The Flower Girl

DAX

If you're looking for the perfect love story, then this isn't for you. Life isn't full of flowers and chocolates delivered to your doorstep after a fight. This is my story, and if you're looking for perfection...grab the fluid, spray the words and light the match. It sure as fuck isn't for you. If you do choose to stick around, I'll be glad to tell my side.

The world is undeniably fucked. I don't believe there will be a way to ever go back to whatever the hell normal is. Ever have that numbing feeling? I'm not talking about after sticking heroin through your veins, or finishing a fifth of whiskey from your parent's liquor cabinet. No.

I mean numb. No longer feeling anything for anyone, not even yourself. It's not a temporary numb either, its permanent. After the summer I've had, I could care less if someone pointed a gun to my head right now. Hell, it would only end my suffering. At this point, I don't give a fuck as to what anyone thinks anymore, I'm already gone.

3 months earlier...

There she is again, always around this time of day, 12:30 PM. Showing up at this old fucker's house. Flying into that stone driveway like she's the only one to live around here. No respect for anyone else, as she blares Slipknot in her beater Honda Civic.

I never see that old man leave his house. Only when she comes around. What the fuck is she? A Goddamn Uber Hunny? Probably neither of them have a job. Old man doesn't do shit around his place. Embarrassing enough to be their neighbor. This was all that was available in my price range, in this part of town at least.

I feel like I live next to a junkyard. Wrenches, drills, compressors, ladders, even a fucking refrigerator scatters throughout their yard. He doesn't have to mow. Which is a plus because there's no possible way he could. The grass has to be at least a foot high, but there's so much shit displayed. There's no way to cut it. Ironic enough, two lawn mowers and a Weed Wacker lay in the junkyard.

Chairs on their back porch are shot to hell and back. In dire need of a welding job. Crushed beer cans and cigarette butts litter the property, thrown carelessly. I'd absolutely hate to see the inside of their home.

There's no doubt I would fucking puke at the sight let alone the stench it probably carries. I can't grasp my head around sloths. My whole life I had to work for what I have. It disgusts me to see people take what was given to them for granted. Lazy bitches.

The other neighbors are always spewing some type of bullshit to me, about their no fucks given attitude. Told me how they've reported them numerous times and justice was never served. Although I have my suspicions, I only care to keep my mouth shut.

Shit. She's just now getting out of her vehicle, if she even owns it. After she opens the car door, a long, silky, almond milk leg step out onto the ground. Is she wearing shorts? A lot of skin is being showcased, and something inside me coils. Instincts kick in and all I want to do is protect her from the perv she is about to visit.

Nope. No shorts. Even worse than shorts. She's wearing a fucking dress. The sexiest summer dress I have ever seen a girl wear. It fits her perfectly. Short, stopping a few inches above the knee. If she went to bend over, I would get a nice view of ass cheeks. Fuck. The thought alone tightens my groin. I find myself adjusting my dick. Down boy.

A floral pattern, with a navy blue background, white and indigo tiny flowers invade the space. A dress that shows off her cleavage so well. As if trying to cover herself, she's wearing some fucking sweater with holes in it. Looks to be crocheted. I don't fucking know. What's the point of wearing it? I can still see what she is trying to cover up. White heels heighten her stance.

Every step taken, fragile. Not like she owns the place at all, but as if she's scared of it. Designating towards the door, fiddling with her keys, eyes glued to the ground. I can tell she's insecure. I don't know why though. She's the hottest girl I've seen since I moved here.

With the U-Haul parked out front, it waits to be unloaded. I don't know anyone here. Besides my one buddy I worked with long ago, on one of our traveling construction jobs. He mentioned once that Caledonia was a good area to live. Now we work together again. At a well-paying satellite installment job. It'll do for now.

I made sure to move where there's no trace of family. To hell with them. Assholes never helped me out before, it's not like they will now. Which doesn't bother me a bit, I'm better off alone.

Dammit. She caught me staring. Trapped in a daydream while my eyes scan her body. Must've scared her, stopping in her tracks, she takes two glances in this direction. God she's gorgeous.

