Dreams of 18 (Heartstone, #2)

by Saffron A. Kent

I call him the Strawberry Man. In my head, I mean. Because he makes me feel exactly how I feel when I’m craving the fruit I’m allergic to: restless and out of control, breaker of rules and avoider of common sense. I know I’m not supposed to want it but I do anyway.

It started with a little piña colada, the stuff for which I stole from my parents’ liquor cabinet. I made myself one while listening to “The Piña Colada Song.” Just seemed appropriate for the occasion.

I tuck my hair behind my ears with my free hand and explain, “I only took the dying ones. Not the good ones.” Like that makes it any better. But I honestly don’t know what else to say. Mr. Edwards throws them a distracted glance like he couldn’t care less about the flowers. “Yeah? Why not the good ones?” At his question, I lower my eyes to them. I finger the yellowed edges lightly. Some of the petals are so loosened and dry that a puff of air could make them fall apart. Poor babies. “Because no one else wants the bad ones,” I say. “And you do.” I look up. “Yes. I always want the bad ones.” Bad things. Bad roses. Bad crushes.

“Something that’s fresh and beautiful. Something that’s perfect. But then, what about the things that are imperfect? Things that might not be as pretty or as conventional. Things that might be weird, outdated or outcast? They’re not in much demand, are they? They’re not wanted. But I do. I want them. So they don’t feel rejected.”

“Can we please not talk about it?” I almost beg. Willow stares at me a beat before nodding. “Absolutely. We totally don’t have to.” Then, she beams. “Let’s talk about how awesome my husband is.” I breathe in a sigh of relief and sit back. “Oh yeah?” “Uh-huh. He bought me this set of all the Harry Potters. Brand new covers. With illustrations. He says it’s a wedding present. Can you believe it?” Willow is a Harry Potter fiend. Like, you can’t be her friend if you don’t know what Quidditch is and where to find the train that will take you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Oh, and she makes you take a test to determine which house is yours. I’m a Hufflepuff.

Willow Taylor and Dr. Simon Blackwood’s love story is unconventional, to say the least.

I call us The Heartstone Sisters because we all met at Heartstone.

Everyone has that moment. When things change. The moment that you remember for the rest of your life. The moment you think about for the rest of your life. You are that moment for me.”

“You. A teenage girl who stunk of a thousand-dollar rum. You are my moment. A girl who ruined my life. That’s what I think about. I think about my lost peace of mind. The peace that you took from me. I think about the shitshow my life has become. I think about how the fuck to forget you. And I think about how no matter what I do, I never will. Because you’re a nightmare that’s goddamn unforgettable.”

The most terrible thing that’s ever happened to me.

The golden-haired girl tugged on her ears, probably saying sorry to the blonde, before she jumped into the pool too. It was a shock to me, her antics. I’d never seen anyone act so… brazenly and crazily. But then, in the coming days, I saw her dancing in her backyard, singing by the pool, running out of the house, sticking her tongue out just to feel the snow. So I realized that this was the norm for her: doing her own thing when no one was watching or at least, she thought no one was watching. When people were around, she’d keep her head down and cover her face by those brown/blonde hair of hers.

she was a burst of life in their world.

“It means I’m a masochist, Mr. Edwards. I like the pain. The pain doesn’t scare me. You don’t scare me. And let me tell you another secret – masochists like me? We have really tasty skin. You can eat me up all you want. You can eat me up a hundred different ways. I’m gonna like your teeth and your tongue and I’m gonna fall in love with the sting of it all. You’re my Strawberry Man. At least, that’s what I call you in my head.”

You hate your roses too. Is it because I was trying to steal them that night? Is that why you don’t take care of them anymore?” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling so small and so vulnerable. “They remind me of you,” he rasps at last, jolting the breath out of me. “Your roses?” “Yeah.”

I feel and feel and feel until it becomes a living thing that presses into my very skin from the inside out. It used to happen every time I saw her. Every time she’d walk down the street, the knife would twist and I’d have to bite down on my teeth to stave off the pain. Or every time she climbed up to her roof to watch the moon, or when I saw her around the school, bobbing her head to the music or smiling at something she’d read. Every time I heard her voice, her laughter… I hated it. I hated the effect she had on me

She’s a menace. A terrible thing.

Do you like her, Dad? You want her? I wish I had lied. I wish I had said no to that question ten months ago. I wish I didn’t want my son’s best friend – the girl he secretly liked.

But the problem is that it doesn’t feel like a mistake, that kiss. Not right now. In this moment, it feels like destiny. Like I was meant to kiss him. I was meant to throw myself at him, clutch onto his shirt, step onto his shoes and put my mouth on his. Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here tonight. Yeah, maybe I was meant to wreck it all, destroy everything. So I could finally do what I’m doing right now: talking to him.

This is it, isn’t it? This is why I felt something that day, when I saw him on my sixteenth birthday. I recognized him, something in him. He’s made of the same lonely fabric as me. Lonely and abandoned and alone. God, he could be my soul mate, couldn’t he?

