Page 22 of Petals of Blue, Part One (Wilted Duet #1)

Seventeen

BLUE

I'm fuming. Absolutely fuming.

Declan was always a bit of an ass in high school, but that was fucked up. Who is he to ask about Violet's dad? As far as I'm concerned, Violet is none of his business. Especially not Carl.

Holy shit. I'm shaking. Completely baffled, I stomp off the elevator.

V and I had an amazing road trip this past week. Of course I'm tired, but I've felt wonderfully sore and much lighter since we got home last night. I let go of everything and just spent time with my girl.

Today's my only day off before work tomorrow, so I woke up at the ass crack of dawn because V is wild. When I couldn't hang anymore, I left to get a latte at my favorite coffee shop in our building.

Butter and Bloom was definitely a large part of why I chose to live here. Who wouldn't see a coffee shop below their apartment and think fuck yes, I need that in my life.

I'm still pissed off after about ten minutes of sitting on my couch with my latte. Damn Declan for ruining my cozy morning. Flipping my Kindle closed, I jump up and cue some Linkin Park through my speakers.

Angry music is just what I need while I clean some of this nasty energy out of me. Maybe it's counterproductive, but I don't care.

My throat thickens with bubbling emotion as I scream the lyrics to Emptiness Machine. "I let you cut me open just to watch me bleed! Gave up who I am for who you wanted me to be!"

That won't be me. I won't allow them to steal who I am ever again! The burn in my forearms doesn't matter, nor do I feel it as I soak in the words of one of my favorite bands.

Fire lights my vocal cords as I completely dive into a particularly angry song. "Let me out, set me free!" “Casualty” by Linkin Park fuels my rage, not only at the four men who broke my heart, but at myself for still being upset about it. "I won't be your casualty!"

Over and over again, I scream those lyrics until the crack in my soul completely shatters. The rag in my shaking hands flies into the washing machine with a thud. I slam the lid down with a much more satisfying bang.

I won't be their casualty. They've been turning me into someone I don't recognize. At the age of eighteen, I had to learn to manage my emotions while balancing adult life and fun to take care of Violet.

Allowing them to derail me and my mental health is not an option. "I'm not their casualty." Maybe eleven years ago I was, but not anymore.

The past is in the past.

It has to stay there so it doesn't blind me to my promising future.

Smiling, I close Violet's door after checking on her. She's had a long two weeks and didn't rest much today. My girl is full of energy.

With silent feet, I tiptoe back to the living room where a glass of wine awaits me. On nights like these, when it's past nine on a Wednesday and the city is quieter, I feel like I belong for once.

Life in Chicago has been a dream. I've found my people, and get along with everyone well enough. Unless they're awful and I have to threaten them with my steel water bottle.

My ass hits the cushions, and a relieved sigh escapes me. Working nights doesn't allow me much relaxation time after the world goes to sleep. It's nice.

I've exorcized my demons through cleaning and screaming, now I'm ready to jump back into my usual schedule.

If I could, I would choose to travel with Violet every day of my life. We would have a home base, of course, but we'd always be on the road. Neither of us are homebodies, constantly wanting to do stuff and be...more.

Our childhoods were stifled, and it shows.

Draining the last sip of my wine, I let my head fall on the cushion and attempt to clear my mind. I've almost accomplished my goal when my phone buzzes on the armrest beside me.

Not thinking much of it, I grab the device and lift it above my face so I can keep relaxing. Tapping the screen, I squint against the bright light. Everything in me freezes, and the unsolicited gasp makes me choke.

My phone slips from my fingers, cracking me in the eyebrow. I can't quite catch a breath as I scramble for it, just to prove to myself that I'm not crazy.

I'm not crazy.

Roman texted me.

Roman

June 18th, 2025

Roman : Please don't dismiss this. Please, Blue. I need to see you. It's important.

I feel sick. Why didn't I change his name in my phone? It's been eleven years, so I don't have the proof of Roman ghosting me anymore, but I still feel that pain as if it were yesterday.

Something about the kind of betrayal I went through has really stuck with me. That kind of breach of trust lingers.

They were my friends, my family. Their parents might have watched me with suspicion but they never kicked me to the curb. The boys loved me. Or so I thought.

I'm debating how to respond when his chat bubble appears and disappears. It happens a few times before his next message comes in, sealing my approach.

Roman : You have every right to ignore this and I'm sorry for that. For so so many things, Blue.

Me: Meet me at Butter and Bloom at eight tomorrow morning.

Roman : I'll be there. Thank you.

Someone would ask me why? Why in the hell would I agree to get a coffee with one fourth of my problems?

I refuse to be their casualty anymore. Admitting I've been allowing them to alter my life was difficult, but it was true. The hurt they caused was brought right back to the surface with their presence in Chicago, and literally everywhere I go.

It's time I face this head-on and close that chapter of my life.