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Bianca.

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I see you.

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She was a traitor.

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If only you knew.

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Traitor.

She loved flowers.

Flowers were her impractical obsession. Back when we were kids, i̲̅’d always come by her house to find her in the garden, tending to flowers that her mother helped her plant. She w̲̅a̲̅s̲̅ extremely careful and attentive when it came to the flora that grew in her backyard. Often w̲̅ould I come̲̅ over to help her tend to them. Every day, she’d ta̲̅lk̲̅ about the different flowers and what they meant. She’d give me tips on how to keep them healthy in a small house such as hers. It was nice. I wasn’t as dedicated as she was, but that was because flowers were all she had that time.

She had nothing else but flowers.

Carmaline Drews was born with an immunodeficiency disorder you see. She was always sick with something. H⃠er mom feared fo⃠r her daughter’s health and always kep⃠t he⃠r inside. She’d work endl⃠e⃠s⃠s⃠ly on keeping her healthy and only ever brought her out to seek treatment. She was home schooled her entire childhood, and I was her only friend. I was the only person there to keep her company on days that her mother was busy and her father was on a business trip. I’d drop by her house after school and lend her my notes to keep her on edge when it came to academics. I thought that I was doing a good deed by being her only friend. She seemed to enjoy being with me.

She was fortunate enough to build some sort of defense against the diseases that she was once plagued by. It took many years of treatment and antibiotics, but she eventually became strong enough to go to school. I personally feared for the worst. How would someone like her possibly do well with other people after spending her entire life cooped up in her home?

However, much to my surprise she got along well with the students. People saw her as a sweet and kind-hearted girl. Who wouldn't though? She often brought treats f̶ro̶m ho̶me and al̶ways̶ tended to the school's garden. She was very open to others and was very optimistic.

People liked her well enough that they started taking care of her too. They kept her out of any stressing matters and tried their best to prevent her from doing any sort of physical activity after learning of her condition.

Even when her mother was arrested for theft did they try to convince her not to push herself too much.

It was in her senior year that her mother was jailed. One would hope that her father would take matters into his own hands but unfortunately, that wasn't the case. After many years of leaving home for business, the man had developed a disinterest in his wife. It was then that Carmaline took matters into her own hands.

She started taking part-time jobs to try and raise money for her mother's bail bond. She went to be a store clerk, a barista, an assistant and all sorts of other jobs that would give her even just a little bit of pay. I remember the sleepless nights she had, the frustration she let out to me, the crying. She was feeling hopeless with the little pay that seemed to sink below the intimidating height of the bail. Just how much did her mother supposedly steal anyways ?

What didn't һєʟק was that she for some odd reason, never ʟasted a wєek at her job. She seemed to do perfectly fine but she'd be removed without any śpecific reaśon.

Though somehow, she was miraculously able to score enough cash to get her mother out of prison and prove her innocence.  I foolishly didn't question what she did to get the money , I was too caught up congratulating her. To me, she was able to finally do something on her own. She was able to help herself despite the odds. I told her of this and the smile she gave me was blissful. I was proud of her.

Though that relief was short lived. After a month, she finally came to me, confessing that her parents were now fighting. Her mother was apparently furious that her father didn't make an effort to help her. The two would yell at each other endlessly.

From her stories, I could confirm that Mrs. Drews was no longer the doting mother she once was.

Being in jail must have taken a toll on her. She became irritable and irrational. She didn't even thank Carmaline for what she did. If anything, she blamed her. She blamed that it was because that she had to blow all her money on treating Carmaline that they didn't have any money for the bail. She said that if not for having to stay home with her, she'd be much closer to her father. It broke the poor girl's heart.

At the same time, the body of Lacey Hodges was found in the local forest. She was the daughter of a rich family and was reported missing a month prior to Carmaline's release. I remember coming into school, only to meet my very distressed and mournful batch mates. They told me that her body was horribly mutilated. Her insides were missing and instead were replaced with flowers. Some speculated that it was some freak pervert, given by how she was found naked.

I didn't know what to think. I knew I just felt sick in the stomach. This wasn't just some murder, this was the doing of someone twisted in the head. What was even more unnerving was that the flowers were so perfectly arranged inside her. She was made to be a vase.

flσwєrѕ.