Bright, platinum blonde hair blows in the faint wind. Waiting to be gripped while I fuck her from behind. My groin likes that idea. Likes it so much he springs to life once again.

Shit. Fuck. Shit! She's coming this way. Walking across the tall grass, all but tripping as the heels of her shoes sink into the soil. I lean against the duplex and take all of her in. So close now. Striking eyes.

Ones that I can't even distinct. I've never seen anything like them, needing an escape from this place. Flawless, petite little thing with skyscraper legs. She walks up to the three-foot stone wall that poorly separates us, standing there, on her property.

"Hi, I'm Macey.", introducing herself, that voice is as sweet as I'd imagined. Extending her right hand, she offers a handshake. Instead of reaching for it, I give her a hard stare, as I watch her trembling lips. When she realizes I'm not going to touch her, her hand slowly drops to the side. "I noticed you uh-over here. Are you the new neighbor? Do you need help moving in?"

Her high angelic voice sounds so frightened. Like I'm going to eat her or something. Don't worry flower, I'll save that part for later. I run my eyes up and down her body. Perky tits catch my stare. Must've noticed because she covers up with that holed sweater. Meeting her almost colorless eyes, I clear my throat.

"Yea, I'm moving in today. I can do it myself." No emotion. There's no way in hell I am going back to that sappy relationship bullshit. She's not going to get any ideas. If anything, I'll fuck her a time or two. Probably wouldn't make a difference for her anyhow. She looks like the type to sleep around.

Standing there awkwardly, her feet tight together. I pull out a cigarette. Fitting it smug between my lips. I light the flame of a slow death. I notice her watch me take a drag. Eyeing me like I've done something wrong. "Want one?", trying to be polite. Right away she shakes her head no. Good. I wasn't going to give her one anyway. Sharing isn't in the job description.

"No thank you. Well, if you don't need any help, I'll be on my way." She turns around, walking back to that old man's house. Ever since I scoped this place out, I've seen her around here. She stays sometimes, but usually leaves late at night. Fucking pervert. The girl doesn't even look twenty. That old fucker shouldn't be anywhere near her. The feeling to keep her away from him, dire. I notice her slowly walk away, didn't even wait for my response. Must want to escape the tension.

"Hey!" I'm going to regret this. "On second thought, I could use an extra hand." Twisting around, shooting me a lipped smile, no teeth. Guess I'm going to have to work harder for that one. Over here again, I finish up the cigarette. Releasing the smoke before she steps up over the wall. I discard the butt into a pot closest to me.

Beside the wall, she eyes it, contemplating how to go about climbing it. I offer my hand out to her. She looks at it, hesitating, then takes mine in hers. Those hands are so delicate, tiny.

I pull her up so we are leveled. "Thank you.", she whispers to the ground. Why the fuck does she do that? It pisses me off. Am I really that ugly that she can't even make eye contact with me?

Over to the U-haul, since she's in a dress, I'll let her carry the boxes. Don't want her trying to lift a heavy sofa in heels. All the boxes are neatly stacked beside the mattress and box spring. Dresser, TV stand, and sofa are on the other side. Thank god this place has a washer and dryer. This chick could never lift either or.

"Go ahead and grab the boxes while I unlock the front door.", I command. When she nods, I walk over to the front door, keys dangle in hand. At the screen door, hitching it open for easy access, I find the appropriate key and slide it into the slot.

As soon as I open the door, it smells of lemons and paint. A clean, new smell. Probably because I was in here scrubbing the fuck out of this shack a few days ago. Says a lot for me, considering I hate to clean. Walls are freshly painted, coated with dark gray, and white trim to grab your attention.

Flower girl walks in with a stack of three boxes. Damn, I underestimated her. She means business. I like a determined woman. Eyeing the area, probably wondering where to put those boxes. "You can just set them against that wall.", I instruct with a finger.

Obeying, she whisks past. I catch a whiff of perfume as it lingers in the air. Sweet flowers and honey suckle, with a hint of mint from what I assume to be toothpaste. Heels click among the dark hardwood flooring, creating much needed noise to distract me from her vibrant beauty.

