Page 29 of Petite Fleur

I've also been doing new shit just to be like her.

Just so that if I finally talk to her, we have more in common.

I have a flower garden.

Me!

I grow flowers because Maeve loves flowers. She grows all kinds of stuff in her garden, it's beautiful, and the smile on her face while she gardens makes my whole day every time I see it.

Every day when she walks to class, she stops and smells the flowers at the shop down the street from her apartment. Even when she's running late, she always smells those flowers.

One day, she was running late; she hadn't even left her apartment until after her class had started, yet she still stopped.

She still smelled those flowers and told the cashier good morning.

That was the day I went into the flower shop and bought every flower she admires in the mornings.

They grow along the entirety of my house now.

On the plus side, I finally have a use for all those bones.

Good timing, too; I was running out of room to store all the bones. My shed was about to start looking like I hoarded bags of cocaine with all of the white dust everywhere.

I wonder if Maeve would like the flowers I've planted?

I bet she would.

I bet she would smile every morning as she admired our flowers and drank her morning coffee that she could finally afford if she were mine.

Without even meaning to, I've been making my house more accommodating for her.

I've ensured she'll be happy here if she's ever mine.

I eat less meat, buy more produce, and I don't eat as much pasta as I used to.

In the last six months of stalking her, I've never seen her buy pasta or bread.

It's strange, but I have to admit I've never felt better. I lift heavier at the gym, don't tire as often when I'm killing, and sleep better.

It's been nice.

Maybe this girl is onto something with her ways of eating.

Fuck, Lucas is talking, isn't he?

Is there something about listening to this man babble on and on about nothing that just bores me to death?

Usually, he rambles about the men who do not exist, the drugs that are tainted, and the voices he cannot silence. He goes on and on about the government watching him and his home not being safe, but not this time.

No, this time, he's speaking as if he's reading the manual to a freezer. His voice is flat and monotone, not a hint of emotion or personality.

He's so painfully overmedicated that he's a shell of his former self.

I hate this for him, but I don't know if anything I could do would make a difference.

He's proven time and time again that he's a danger to himself and others. He's proven that he only has two extremes: drugged into submission or dangerous.

I've tried to lower his dose, but it always ends with him getting arrested.