I didn't want to believe it at first. She wouldn't, right? She was so sweet, so kind, so meek, how could she? Plus, the police already concluded that no one in the school was found guilty for the murder. That should be enough, right?

But the murders kept on going. Each one being more sickening than the other. Was the killer becoming cocky? Many of the bodies were found with their skins and insides being stuffed with flowers. Each detail of the corpse was intricate and skillfully done, and yet they left no clues for the authorities. All we knew was that the killer was a sick freak who loved flowers. None of us had any clue as to who the perpetrator was.

All except for me, when she approached me on that fateful day.

“Would you keep a secret, Layla?”

L̶i̶a̶r̶

I felt my stomach drop at those words. What̸͟͞ was more unner̸͟͞ving wa̸͟͞s the fact that she di̸͟͞dn't̸͟͞ even falter with her questio̸͟͞n. She was smiling. She sounded sweet. But fr̸͟͞om there I knew exactly what she did. How could I not see this coming? Why didn't I say anything earlier? Many regrets crossed my mind. Words and phrases jumbled in my brain as I tried to think of a way to respond to her.

Only one thing stood clear.

I wasn't good at keeping secrets.

And I'll pay for that.

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Her Pretty Eyes

My little sister has always had pretty eyes.

I remember seeing them at the moment of her birth. Her eyes popped brighter than ours did. I asked Dad why and he said it was because of a genetic mutation. They were so pretty and still are until now. They were a very bright color between green and blue. They went well with her mop of black hair. It made her look like a cat.

She was shy but she seemed to be genuinely happy being around me. Her eyes freaked out a lot of the other kids so she was always stuck with me. So most of our childhood consisted of us spending time together. She didn’t say it a lot but I’m sure that she was happy with being my sister.

But when I turned 14, I was taken away from those pretty eyes of hers. Our parents were never on good terms, and so they separated and Dad took me with him. I left my sister in Miami, while I was taken to Los Angeles. It wouldn’t be easy for me to visit her when she lived on the other side of the country. Plus, our parents by then held grudges against one another.  I don’t know what Mom was like when it came to taking care of her. Up until the fights with Dad, she was a pretty sweet woman. I was sure that my sister would be fine. Plus, with me gone, she might be able to push herself to meet new people. I was hopeful about that.

Through the years we were apart, we still kept in touch but it seemed to me that Bianca was growing distant. She didn’t reply that often as she used to when we were younger. I figured that school was eating up most of her time, oh - how I wish that was the case. I didn’t know what was going on with my little sister. The most she’s told me was that she liked studying and reading and that she still didn’t find any friends in school. I couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing well that I could be there to keep her company.

My wish was answered - but not in the way I hoped it’d be. It was in the early months of 2010 when Dad was murdered. I could still remember the sickening smell of our apartment. I only got back from school when I found him hunched over in his desk, his room was littered with petals and leaves. It was almost like someone brought a forest into our home. I remember turning him over to find that almost everything there was about Dad was replaced with flowers and petals. His skin was made a shell for the flora. I remember crying and vomiting on the floor, along with the pitiful gazes the police gave me after they investigated our home. I hate that I still remember it.

But that’s not why I’m writing this.

I went back to live with my Mom and Bianca. While I’d normally be happy to know that I’ll be able to see my sister again, nothing could rid of my gloom.

And it was going to get even worse.

Ever since Dad and I left, Mom has apparently turned to alcohol, cigarettes, and other vices. She was never home to watch over my sister, she never tended to anything that she needed, she didn’t even cook or clean the house. She was only there to pay bills and make sure that the authorities don’t think that she’s neglecting her child.

What did that leave my poor sister?

Bianca was always quiet, but now she barely even spoke. She had to suffer through our mother’s wrath whenever she was high or drunk. She had no friends to talk to and drowned herself in homework, books and the like. She spent so much time doing who knows what on her study desk that there were days she’d skip meals to do those hobbies. She’s grown paler and scrawnier from when I last saw her. It broke my heart to see that she shut herself in her room and chose to spend her free time alone.

Things weren’t any better in school either.