Once we carry in all the boxes, she sits down on the step outside. With legs crossed, and a hand under her chin, I can tell she's worn out. "You can leave now.", I stammer, then walk inside the duplex. She's not really needed. I don't need any company nor her help. She'll only be in the way. Unpacking is something I'd rather do on my own.

After the doors shut, a few seconds later she marches in without latching it. "Hey close the damn door before you let flies in!", I snap. I hate those pesky fuckers, buzzing in your face at wee hours of the morning, disturbing sleep.

She stands there looking mortified as if no one has ever put her in her place before. We just stare at one another before she speaks up. "What an asshole.", she mutters to herself then turns around, trudging towards the door.

"What'd you say flower? Speak up. Maybe if you quit muttering, I could hear what yo-." She steps closer, each step defiant, shooting me with an inscrutable glare. Speaking even louder than before.

"I said, what an asshole!" Fists balled, looking like a cute kitten whose about to show claws. "I take time out of my day to help you move, and I don't even get a thank you. I feel so disrespected. You didn't shake my hand or tell me your first name for crying out loud!" Fuck.

This is why I don't do relationships. Girls are like aliens. A pretty outer core, but once you find the inner core it's nothing but sappy emotions and crazy psycho bitch that desperately want to be released. You'd think they're from a different a planet. I can't figure them out, wouldn't even try.

"I didn't ask for your help princess. You don't need to know my name. Now, by all means, see your way out." I watch her cold heartedly. It's better off this way, her hating me. Everyone else does and I don't want it to be any different with her.

Mouth agape, questioning thoughts roam her mind I'm sure. Instead of arguing, she spins around and slams the door shut. Leaving nothing behind but the echoes of clicking shoes and her lingering sweet scent.

After she leaves, I watch her strut across the yard to the old man's house. Once inside, I grab a beer from the fridge and get to work. Unpacking everything from the boxes, then I'll bring in the easy furniture. Stuff that's not too hard to lift on my own, like the kitchen table and chairs. Later, I'll hit up Logan to help me with the heavy shit. For now, I'm going to get her out of my head the best way I know how, without touching her... a shower.

Macey

Who does that asshole think he is? Thinking to myself as I storm over to the house. I can't believe how inconsiderate he was! I know I didn't have to help, and god knows he didn't ask for it, but I know all too well that doing anything by yourself is not fun, especially moving.

Those black eyes still engraved in my mind with that deathly cold stare. Slick black hair twining with thoughts. Pale skin, forcing me to close my eyes, and relinquish the sight. A close shave, surrounding his expressionless pink lips.

Not to mention his attire, drawing eyes to bulging inked covered biceps. Exquisite markings on his skin, vibrant but deadly as I ogled the art. Basic black crew neck snug against his chest, dark jeans hung on hips, revealing boxers. Such a beautiful creature. Too bad his personality doesn't match.

The way his eyes raked my skin, I've never had a man watch me the way he did. Like he wanted me, but didn't want me. Of course, guys have looked at me like they wanted me, but the look he gave me was something primal. Like he needed to make his claim.

The unknown man thought he was being sneaky, but in my peripheral vision, I saw him. Watching me. At one point it made me uncomfortable, which it usually does when a man checks me out. But something about the way he appeared to want me, was intriguing. I almost wanted to show off, just to have his eyes on me all over again.

Then that all changed when I called him an asshole. The stare became wounded, as if he already knows he's one. Boring into me, inflicting anger, but I'm used to people raising their voices. The words still break through in the back of my mind, Maybe if you quit muttering.

Can't help it that I'm really shy. I've tried so many times to come out of my shell, but then I thought, why change myself? Everyone always says be yourself. In my lifespan, I've realized you can't get hung up over little things. I have bigger problems to face, and he's not going to ruin my mood.

Unlocking the door, dogs whimper. Two black figures appear. When they see me, their large paws graze the skin on my legs, creating scratches across the once smooth texture, now left bumpy and red. "Ow! Guys get down!" Doing as told, they run out in the yard, fetching a squeaky football.

Gander and Charlie fight over the toy. Gander the German Shepherd intercepts and brings it to me. I grab the slobber infested ball and throw it, spiraling midair. Gander jumps, catching the ball. "Good job baby! Bring it back!", I chant while clapping my hands. Smiling away as we do that five more times. Stopping only to use the bathroom.

