Of the Internet stories I have ever read, perhaps the most impressive one is His Little Flower (Felix and Flora). The story is too good, leaving me with many doubts. Currently, the manga has been translated to His 8. Let's read the author's His Little Flower (Felix and Flora) Internet story right here.
Why would he say that? The feelings I had for Felix were real. The feelings Felix had for me real. He couldn’t erase that with this statement about teenage immaturity.
“It was real, Tommy.” I didn’t realize how harsh my tone was till his eyes widened a little, and he took a step back.
“Geez,” He raised his hands in defense, “Sorry, Flora. I didn’t mean to attack your relationship.”
“I’m sorry.” I muttered.
“What happened with him then?”
I licked my lips before answering. “We, um…” I sighed. “Life happened, I guess.”
He frowned, but he did not push it further. What had happened, anyway? How could I condense it into one sentence, a small explanation? How would I explain it to Felix without upturning my whole life?
Tommy and I shared a cigarette before driving home. I had picked up smoking a few months ago. I hadn’t wanted to, but it had gone from smoking with him sometimes, to having bought a pack for myself. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but it was alright, I didn’t want to live that long anyway.
I struggled to take the bags of groceries to my flat alone, and Tommy offered to help, but I had to decline. Dad would ask too many questions, and he would cook up some story about how I was having sex with Tommy for money, or something insane like that.
After I finally made it upstairs, I began to unbag the groceries and place them in our small fridge and the rest in the small cupboard we called our pantry. I could hear the TV blasting in the background as Dad watched a basketball game.
“You making dinner?” He yelled from the living room.
“Yes.” I yelled back. “Just a while, Dad.”
He didn’t respond, but in a few seconds, I saw him walk into the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and downed almost half of it. He turned to me and began to look through the brown packets of groceries on the counter. I didn’t pay him much attention, thinking he was looking for something.
“Where’s my cigarettes?”
Oh no.
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