’m bitchy. Especially then.

Now, though, Jem looks more like his image—someone capable of crushing bones with his bare hands. And he looks at Kade like he’d like to nothing more than crush his.

Then, ripping his gaze from Kade, his eyes flicker to me, right through my soul, before he unclenches his jaw.

 “Think I’ll take these,” Jem grits out, picking up the pink tulips. And he brushes past me as he walks to Mae at the front, he throws back gruffly, “Thanks for the tour.”

a/n:

me not updating once in two months and then updating twice in two days and thatʼs on what? mental illness yup yup.

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