ⶠAZALEA âµ
I straightened my mustard dress, brushing my wavy auburn hair in a low ponytail. Today I was visiting mom. I stared at the frame kept on the edge of my night stand. Two girls, me and her. She was ever gorgeous, her pearly smile on full display. The beautiful green eyes anyone would get lost in. Her auburn hair cascading down her slim and petite shoulders.
I missed her. A smile played on my lips as I remembered someone telling me that grief was just like a flower, I'd wretch one day. Marigold. That's what they had named grief. He had said, the flower was symphony of sadness, I was mesmerized by the way he'd talk about the flowers.
His eyes had twinkled with a unique shine of intrigue. I softly smiled to myself at the events that had taken place the day before, I had defended Carson. I doubt if he remembers me.
I frown as I realized how harsh Jay had been to him, why was I even with a guy like him? Carson would have been so disappointed in me. But again, why do I care what Carson thinks?
Sure, we shared some amazing moments during the summer break, and promised to see each other again during spring. But that's all he was, a mere friend. I shouldn't worry about his opinion or choices. I sigh as I get up and leave my room.
...
My knees felt weak as my hand brushed against the cold stone. My mom, so graceful and delicate was now six feet under the ground she wished to bloom from. She named me Azalea because she loved flowers, she had said, "My floret will bloom into a wonderful girl."
Why'd you deflower so easily mom? Why'd you not fight for your life, Didn't you want to bloom too?
A lone tear escapes my eye as I place the fresh flowers near her engraved name. Aster, she was named after a flower symbolizing love and daintiness. Oh how much you loved the world, how much you wanted to explore, but betrayal always crashes upon you as a heavy weight.
I miss you.
I feel a hand on my shoulder as I turn around. There he was, again. How come every time I'm feeling weak and destroyed, Carson Beckett finds his way to me. I've named him my guardian angel. I'd come to my mother's grave during the heated summer, and he had tagged along. I remember crying my sorrows out to him, something I rarely do.
But there was something about his embrace and fervent words which made me feel as I was floating, as if I had no worries in the world whatsoever.
He smiled at me softly before crouching down and placing his hand next to mine. His gaze landed on the flowers and his eyes shone with recognition. He remembered too.
"Y-you remember?" He was still looking at the flowers, I let my gaze fall on them too, "Yeah, you told me aster was a symbol of love. I remember." I never realized I had leaned against him and then did I realize how much I missed his embrace and cologne.
I never realized that we rarely talked after the summer break was over. It was my fault. I got so busy with my own friends that I forgot the guy who stuck with me through such a hard time and let me mourn over the loss I had dreaded the most.
Why was I so selfish?
And that's when I realized, Carson Beckett was the red rose in my story.