Pups becomes tired, so back inside they go. In the house, the stench unbearable. Cigarettes, beer, and dirty dogs fill the air. The dim kitchen is a filthy mess, dishes stacked, overflowing the sink. Tools splayed out in the middle of the kitchen, blocking the path to the rest of the home.

Boxes upon boxes of food spread across the counters. Unpaid bills cover the kitchen table. Paint cans stacked on top of one another. Dog hair sticks to the floor in globs. God. It keeps getting worse, every time I come over. I clean this darn place every time I come over and I'm sick of it.

He's not here, no one is. Only the echoed clicks of the dog's overgrown toenails comfort me. The lull of the radio plays softly in the background, in attempt to calm the dogs.

No cable, just DVD movies are played on the old TV. Can't even afford to pay the electric bill let alone cable. I don't watch much TV, but he does. That's what his life consists of, drinking, smoking and mooching. My presence is of no value to anyone.

Everyone says we all have a purpose, a reason of why we are on this Earth. People only say that to cover up the cold harsh truth of the matter. We are only here because of one thing. Everything happens for a reason. That reason was that our parents had sex and here we are.

High school is now over forever, since I just graduated last month in May. What's my purpose now? Like my father, I'm without a job. Like my brothers, I'm not in college. As for my so-called friends, I don't have any. Boyfriend?

Ha! That's a good one. I've never been touched by a boy, unless you count a poke on the shoulder for the answers to a test. Pretty scandalous if you ask me. Besides something buried deep down within the depths of my well-being that I never want to resurface.

I went to church, once. The preacher says to pray about it, ask God to guide us. Then there's the people who say not to question God. Well at least I'm talking to him right? It's better than ignoring him.

Literally so confused on what to do with myself it's sickening. I've fallen into a state of depression I didn't even know existed. No friends, no job, no family, no life. What is there to live for? Every day I do the same thing. Wake up happy, come home, lay in bed alone at night and cry myself to sleep. Eyes bleed the words that can't be said. Why am I here? Where do I go? Why am I so alone?

I've cried until there was a drought. My head ached worse than any beating imaginable. Here I am, alone again. There are things I wish to do, dream to do, would die to do. But it's not safe, as a young girl to go and pursue. Sometimes, I think of taking all the money out of my savings. All I've accumulated over the six months, when I actually had a job as a waitress at a diner in town, and just leave. Get out of here, go anywhere out of the state of North Carolina.

It's not that simple. Sooner or later, I'd run out of money. Run out of time to figure out my future. Taking my own life has never crossed my mind, but there have been times when the world has been too dark for me to bare. Demons seeped their claws through the crevasses of my brain, tearing me apart. Food wouldn't trespass my mouth. Sleep was all I craved but couldn't have. Death, the one thing I wished for, prayed for, but never received.

A boy I went to school with in sixth grade died at the age of sixteen in an automobile accident. I would've given him my life, if it meant for him to live and for me to be forgotten. His life was probably worth living. Days would go by where I couldn't wait to turn 80 so the process of dying came quicker. People don't want to get older, but I do. Say not to wish your life away, no one knows who I am. What's the point in sticking around when no one even knows you are here?

Why do innocent children die? I think of all the horrific tragedies that have occurred. Catch myself wondering why I'm still here. I have no purpose. I'm just floating through life. Those kids could have grown up to become doctors, saved someone's life. Why were their lives taken so soon? I just don't understand why some leave and others stay.

Living with this for the rest of my life may kill me, I'm surprised it hasn't already. Living in fear. Fear that I'll never be loved, accepted, wanted. My greatest fear, is the fear of not believing in myself. Never accomplishing my goals. Not a day goes by that I don't think about the tragedy that changed me forever.

Dax is not a friendly guy. He's an introvert. I know most guy's don't behave this way. At least, I hope they don't. I wanted Dax's character to stand out. His demeanor is nasty. You'll understand if you continue reading. Macey figured that out quickly. What has she been hiding? Stick around and see where the journey takes them.

Thank you for reading chapter one! Let me know if you liked it by voting! 😁