Page 28 of Petals of Blue, Part One (Wilted Duet #1)

Twenty-Three

BLUE

For as long as I can remember I've been fighting to shield the most innocent parts of myself. When my parents died, I began collecting bricks when other kids were collecting cool rocks.

They weren't tangible, but they were necessary. One by one, I stacked them around my heart in an attempt to block some of life's punches.

At six, my mom and dad died in a car accident. My aunt was my only living relative and took me in under the idea that she would get a lot of money for her charity.

My memory back then is fuzzy, so even if she did get money, it most definitely wasn't a fortune for becoming a guardian of an orphan.

Orphan.

I've heard that word many times in my life, often from other kids at school. I was the girl from the wrong side of the tracks. My nice jeans and pretty sweaters disappeared pretty quickly after I moved in with Aunt Linda.

God, I remember asking her where my stuff was. She pointed to a closet where I found dirty, ripped clothes that never kept me warm.

I made it through. At the age of six, I didn't know much beyond how much I missed my parents. Consumed by confusion, I just kept moving through school and getting my chores done. At that time I didn't much care about Linda's string of boyfriends.

I was uncomfortable, sure, but my parents' death led my emotions for a long time.

Until decent neighbors asked me to mow their lawn or shovel their driveways for some cash. As a preteen who was starting to realize how differently I dressed than other people, I jumped at the opportunity to buy myself new things.

I learned very quickly that I had to hide my nice stuff. Aunt Linda was a money-hungry bitch.

Still is.

Slowly but surely, I changed my image and my attitude. The pain of losing my two favorite people faded to a dull ache in my chest, but I blocked it out with a few bricks here and there.

Those bricks were the changes I made myself. My clothes, styling my hair, talking to new people, excelling in classes. I rewrote myself one piece of armor at a time.

Everyone forgot I was an orphan with a drug addict guardian who rarely fed me. I worked for every fucking ounce of happiness I had. The guys were drawn to the bubbly girl I had built myself up to be. It didn't take long for them to peek behind the wall I was steadily building around my sadness.

After many lighthearted conversations in the hallway, then meeting Roman and Felix, I allowed the gaps in my armor to shine with the endless pool of tears I had been drowning in since I was six years old.

Now? A moment of physical pain weakens that brick wall I've perfected. Over the years I've learned whom and how to trust. Declan, Roman, Felix, and Jared were on the strict no trespassing list right up until they showed me one singular fucking moment of care.

Just one.

A gentle touch, kind words, and worried eyes are my undoing.

One by one, bricks fall and break into pieces. One layer of mascara, a swipe of eyeliner, and a stroke of red lipstick at a time...Blue reveals her meaning.

Blue is the color of a bruise after a day or two.

Blue means sadness.

Blue relates to detachment and distance.

On a soul-deep level, I am all of those things. I am bruised. Sad. I am detached.

Everything I don't want to be but am, comes rushing to the surface in a wave that bellows save me.

Someone please save me because, goddamn it, I hurt.