Don’t waste your time on those fuckers who don’t know what you are.” “And what am I?” That’s the logical question, right? That’s what I was supposed to ask because I’m not really sure. I’m not sure if I’m even breathing. Or forming the right words or putting them in the right order. I’m not sure of anything except this man in front of me. This man who just defended me to the entire world. And he’s staring at me with a burning gaze as he rasps, “Something made of moon and magic.”

Some guy will say that to you. He’ll say it better. He’ll even write you poetry or something. Or whatever the fuck kids are doing these days.” I don’t want someone to say that to me. I want him. I want his words. His poetry. His growls and his hands.

“No, Violet, I’m not saying that you’re visible. I’m saying that you’re the only thing that a man sees. I’m saying that you’re a thing that drives a man to distraction. You make him forget what’s right and what’s wrong. You’re a thing so terrible and beautiful and fucking breathtaking that he can’t escape you. He can’t think of anything else, not about his job, his responsibilities, his promises, his family, nothing but you. You undo him. You make him helpless. You turn him into an animal who wants to rut. You’re a girl who makes a man go bad.”

He thinks he’s betrayed his son for wanting me. He hates himself for wanting what his son wanted. Oh God, he hates himself.

“You love him, don’t you?” Brian responds. “You’re in love with my dad. You’ve always been.” All the fight goes out of me at his abrupt question. I sag under my own weight. I sag under the weight of my feelings. All this time, I thought Mr. Edwards hated me. All this time, I thought if he poured out all his anger on me, he’d be free. Most of all, I thought I came here just to apologize. None of that is true, is it? He doesn’t hate me. He’s not angry with me, either. And I didn’t come here just to apologize. I came here because I’m not over him. I was never over him. In fact, what I feel for him is bigger. So much bigger than I gave myself permission to even think about. It’s always been bigger. It’s been that way since the day I saw him through the window of my bedroom. “Yeah. I do. I love your dad, Brian. I’ve always loved him. Ever since I was sixteen.” And he wants me.

I want you to know that she deserves someone like you in her life. Someone good and noble. Someone who won’t hurt her.

She talks about dreams and wishes and…” And she saved me. She fucking saved me from drinking when she had no reason to.

She came in and she saved me.

She saves people. She makes the world a better place. She dreams.

Because two years and ten months ago, I saw a sixteen-year-old girl climbing out of her window and I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to look away.

I’ve always, always been in love with him. Since the beginning. Since the very first moment. The very first sight. Maybe it’s naïve and romantic. But fuck it. I am a romantic. I’m a dreamer. And I accept that now. Acceptance is wonderful, isn’t it? The most wonderful thing.

The Diary of a Blooming Violet.

He can shape me however he wants. I’m his.

“Because you’re my Jailbait.” He presses the pads of his fingers on the apple of my cheek as he continues, “And I’ll destroy anyone who dares to hurt you. All the people who made you feel less and called you names for that kiss. Everyone. You’re not a slut, all right? I won’t let you think you are.”

I don’t want us to be ashamed anymore. I don’t want all the guilt and anger and pain. I don’t want us to be what they said we were. I don’t want other people defining us. I just want us to be… us. Just you and me.”

“I didn’t notice colors before I met you.”

I thought I was invisible but I wasn’t. I was visible to him. To my Graham.

I think she gave me some of her magic.

I’m addicted to him.

He is mine. This man is mine.

I smile because I’m eighteen and his.

I’m so… weak. And defective and a loser, and he thinks I’m going to college and I’m going to meet someone and I –” “Whoa, whoa, whoa, okay. Stop,” Willow cuts me off and I go silent, sniffling again. Then she sighs and says, “First of all, you’re not a loser. You’re not weak or defective. You have an illness. You’re struggling, Vi. You’ve been struggling ever since you got out of Heartstone. Like the rest of us, and that’s okay. But you’re struggling more because you keep insisting everything is fine. You keep denying it. You keep pretending.” I keep pretending. She’s right and I’m too emotional right now to admit it. Yeah, I pretend. I pretend that everything is okay. I pretend that I’m handling things my way.

He said I’m made of moon and magic.”

“I love him, Willow. I’m in love with him. God, I love him so much and no one has cared for me like he does. Not one person. And he looks at me. He’s been looking at me since I was sixteen. I’ve always been visible to him, Willow. Always. Me. The girl no one sees.

he’ll always be this broken dream of mine. This unfulfilled wish. My unrequited love. But in this moment, he’s looking at me like he does. Like he does love me. I’d kill for that look. Kill and steal and lie.

The girl he can’t love but looks like he does.

Whatever you do, however you are, I love it.” I love you…

He looks at me like I’m special.

But for the first time in almost a year, I don’t wanna hide.

Who cares if they think I’m not pretty or not special or not worthy of love or whatever? I think that I’m pretty. I think that I’m special. I think that I’m worthy.

I want the whole world to watch when I pick him. When I pick my Graham.