It was mid-afternoon when I woke up, sitting at my desk and idly toying with one of the horses on the music carousel. My forearms were both bandaged up neatly, even though I could have sworn I left all my bandaged in my dance locker. Feeling light-headed and dizzy, I looked up at the window and squinted against the dusky sunlight filtering through the blinds. Seeing nothing really out of the ordinary, I stood, both hands on the desk for support, then turned to look blearily around my room. My bed was neatly made, the door still shut and locked as I left it, even the closet was untouched. I looked down at myself and made a face. I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday.
“Must have fallen asleep…” I grabbed some fresh clothing, then made my way to the bathroom for a nice warm shower to wake myself up. Once I was dried and dressed, I stared at myself in the mirror, noticing the dark circles under my eyes and a smear of red near my hairline I hadn’t gotten in the shower. I wiped it off on a paper towel, then looked at my bandaged forearms.
I wondered what Goethe would say when he saw them, then I was hit in the chest with a falcon punch of emotion. Goethe was gone. He was likely never coming back. I was just a game to him and he’d won me, so no more reason to stick around. It was highly illogical to think that, but hell, I was feeling pretty damn illogical.
Forgetting about the bandages, I returned to my room and sat on the bed, rubbing my eyes. Despite all the sleep I must have gotten, I felt so exhausted… Before I knew it, I was laying down, the normally uncomfortable bed suddenly feather-soft, the pillow wrapping my aching head in a hug. I was down for the count before I had time to dream.
By the next morning, I was able to wake up on time, and it was a chilly day, so I pulled on a long-sleeved sweater to hide my bandages. I was too chicken to look under them yet, so I had settled to just hide them from everyone else. The day proceeded as normal, no one noticing anything out of the ordinary except how tired I seemed, but they just brushed it off as me being distraught over Goethe. His leaving and my reaction were the juiciest morsels of gossip in every class, but they all kept a respectful distance from me. I was even excused from dance to go and lay down to sleep.
As I passed through the locker room, I paused and stared at locker 42, the one Goethe had pinned me against weeks ago. I could feel the lock against my side again, tears welling up in my eyes, then I bolted from the room. I didn’t stop until I was in bed again, curled into a ball and finally sobbing until I passed out.
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