I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning [open to rain/echo/tree/sleepy/any infirmary people]

She lived in an ocean. Each breath she made pushed microscopic bubbles from her lips, black bubbles, smoky and filled with a death-colored fog. Everything in the ocean was gray. It hung with an authoritarian grip. She swam silently, pushing through the watery air, its icy clasp touching her throat. It was timid but strong, depending on how much she moved, so she stayed in place, blowing bubbles into the air, looking out at the shimmering atmosphere of a world where she was dead, oh god she was dead, she figured it out, she couldn't remember anything, she couldn't stop remembering the pain and nothing else mattered. The bubble popped. Gravity took the ocean, and thus she, to the entrenching darkness. She succumbed to its swallow, falling, falling, and she hit the ground to the orchestra of cracking bones. Her ribcage pierced her unbeating heart, her sternum ripping into lungs like tree branches popping a peaceful, hovering balloon. She screamed but the water absorbed it, and the water lurched like a growling stomach, falling with a crash like lightning. She was air again. Her broken bones were unworn by her standing, unpained by her walking, because her bones were never there. Like her, her bones were air.

And she was alone

She walked. Each step brought her nowhere, the plain of absolute gray stretching greedily with each footfall, the floor under her bearing no distinction from the sky above her. She paused. It was hopeless, she wanted to cry, she wanted to scream. How could someone without a face scream? How could someone without a brain think?

She was nothing, a floating consciousness.

She saw shadows slap themselves against her eyes.

Shadows crawled towards the gray, horizontal to her, walking slowly. They were slouched, weighted, each step feeling like an earthquake, each step cracking another disc in their spine. They all kept going, however. At least most. Two shadows were far behind, one standing, one sitting, and she watched them. I'm here, she said, look up at me. But she said nothing. Sound just added to her gravity, and her back slouched under new weight.

She had to get to Deliverance. Her mind raced eagerly, her back gaining more weight as her excitement carried into a ferver. She had to get to Deliverance. She began to walk with the shadows, her craving wanting her to run, her mind screaming for her to sprint. She could only walk, though. Her back hurt so much.

She would get there, though.

The shadows hummed muted weeps, their feet's movement making a silent, marcher's tune.

Those figures didn't matter. The figures that stayed back, they meant nothing.

They did not seek all that mattered.

All that mattered was Deliverance.

Deliverance.

Deliverance.

Ḑel͟i͘v̵era͜n͟c̵e

D̙͚̹̫̩̯̫̰ȩ̪͉̯̯͜l̴̲̟̳̟̬̳͡ḭ̪̟̤v̦̞̹̫͞e҉͈͈̖̥̬͍̦̝r̷̶͏͇͙a̶̮̯̹͕n͎̰̗̩͝c̷̛̙͕̲̺͎̩̳e̮͇͓͈͡ͅ

D͏̸̤͍̣̮è͎̦̰̳̹͙͜l̼̭͖̲̖̞͔̱̖̹͈̼̠̳̲̥͖͔͢ͅi͏̹͎̲͙̠̖̮̬̞̺̥̣͕͝v̵̷̸̢͙̳͈͎͚̦̙̝͈̘̮ͅe҉̰͇̠̪̱̭̩̱̥͕̻̗͎̤͍͡r͏̡͓̺̝̜͔͎̲͔̣̗̳ą̡͚̜̣͍͇͚͟ͅń̵̡͔̠̲̰̠̭̻̹̦͠c̮̥͉̞̬̺͍̤̦̙̝͚͉̦͜͢e̗͎̦̞̬̖̮͍̰͚̟̼͖͜͡

