A Vision of Green (Florence Vaine #2) by L.H. Cosway Read Free Book Online Page A

literally consuming each fraction of my skin. I look away and mumble something about getting my homework done, grab my books from my bag and sit down on his bed.
    “ I'll be back in a minute,” says Frank. “I'm just going to mess up the sheets in the guest room so that when Hayley checks in the morning it'll look like you slept there.”
    A small laugh escapes me. “S-sounds like you've put a lot of thought into all this.”
    Frank's blue eyes find me and his look tells me that yes he did put thought into it, but no he is not embarrassed in the slightest. He leaves for a minute and then returns, plopping down onto the bed beside me and making a show of dusting his hands.
    “ All done,” he grins.
    I look at him and then back at the homework I have laid out on my lap. I lift my pen and continue the work I just started. Frank traces a finger down my neck and then brushes all of my hair over to one shoulder to bare the skin. I've noticed he does this quite a bit.
    I don't look at him, because I know that if I do I won't be able to resist. “Don't y-you have homework to be doing?” I ask.
    “ Not really, I got most of it done in my free English class today.”
    “ Well, I have to do this,” I tell him firmly.
    “ Flo.”
    The seriousness of Frank's tone drags my attention away from the German book on my lap.
    “ Yeah?”
    “ Can I ask you something?”
    “ Of c-c-course.”
    He lets out a long breath. “When you look at your own aura, can you see where your stammer originates?”
    I drop my pen onto the bed and turn to face him fully. “Y-yes, it's in the anxiety spots. Why do you ask?”
    “ I just have this theory,” he replies, stretching his hands up over his head. “I thought that maybe if you used your ability to manipulate those spots, then you could overcome your stammer, rather than going to a speech therapist which would be a whole long ordeal and might not even work out in the end.”
    I'm touched that Frank has taken the time to try and come up with a solution to a problem that I've always seen as my own burden to bear. And actually, I can't believe I didn't think of this myself. Then again, I have always avoided self-analysis, too afraid of what I might find.
    I repress so many feelings, it's like a second nature to me; anger at my dad, fear of interaction, affection for Frank. Even now, with him sitting right next to me I want to reach out and run my fingers through his brown hair. But I'm too scared to do it, too frightened he might suddenly turn around and tell me not to. It's completely irrational.
    With an unexpected burst of courage, perhaps to prove to myself that I'm not entirely ruled by my own strange fears, I jump up from the bed and say, “Shall I try it now then?”
    Frank looks surprised, but then he smiles and gestures with his hand towards the mirror on the wall on the other side of the room. “Be my guest,” he says.
    Hesitantly, I step over to the mirror and peer at my own reflection, which stares back at me passively, like an alternate version of myself from another reality. I momentarily wonder if I made an expression, would this imaginary version simply continue to stare? Perhaps the other Flo doesn't stammer at all.
    I let my eyes wander over the odd fractured tone of my aura, like silvery shattered glass framed by violet. Right over my chest, almost in the shape of two lungs and running all the way up to my throat is a stream of grey anxiety. It clutches around my neck like a vice with the sole purpose of muddling up my words.
    Sometimes it feels like I have so much to say, yet none of the ability to actually articulate it. So I remain silent, a quiet observer of human life as it orbits around me, so bright and fascinating. It catches right in my lungs, this need to express myself, and burns like a river of fire up to my vocal chords, stunting everything that's inside, struggling to break out.
    I glance at Frank through the mirror, stretched out on his bed, watching me