As he professed his undying devotion to an unmoving Rosalie, Emmett averted his eyes. It was yet another thing that he repeated because it was part of the script, an inescapable element of the routine he had established. Focusing on the lilies of the valley sitting at the windowsill, Emmett felt the pangs of doubt growing inside his chest.

Long ago, he had made it a habit to buy Rosalie a stem of her favorite flowers every Friday as a way to express his unspeakable feelings. He spared no efforts in obtaining the necessary money to acquire the treat, going as far as forsaking lunch and taking jobs that exceeded his available hours, in detriment of his academic performance.

But he had been a kid back then, infatuated with a pretty little thing, blinded by the only shred of light in an abysm of darkness. Then he had been sure, now he had doubts. Was it love that tied him to the unobtainable woman before him or was he simply unwillingly to let go of some juvenile infatuation? Was his love yet another habit?

It's poison, that's what it is. Just like the delicacy of the lilies of the valley concealed the poison running underneath, his all-consuming love for a woman who could never reciprocate was yet another facet of self-hatred.

A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips.

It was time to say goodbye.