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by A stinging pain in her knee tore Chiara from her sleep. Hissing a couple of cuss words, she snapped her eyes open and propped herself up on her elbows. Where's my...? Her gaze fell on the little purple box on the night table. There. She leaned over and grabbed it, shaking a small pill into her palm and pushing it into her mouth. It tasted pretty weird, like onions mashed with cedar, and dissolved into an acrid syrup on her tongue.
That plus morning breath... ew, Chiara thought, making a face. She dropped her head back on her pillow and stared at the bunk bed above her, from which she could hear Namir's steady, raspy breathing -- it didn't even feel that weird to sleep in her bed.
The syrup flowed sluggishly down her throat, and the pain in her knee subsided moment after moment, causing her to close her eyes in silent relief. She could still feel the uncomfortable straining sensation in her leg, but at least the ache was partly gone. That felt good.
Glancing at her charging phone, she checked the time -- 3:02 am. Again, she let her head fall back on the pillow but didn't try to sleep -- she simply stayed awake, just thinking and replaying stuff in her head for what felt like an hour; but when she looked at her phone again, she saw it was only 3:18 am. Ugh...
On a whim, she grabbed her crutches and struggled to her feet. Can't wait to get rid of these silly things. The daughter of Ares grabbed an old olive jacket and slipped her feet into her sneakers, took her phone and her two remaining throwing knives with her, then made for the door. She didn't even try to muffle the sound of her crutches, after all, everyone in cabin #5 slept like a sedated moose.
Keeping an eye out for the harpies, Chiara hopped across the volleyball court -- the original plan had been to go to the place she hid her Ducati at, just sitting on her bike made her relax, but her legs were still weak and she had to come to an involuntary stop on the other side of the basketball court. Sitting down on one of the benches, she put her crutches next to her and pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, squinting in the darkness. Sometimes she really envied all the kids with night vision abilities round here. It must be cool to walk around without finding random stuff with your shinbone or squashing your toe. She bet Nathan could do that, the jerk.
Something in her jacket made a crumpling sound, like some kind of plastic bag and she frowned. That jacket was old as fck, she hadn't used it in months, what could the thing be? She drew it out and examined it in the darkness, trying to make out what the Hades it was. Oh dear... her old tobacco bag, and the filters.
I could actually use one right now, she thought, and stuck a filter between her teeth. Taking some rolling paper out, she stuffed it with tobacco, gave it a lick and rolled it up with the filter, putting the remaining pinches of brown herb back into the bag. A flame sprang up from her lighter; she held it behind her palm and neared it to the tip of the cig, .. then stopped. Ces trucs-là, ça te fout en l'air, she heard her stepfather's voice in her head. Au début c'est sympa, mais attends un peu que ça te sape tes poumons et ta force. Tu penses que tu vas tenir combien de temps dans les compéts'? Et dans la vraie vie?
The cig fell from her mouth. The conversation she had had in the forest with Laurent flashed in front of her eyes, she could hear his voice as if he was standing right next to her... talking to her... Afterwards, she had thought it hadn't changed anything, she was still hurt and angry. But now she realized... it was slowly losing its grip on her. The more she thought of him, of what he had told her...
Deep inside, she wanted to go home. Back to Corsica. Smell the air. Just, hang out with her friends. Get back in touch with her family. Only close family person she was in touch with was Thiago, and she needed more. Her aunts, her uncles, her grandparents, heck all her other cousins.
Suddenly, she felt herself do something so strange she wasn't even sure how it had happened -- she drew her phone and slowly selected an old number. What time was it over there, 9 am? Close to ten? Her thumb hovered over the call button. Should she...?
Her eyes stared at the glowing screen of her phone, the numbers painfully vivid against her darkness-accustomed retinas. She stared and stared and didn't move a muscle.
Finally, she just deleted the whole number and slipped her phone back into her jacket pocket. Not tonight.... Not tonight. But as she thought that, she sensed a tiny part of her feeling regret.
That plus morning breath... ew, Chiara thought, making a face. She dropped her head back on her pillow and stared at the bunk bed above her, from which she could hear Namir's steady, raspy breathing -- it didn't even feel that weird to sleep in her bed.
The syrup flowed sluggishly down her throat, and the pain in her knee subsided moment after moment, causing her to close her eyes in silent relief. She could still feel the uncomfortable straining sensation in her leg, but at least the ache was partly gone. That felt good.
Glancing at her charging phone, she checked the time -- 3:02 am. Again, she let her head fall back on the pillow but didn't try to sleep -- she simply stayed awake, just thinking and replaying stuff in her head for what felt like an hour; but when she looked at her phone again, she saw it was only 3:18 am. Ugh...
On a whim, she grabbed her crutches and struggled to her feet. Can't wait to get rid of these silly things. The daughter of Ares grabbed an old olive jacket and slipped her feet into her sneakers, took her phone and her two remaining throwing knives with her, then made for the door. She didn't even try to muffle the sound of her crutches, after all, everyone in cabin #5 slept like a sedated moose.
Keeping an eye out for the harpies, Chiara hopped across the volleyball court -- the original plan had been to go to the place she hid her Ducati at, just sitting on her bike made her relax, but her legs were still weak and she had to come to an involuntary stop on the other side of the basketball court. Sitting down on one of the benches, she put her crutches next to her and pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, squinting in the darkness. Sometimes she really envied all the kids with night vision abilities round here. It must be cool to walk around without finding random stuff with your shinbone or squashing your toe. She bet Nathan could do that, the jerk.
Something in her jacket made a crumpling sound, like some kind of plastic bag and she frowned. That jacket was old as fck, she hadn't used it in months, what could the thing be? She drew it out and examined it in the darkness, trying to make out what the Hades it was. Oh dear... her old tobacco bag, and the filters.
I could actually use one right now, she thought, and stuck a filter between her teeth. Taking some rolling paper out, she stuffed it with tobacco, gave it a lick and rolled it up with the filter, putting the remaining pinches of brown herb back into the bag. A flame sprang up from her lighter; she held it behind her palm and neared it to the tip of the cig, .. then stopped. Ces trucs-là, ça te fout en l'air, she heard her stepfather's voice in her head. Au début c'est sympa, mais attends un peu que ça te sape tes poumons et ta force. Tu penses que tu vas tenir combien de temps dans les compéts'? Et dans la vraie vie?
The cig fell from her mouth. The conversation she had had in the forest with Laurent flashed in front of her eyes, she could hear his voice as if he was standing right next to her... talking to her... Afterwards, she had thought it hadn't changed anything, she was still hurt and angry. But now she realized... it was slowly losing its grip on her. The more she thought of him, of what he had told her...
Deep inside, she wanted to go home. Back to Corsica. Smell the air. Just, hang out with her friends. Get back in touch with her family. Only close family person she was in touch with was Thiago, and she needed more. Her aunts, her uncles, her grandparents, heck all her other cousins.
Suddenly, she felt herself do something so strange she wasn't even sure how it had happened -- she drew her phone and slowly selected an old number. What time was it over there, 9 am? Close to ten? Her thumb hovered over the call button. Should she...?
Her eyes stared at the glowing screen of her phone, the numbers painfully vivid against her darkness-accustomed retinas. She stared and stared and didn't move a muscle.
Finally, she just deleted the whole number and slipped her phone back into her jacket pocket. Not tonight.... Not tonight. But as she thought that, she sensed a tiny part of her feeling regret.