D̸̦̪̮̰̤̩̥͔̹̭͍̰͈̬͙̠̯̙̓ͤ̓́̎ͮ͌͊̊͂̄͌̄̇̐͌ͣ̎͝ȅ̷̬̬͙̭͕̫̙̳̹̣̦̫͊ͮ̒͊̏̆ͤͩ̈́̄̀l̴̡͍̘̻̮͈̱̖̬͎̪͉̻̠͎̭̄ͧͣ͆̅ͦ̈̓ͬͧ͆ͭ̎ͯͬ͝͝i̛̒̿ͥͭͪ́͊͏̛̭̟̳͇̞̭̤̳͔̪́͝v̷̡̨̧͈͕̙̭͙̖̭̠͚̩̠̯̜͓̹̬͔̯͍̍ͨ̓͑͊̄̆̑̍͒͂̚͟e̡̨͉͍̬̗̤̭̹̻̯̞͈͖͓̹͖͂͒ͫͣ̔͜͡r̶̨̡̞̤̦̗͎̜̳ͦͤ̽̍͛̔ͥͬͬ́ͤ͂ͦ̈́ͤ͑ͦ͗̚͘̕a̶̸̮̩̗̹̗ͩ͌̎ͥͥͯ͋̏ͅn̡̡͙̤̙̥͉̭̺̠͒̇̄̄ͭͫ͐͗̉̋̿̀ͨ̓̎̍ͧ̚c̵̲̲̠̰̳̱̯̲̤͓̭̒ͨͣ̽̒̓͘e̢̯̪̻͙̭̟̦̺͙̼̬̯̞̙ͤͩ̄ͣ͗̓͢͞



Madison screamed. Her Mother reached out to her. She saw her, the one that seeked to grip her throat and the one that cried while gripping the phone. Her mother whispered, her mother screamed at strangers, a telephone just to scream at strangers, to scream, to scream. Get away from me got swallowed by the scream, sound hurt but she could now hear it, could now hear everything.

Only when she could hear again did she realize she had been screaming the whole time.

She had to get back.

The morning called but she closed her eyes to accept the black.

She needed to be delivered.

Delivered.

Deliv...

Madison's pale body sat motionless in the back room of the infirmary. Logan sat at his desk in the front, hands to his mouth, fingertips touching, watching the shadows of students pass slowly, waiting for everyone to come. Owen Darcy, the Headmaster. The room was silent. The clock delivered the day to noon.

Time wasn't the same anymore. It floated, a hazy madness that swirled around his mind. Had he slept recently? Had he eaten? Had he even gone to class? He knew the answer to the last one. With visits to the Headmaster's office, avoiding the dorm and spending all his time in there at once, and long walks around campus, Owen didn't know what day it was, let alone what time it was. Everything was a blur, a blur of blood pooling on the bedroom floor, a blur of shadows clawing at him, of laughter echoing harshly in his ears.

The television was black. Nothing was on. But there was so much noise in his head and his ears, it didn't make a difference. It replayed in his head time and time again, each time worse than the last, repeatedly reminding him of what he'd done. There were a million ways it could have happened. He kept deluding himself into thinking, maybe, if he hadn't left his room, it would've worked out just fine, just like it always did.

Right.

Like it always did.

Like it did. Past tense.

Without noticing, Owen had started bouncing his leg, up and down like crazy, like he'd seen other kids in his classes do when they were stressed or anxious. He realized it only when he put his hand on his knee and it stopped. The odd feeling of having just been vibrating and stopping settled over his muscles, dragging his unwilling mind to the present. Ears ringing from the sounds that had been in his head, he looked around with new eyes, taking in the familiar scene without taking in details. It felt strange, as though he'd never been here, like when returning home after a long trip, except this wasn't home. This was where It had happened. The leg bouncing started again.

Stop it. Stop it. His eyes were too dry for tears anymore. All that consumed him were anger, confusion, and an aching sadness he'd never expected to feel. Guilt had been there in the beginning, but it was all gone now, after several visits to the Headmaster.

Did you mean to do it? He shook his head, cheeks still freshly wet, the pajama bottoms he'd been wearing were bloodstained still, her blood. Well, then, there's no reason for guilt. There are just a few things we need to clear up. And the early hours of morning had passed, question after question, face after face, recount after recount. The repetition made him dizzy and ill, but somehow, by telling it over and over and over, it became distant, furthering him from it and making it sound like some villain had come in and done all of it. He wasn't at fault here. He had done nothing wrong but try to defend his friend. That was all. That was it. By lunch time, he had been dismissed. He was taken back to the dorm through the hallways during class time, preventing him from being seen, although somehow, he was sure everyone knew about it. How couldn't they? No reason for guilt, he whispered under his breath. No reason for guilt.