She was a smart kid, very observant and took good note of anything she saw and practically engraved that into her head. Her grades were exceptional and she did especially well in Math and Computer. Though that didn’t make her popular at all. Of course, her freakishly pigmented eyes made her stand out, but to other students, there was nothing that appealing about her. She wasn’t cheery and upbeat enough to attract people, nor did she do anything weird or odd for anyone to pick on her. To put it simply, she was just there.

Though the isolation didn’t seem to bother her at all. She was a bystander, someone who was just there to witness anything that happened. She learned to adapt and stay out of the picture.

Maybe it was for the best though. Our school, Santa Rosa Christian School,  wasn’t the nicest of places. It wasn’t nice getting involved with anything and I learned that the hard way. At this time I was in my senior year when I somehow crossed a rather large clique. It would be your typical high school cliche where I was being accused of dating the popular girl’s boyfriend.  I knew better and chose not to mind it. I was in my senior year, after all, I didn’t want to end my school life with something bad on my record.

That was until she cornered me and hit me. The blooming bruise on my cheek would be enough of a reminder to not cross her. I’m sure if the bell hadn’t rung earlier, I’d have more than an aching cheek to worry about. She stomped away to catch up to her next class. I just wanted to get my bruise looked at in the clinic.

I stormed my way out of the locker room.

It was her pretty eyes.

Bianca had been standing outside of the locker room when I walked out. She didn’t even seem embarrassed or panicked when she saw me. She gave me a knowing nod and spoke her first words in what nearly felt like forever.

“She hit you because she was scared. “

I sighed. How long has she been standing there exactly? It must’ve been a good 10 minutes when the girl’s ridicule started. Though that wasn’t my priority. I had a bruise to attend to.

And so I assured her that I’d be reporting what happened, and she only nodded in response. I turned to head to the nurse’s office. However, every time I glanced back, she’d still be standing in the very same spot, eyes glued on the back of my head.

Those pretty eyes were making me nervous.

Perhaps she was just worried. I decided to pay it no mind and get my bruise done and report what happened to a teacher.

Since that incident, Bianca has been coming home later than usual, and she stayed up late too. Though, it seemed that she wasn’t even going off to hang out with anyone. No one at school seemed to know if she was doing anything. I tried to talk to her about it but she shook her head.

It was only after a week that I got my answer.

The girl that had hit me was dead. She was killed by her boyfriend by what the cops believed to be a fight between the couple. According to the boyfriend, she had been cheating on him and when he came to confront her about it, the two ended up fighting instead. The two were fighting at the school’s rooftop when it happened and he ended up pushing her off the edge. She was dead and authorities were investigating on whether or not it was an accident.

Though what irked me was that he was aggressive towards Bianca. He screamed at her and blamed her for her death.  ‘You knew, you knew, ‘ was something that echoed in everyone’s head as he burst with rage. However, the more this went on the more agitated and aggressive the boyfriend became. He’d go into fits and sometimes burst into tears. And the subject of blame would always be Bianca. Though the counselors only found out that she knew of the affair but did nothing more.

At times he’d cry upon seeing her, in other cases, he’d get violent. Not just at Bianca but anything or anyone that agitated him.

A month later he had committed suicide.

Was he right?

I’d go and confront her about my fears but she’d shrug it off. It seemed that she didn’t do anything either.

But that guy wasn’t the only one. Weeks after that, more and more of our schoolmates would be found dead, having committed suicide or having murdered a fellow schoolmate. And the center of their blame was always Bianca. People would come into fits of rage and scream at her and others. Others would cry and beg her to stop.

Some would claim her to be some kind of demon that wouldn’t get out of their head, that their ears would ring because of her very presence. That they just didn’t feel right. Others would claim that they swore they felt her following them but none of those allegations were proven true. Try as the police might investigate her, they’d realize that she didn’t do anything to hurt anyone. She just simply knew and that’s all there was to it. Even with cameras all around the school, none pointed towards her even coming into contact with anyone.

It was in 2011 that our school shut down after the body count had hit 53, and it was then that she told me.

“I knew everything about everyone. “

It was something even an idiot could realize. Though how she knew it and what made those people die was something that terrified me.

She liked watching, but to what extent?

Anyone being watched would feel paranoid, especially if they knew that the person was seeing something that you didn’t want others to see.

It was because she knew.

They lost it because she knew.

She was watching,

With those pretty eyes of hers.