Page 42 of Vipers & Roses

Z: No way! That thing is probably laced with a Novichok nerve agent.

Me: LOL! What about a smiley face?

Z: Yeah. He’s got a weird sense of humor.

20

Flower petals are faded by the hot summer sun, and if it hadn’t been for Keele’s University sprinkler system, many of these plants would have dried up and died. The assignment requires me to take two samples of each plant category listed. Rosaceae, or the rose family, contains many edibles, including raspberry, strawberry, apple, pear, plum, and crab apple. But there are some less glamorous plants or herbs such as lady’s mantle, agrimony, and blackberry, and trees such as mountain ash.

The sprinkler is currently on in the rose garden, and it’s unwise to take samples of wet plants as they’ll go moldy, so I walk towards the sports field where two rowans grow or Sorbus aucuparia that were planted by a British botanist years ago because he missed the native trees of his homeland.

When I dive head-first into the realm of botany and plant biology, a peacefulness comes over me; the weight falls off my shoulders, and my heart rate drops. The conversation with Blake fades to the back of my mind, becoming smaller and less hostile so I can reflect on my reaction with a level head. Yes, I overreacted viscerally to his suggestion to take it slow. The more I think about it, the stupider I feel.

As I cut across the baseball diamond towards the rowan trees, standing lonely against the locker rooms, I realized my adverse reaction to Blake was not because he said he wanted us to take it slow but because he could feel my scars. I can’t be around someone who sees through my disguise and peels back the layers of my armor to find nothing but flesh and bones that are easy to cut and splinter. After what he said to me today, I don’t think my pride will let me look him in the eyes again.

There is a group of guys playing a friendly game of baseball. When I notice the ball coming my way, I hit the ground and run toward the rowan trees to avoid being struck. A wolf whistle infiltrates the air, which I ignore, assuming it’s not for me. I keep running until I reach the first tree.

I don’t have any secateurs, so I twist a leafy, thin twine until it snaps and slip the sample inside a book in my bag. Apple and pear trees are growing in the Horticulture School, which botany and plant biology students share, and that’s about a twenty-minute walk from here. Checking the time on my phone because I don’t want to keep Z waiting and realize I don’t have enough time. Still, I remember spotting agrimony or sticklewort growing on the other side of the locker rooms, where a grassy courtyard was nestled in purply pink magnolia shrubs. I don’t attend the Sports Science School much apart from my one Sports Science class with Ed Willard, but I spotted the yellow flowers as I was walking through because they seemed to have no business being there with the woody shrubs.

As it’s getting late in the afternoon and the crowds are thinning out, I’m unsurprised that it’s empty when I step into the grassy courtyard. Due to the three-story tall classroom buildings framing the courtyard and blocking out the sun, the entire area is steeped in cool shade. The bright yellow flowers stand out like a sore thumb against the woody shrubs, and as I step toward them, three students pour out of the building entrance in the throes of pink-faced laughter.

Ignoring their cackles, I crouch down and break off a flower sample of the agrimony, and when I stand up, one of the girls states under her laughter, “He’s so old.”

They linger outside the classroom opposite me, with the drapes drawn. I assume that’s because the students are watching an educational film inside and need dark space. But what piques my interest is that the three girls keep peering through the window, where there’s a crack in the drapes.

“They so need a room,” another girl exclaims, disgusted but also curious, as she keeps glancing through the crack in the drapes.

I only need two brain cells to understand what they’re talking about. Slipping the agrimony sample between two pages of the same book as the rowan sample, I step towards the alleyway that leads back out onto the sports field when the three girls decide to leave.

My curiosity is getting the better of me, so first checking that I’m alone, I step up to the window and peer through the crack in the drapes. As to be expected, I’m met with two people fucking. The blond girl is bent over a student's desk while being pummeled from behind.

Feeling like I’m encroaching on their privacy, I pull away and inspect the rowan tree and agrimony samples in my bag to ensure I have not crushed them. As I step towards the alleyway to leave, something gnaws at my stomach to take another look at the fucking pair. I’m not a pervert, but a flicker of familiarity in the two people urges me to satisfy my intrigue.

Again, I peer through the crack in the drapes, and this time, I focus on the man and the woman in the act. The woman’s long, straight blond hair has fallen over her face, so I can’t identify her correctly, but the man in the dark blue polo shirt who is now finishing off and pulling up his sports shorts is none other than Lyons—hitlist number one. The old geezer probably needed Viagra to get that limp biscuit moving. Yuck.

Since Lyon's wife is dark-haired, I can confidently say this woman is not her. After he pulls out of her, she stands up straight and flicks her hair back, and my heart crashes against my ribcage at whose face I see before me. I step back in shock, mouth gaping, and slam against something hard.

“Hey,” his smooth, deep voice exclaims curiously.

“Cormac?” I state breathlessly, moving away from the scene of the crime.

He frowns and narrows his eyes suspiciously, glancing at the window and then at me. “What are you doing out here?”

“Sticklewort,” I answer, opening my bag and taking out the yellow-flowered sample. “For a botany assignment. I’ll press it between two leaves of paper under heavy books.” I can tell he’s trying to show interest in my passion to be nice, but isn’t really.

My heart still flips in my chest after seeing Lucy railed by the putrid Lyons. I thought she had a boyfriend. Surely, she must know he’s married, or maybe that doesn’t matter to some people. I’m so confused.

“Huh, interesting,” Cormac mumbles. “It’s always about flowers and aphids with you.”

“I do have other interests,” I try to convince him, like killing the man only a wall away.

“I’ve been meaning to message you,” Cormac states as we walk towards the alleyway, which takes us out onto the sea of green.

“That’s what they all say,” I tell him.

“Yeah,” he sighs, and I can almost feel the burden upon his shoulder blades. “I've been training hard because the nationals are coming up.”

“How is your father?” I ask him, and he seems confused. “The reason why you had to leave on Friday night.”

---