Guns and Roses

Changes

Genevieve

I just wanted to go home.

I wanted to curl up, drag a blanket over my face, and pretend I didn’t exist. Maybe press rewind on the last twenty-four hours and live as a dust particle instead. Something small. Something invisible. I had been given meds and a break to go home and rest with Brianna offering to bring me home. Mainly so she skip class.

And wouldn’t stop talking.

“Geni—GENI. Girl, you better act like you hear me right now because the whole damn school is on fire and you started it.”

I dropped my bag by the door, kicked off my shoes, and flopped onto the couch with a groan. “Please. Spare me.”

She followed me like a shadow, arms flailing, voice full of scandal and secondhand adrenaline.

“No, no, no. You’re not gettin’ out of this one. Your man, yes, YOUR man, don’t roll your eyes at me, went straight gangsta on Lizzy.”

My head snapped up. “Lizzy?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She dropped onto the couch beside me like we were watching a soap opera. “Apparently, someone heard her talking crap about you in class—talkin’ bout you be out here trap-pin’ dudes with your thighs.”

I felt my stomach twist. My face burned with embarrassment. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. And guess who walked in like he owned the block?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

“Saint. Laurent. Leo.” She said his name like it tasted expensive.

“He walked up in there like death with diamond chains. Asked the class if they ever seen a girl bleed out.” She widened her eyes dramatically. “BLEED. OUT. Geni, I nearly peed myself just hearing about it.”

I blinked. “That’s… terrifying.”

“That’s hot,” she corrected with a wicked grin. “He told Lizzy if she ever opened her mouth about you again, he’d rearrange her face so bad her mama wouldn’t recognize her.”

I covered my mouth.

Half because I was shocked. Half because I was smiling—like a fool.

“He don’t even act like that for himself, girl,” Brianna went on. “You got that man feelin’ things. Real things.”

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang.

I frowned and stood, brushing invisible crumbs off my thighs. “Who is that?”

“Better be a damn edible arrangement with money inside,” Bri muttered.

I opened the door.

And there it was.

A delivery guy holding a massive, blushing arrangement, red and white roses nestled between soft lilies. A ribbon curled around the stems like it belonged in a magazine spread. But it didn’t stop there.

Behind him was a second delivery. A basket. No-a treasure chest. Stuffed with imported chocolate bars, cute little pink and red candies, frosted cookies, biscuits, and, dear God…pads, tampons, menstrual cups, and even a floral heating pad with tags still on it.

“Delivery for Genevieve Taylor,” the guy said, slightly breathless. “Two packages.”

Bri screamed.

I just stared.

“Geni,” she hissed like she’d just seen the holy ghost. “He sent you an emotional support period care package. This boy don’t even smile for people and he sendin’ you menstrual cups and cookies?”

I signed the delivery sheet with trembling hands.

Taped to the basket was a small card, written in thick black ink.

“Heard it hurts like hell. I’d take the pain for you if I could. Don’t bleed alone. I got you. — SL.”

My throat tightened.

At the bottom of the basket, nestled under the snacks, were three novels—classics I mentioned once, absentmindedly, when we sat together at lunch the first time.

He remembered.

He remembered everything.

I sank onto the couch in silence, staring at the card while Bri paced like a preacher in a tent revival.

“I swear, if you don’t marry that man—”

“I’m seventeen.”

“So? Legal in three states,” she said, dead serious.

I pressed the card to my chest and leaned back, overwhelmed.

He might’ve scared people.

He might’ve been dangerous.

But somehow, Leo Saint-Laurent made me feel safer than anyone else ever had.

Even if my pride was still busy pretending I didn’t miss him.

Ever since that night, when he climbed through my window and whispered things that made my heart somersault, Saint-Laurent had been… different.

Not in a bad way. Just… different.

He no longer threw tantrums or picked fights. He was calmer, more composed. Around me, he was attentive and kind, always ensuring I was okay. But the flirtatious glances, the teasing remarks, the subtle touches. They were gone.

It was as if he’d built a wall between us, one I couldn’t see but could feel.

At first, I appreciated the change. It was refreshing to see him interact with others without the usual hostility. But as days turned into weeks, I found myself yearning for the old Saint-Laurent—the one who made my heart race with a single look.

I began to question everything. Did he still like me? Had his feelings changed? Or was he just being cautious?

And now he goes to do this.

I was confused. Why was he defending me and being nice to but not making any moves to ask me out.

Was I delusional?

Did he not like me?

Was something wrong with me?

All sorts of things were churning in my head as Briana munched away at my gifts.

I hated this feeling. But I hated him more.