His Last Rose

her heart hurt. he didn't understand his feelings. she decided to end it all. he wouldn't let her. she fell in love, with the wrong boy. but when the other man appears in her life, can maysilee find the one she truly loves?

he loves me, he loves me too.

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1. Alone

I slowly walked down the hallways of Tristian Chapel High School.

I might as well have been a ghost.

People shoved past me, knocking my books out of my hands, kicking them down the cramped hallway, not salvageable in any way once retrieved. I sighed, and pushed my brown hair behind my ear, struggling to find my English binder hidden in one of the crannies of the hallway. I was pushed again from behind, sending me crashing into a locker, shattering the lens of my glasses, blinding me. Blood trickled from my cheek where a piece of glass had struck it, the remains of my mangled glasses falling into my hands. No tears fell from my useless eyes, however, I was used to this treatment. I accepted I was not wanted.

"Maysilee. You're going to be late for class." Mrs. Wills picked up my binder, which lay at my feet, not visible to me now. "Oh, dear. Let's get you to the nurse." Looking at my face, and then my hand. I hadn't realized I had balled my fists, causing the shattered pieces of glass to pierce my skin. Blood now covered my right hand, but I felt no pain. My wrists had signs of constant torment, and my nervous system had given up, I suppose, on telling me that I was hurting myself. It didn't stop me.

I trailed behind Mrs. Wills, my feet shuffling against the tiles, face turned towards the ground. I knew students in the classrooms were watching me, they always were, but I paid no attention. I was alone, isolated by the walls I had built around me, oblivious to their stares.

"Here, Maysilee. Get yourself cleaned up." Mrs. Wills said, guiding me into the nurse's office. "I need to get back to my class..." She sounded reluctant to leave, with one foot inside the office, one in the hallway. "Are you going to be okay?"

I nodded numbly and sat down in one of the waiting chairs.

"Be careful, May," Mrs. Wills whispered, before leaving me alone in the room.

I didn't mind being alone, actually I liked it very much. No one to tell me I was better off dead, no one to stare at me, before whispering something to their friend. No family to hover over me constantly, breathing on my neck, making sure I "didn't do something I'd regret."

The nurse walked into the room, not noticing my presence. She sat on her computer typing furiously, never glancing behind at the student bleeding, on both the outside and the inside.

Curiously, I opened my palm and examined my hand. There were deep cuts criss-crossing over my palm, some shards of glass still stuck inside my flesh. Blood dripped all over my sweatshirt and on my jeans. I tugged on a large piece wedged into my palm, and grimaced when the pain hit. I whimpered slightly, drawing the nurse's attention.

"Oh! My goodness! How long have you been sitting there for?" she asked, a hand laid dramatically over her heart, startled.

I didn't respond. Instead, I played with my bloody hand, amusing myself with the patterns the cuts made.

"Sweetie?" the nurse asked, her eyebrows scrunched into confusion. "Oh, you're shy. Hey, that's alright. Let's get you cleaned up. Come on." She walked over to me and extended her hand. In return I held out my mangled hand, and she recoiled in disgust. "Now, how did that happen?" She grimaced, and grabbed my wrist, avoiding the large pieces of glass jutting out of my hand. Gently she led me to the sink, and turned on the faucet.

Again I remained silent. She ran cold water over my hand, and I shivered from the change in temperature. My hair fell into my face again, and I brushed it away with my free hand.

The nurse smiled at me, cautiously though, like I was a danger child who could lose it any moment.

Wait, I was.

"So, what's your name, sweetie?" she asked.

Small talk. I hated it. "Maysilee," I muttered, barely audible. I winced as she pulled out a shard of glass with her tweezers, setting it down on the sink with a small plink.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pulling another one out, slower this time, equally as painful. "Maysilee." She dragged out my name, pausing afterwards, thinking about where she had heard my name. I waited, knowing it would come to her eventually. It always did. "Wait, are you Maysilee Branner? The one whose father..." Her voice trailed off, sympathy shining in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't even imagine your heartache."

I looked away. "Are you done?" I asked, firmly, hiding any hurt. I felt another prick in my hand.

"Now I am," she responded, trying to make eye contact. "If you ever need any help, Maysilee, the guidance office is open everyday. They can-"

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said, cutting her off and examining my hand, now wrapped in gauze tape. "I can handle my own issues." Then I walked out her office, not turning back to see how her response. Everyone was different.

Instead, I walked straight out the doors of my school. Heading straight home, walking the whole way there.

As soon as I reached the door, I realized it was locked. My mom had left for work an hour ago. I walked to the back of the house, there I saw my ladder, attached to a tree. Using my one good hand, I climbed up the tree and jumped on the the lower roof of my house, then clambered through the window to my bedroom, always left unlocked.

As soon as I was inside, I closed the window and locked it. Then, pulling out my lemon juice from my drawer, I unwrapped my carefully bandaged hand. With a small pause to prepare myself, I squirted the liquid onto my cut open hand, the pain searing through my whole body. I screamed in agony, but inside, I was secretly feeding the monster that I had created with my pain. I threw the lemon juice on the bed, gripping my wrist tightly, my knuckles turning white. The pain was so strong, it was hard to control. The acid in the juice stung my cuts, making the edges a bright red and the blood resurface.

Then my head began to throb, and the monster inside consumed me.

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