Still, she was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. The bouncing was annoying him. A hot flash of anger pierced his chest and in a rush, he stood up, shoving away from the chair like it had personally wronged him. There was no outlet for this, he had to get out, he had to--

A familiar jingle went off from the other room. With half a glance at Madison's closed door, Owen walked around the furniture and headed towards his room. His untouched cell phone lay on the bed beside his pillow, the blankets still rumpled in the same way they had been when he got up that night. How long ago had that been? The thought was gone from his mind the moment it occurred. Picking up his phone, he found that it was running low on battery. He hadn't charged it in too long. But the moment he saw the message, it didn't matter.

The boy hadn't run in over a week. In fact, he'd spent more time sitting around than even walking. He couldn't catch his breath only a minute into his race to the infirmary, but he couldn't stop, not at a message like this. At the door, he paused just a moment, breathing heavily, his chest heaving, tears threatening to sting his eyes again. Finally, he pulled it open and stepped inside, immediately looking around and expecting to see her already standing there, waiting for him.

She had left the dorm for one night. Just one.

Nothing bad should've happened in that small amount of time. It was scarcely a good seven or eight hours. Anyone could argue that the duration was long enough so that anything could happen, and considering the current setting they were in, that wasn't too far off. The academy was notoriously becoming a place where chaos and disorder were a normal, standard, everyday thing; how many students were ending up in the infirmary because of pointless fights in the hallways or forests? How many were jumping off roofs or attempting to toss their lives away with the most stupid methods possible? How many, just, how many were snorting cocaine and gulping down alcohol like no tomorrow without a care in the world for their health? Numbers were over the roof, considering the microcosm that Beata represented.

So coming back to her room, Nicola found that she should've predicted that something bad might've happened. The likeliness of it was too high, and in logical conclusion, there was almost a guarantee that it would, considering the three's history with each other. But that was when she was in the picture; Madison and Flashlight got along very swimmingly for the most part, and she had served as an obstacle, creating a turbulence that only seemed to rock and sway everything into poison ivy. She couldn't recall a time that those two didn't seem to do poorly around each other.

And that was why she trusted him not to hurt Madison.

He would never.

Of course, he was the last person she expected to see harming a hair on someone's head or even smashing a pesky fly around.... Okay, maybe not the last, but one of those kinds of people. His fighting capabilities were poor, and he seemed to succumb to panic pretty easily in any stressful, life-threatening situation. He was a very kind person, he was reliable, dependable, and Nicola was sure that he would have her back when it came down to it. And, of course, he liked Madison a lot. If it wasn't clear before Pocky games and him urging her to go visit Madison in the infirmary, then it was as transparent as can be after a drunk kiss with him walking in on it. Not like she would actually mention it or anything - it was just a hunch. He seemed like the kind of person who wouldn't appreciate his feelings regarding love being out in the open, anyway. That, or he would get easily flustered about it and try to cover it up.

So why was it that the dorm was empty when she came back, patches of sticky red oozing around the floor, latching itself onto furniture, splattering onto the walls without the original color visible in sight? Nobody in sight, no explanation or anything in the early dawn of the morning.

The current time was 5 AM. Those two should be sleeping but they weren't even inside.

A messenger had passed by shortly afterwards with a note to explain everything and where her roommates - her friends - were.

'Madison Morse was killed by Owen Darcy late last night. He is speaking with the Headmaster regarding the issue and will return momentarily.'

Her heart had dropped upon scanning the words, fingers trembling as she tried to reaffirm what the paper had written on it. There was no way, absolutely no way that was the case. They must've made a mistake. They had to. She knew those two well enough. They had grown attached to each other, grown to become good friends, despite everything that happened, so that was why... that was why...

Traitor.

She had trusted him and then he pulled this behind her back. If she hadn't left the dorm at all, this wouldn't have happened. She could've protected Madison and made sure that everything was alright, that maybe, Flashlight, no, Owen, wouldn't have taken advantage of the situation and that they would've been fine. Everything could've continued blissfully.

Why was she still so shocked?

Quietly, Nicola laughed. The hysterical kind of laughter that made her never notice the tears that had sprung up, rolling down her cheeks until they splattered onto the paper, staining it with a drench splotch and hit her skin. She found herself rushing to the infirmary, heaven knows why, thinking that, maybe, just maybe, all of that blood was just from Madison doing something stupid and just having to go get herself treated, that it wasn't Owen but at the same time it was because of Owen.

