I used to love looking at roses, but after that day I just cannot bear them. He gave me them, the long-stemmed, pink things with sharp thorns that split into my skin and made me whimper as he pressed them hard into my hand.
"I'm sorry," He whispered, "I don't..."
"Please?" I asked softly, I would take anything but this, this was hurtful, and cruel and I wanted this to stay as we were, not how the future was going to happen. "Don't let us go like this."
He looked at me, a short breath escaping his lips as my eyes closed and I waited for his lips to touch mine, as they had done, as they always used to. I wanted his lips to touch mine, I wasn't ready for this to end, for this to stop so we could move on.
I didn't want to move on.
I wasn't ready to move on.
But he was.
The white stemmed roses in my hands now were stained crimson by the blood on my hands, my lip was bleeding and my heart was pounding. I sighed again, licking my lips and chewing at them slightly, wincing when it hurt even more than before.
My heart hurt because I could almost feel his heartbeat as I raised my hand and dropped the rose in the process, shredding it beneath my shoes as I stamped down.
No, I couldn't look at roses. He ruined them for me.