She didn't bother acknowledging anyone else around, going straight to the infirmary to meet someone who probably wasn't there, taking a seat by the cot without waiting for anyone else to protest or approve of her actions. It was funny. She had gotten closer to Madison because she had escaped the infirmary, and the two helped each other out back then; and here she was, going there to meet up with her again to try and help. Madison shouldn't have died. She couldn't have died. This was all a lie, nothing was real right now. This was just a nightmare, right? She couldn't cry. She didn't cry. This note wasn't real. Nothing was there. That thing, whatever it was, it wasn't at all possible that it was Madison's body. "This is just an elaborate prank, isn't it...?" A soft whisper addressed to no one in particular. They could stop now. They got her good, but she managed to figure it out. All of it was revenge for what she had pulled in the past. Madison was more cunning than she first anticipated.

The door, left half-opened and now fully swung open, and in came the person in suspect, the only other roommate that she bothered to get to know.

A maelstrom of conflicting emotions surged through, and she wasn't sure whether to get mad at him or not. Her mind was in shambles, she couldn't make up what the conclusion was. Nicola hated it, the fact that she couldn't grasp on a firm conclusion and stick to it in the slightest. She was hailed as a genius, a prodigious and precocious student from a very young age, so she had to have the answer to everything right? One shaky breath, and somehow, her mouth had opened.

"How could you?"

Her chest hurt, wrenching and squirming around uncontrollably. Haha... Was her asthma acting up again?

Logan looked up at the ring of the door. He had fallen asleep. From his mouth hung a string of drool, sticking to the paper his arms crossing over. His head ached. His heart beat violently, each thump a clear, hard drum. He rubbed his eyes at the blurry figure of Owen. "Hey, hey..." his voice had an edge to it as he yawned. "You're Mister Darcy, aren't you? The nurse contacted you, didn't she?" He knew Kaya was sending out notifications, but he was hoping they'd just...wait until later...

He stood, stretching his legs as naturally as he could, walking around his desk and to Owen. He outreached a hand. "I'm Logan Welsh. We've met before. Nice to meet you." Whatever tired razor wire that had stuck to his voice was melted by the warmth that permeated the statement. He sounded like a doctor at a pediatrician's office, one that had just worked a 24-hour shift. "I'm sure you are here about Madison."

His first greeting was from Nicola, the one person he'd been avoiding from the start of this. They'd never fully discussed either of their feelings for their dead (apparently no longer) friend, and the unspoken words hung heavy between them, acting as a thin glass wall. It shattered when Nicola spoke. A loose piece stabbed him in the gut, making it hard to breathe, and his mouth worked to provide some kind of answer for the girl, some kind of empty promise that it would be okay, but he couldn't imagine she'd be ready to listen to him anytime soon. He barely listened to himself.

Owen turned as he was addressed by another person, another boy who seemed relieved to see him. They knew each other from the last time they had been here, again for Madison, and he felt his face stretch awkwardly into a smile, something it hadn't done for days. "Ah, yeah, I uh, I got a text," he said, patting his pockets for his phone before realizing he'd left it behind. His face burned as he fought not to look at the other person in the room. Pointedly, he took Logan's hand, shaking it weakly, hoping the guy didn't feel him shaking. "So what's going on?"

Oh right, that one Logan guy worked in the infirmary too. He was still here. Nicola didn't even notice him upon coming in - nor did she do much to acknowledge his presence afterwards. Something about a text or something. She didn't know. Her hearing was distorted into a jargon of mumbles and white noise, like a glitch in the system. A hitched breath, and her mind was diving into the abyss of knowledge and information she had, tossing each and every piece of it away as though they were disposable tissue. Rigidly, she stood up, taking off her hat and placing it on the bedside table. As soon as she saw Owen and Logan's hands release contact from one another, she made her way over and with her fingers curled, punched her roommate.

Her body felt tense, her chest hurt, and there was some undesirable brew of anger, sadness, and too many others that she couldn't bother naming. "What the hell...?" She had dropped the idea of playing this off, trying to be lax about it. The way she spoke lacked the eccentric mannerisms that she normally had, with the childish and immature vocabulary that she utilized. "Why did you do it?" Nicola kept one hand holding back the other, a struggle that she had as her arm was trembling, itching to continue. One punch was enough. Don't let impulses take over.

The line between reality and her warped truths were blurred. Owen killed Madison. But it was just a prank, a joke. Could it be both? It had to be both. Had to be. Madison wasn't dead. She wasn't dead. She wasn't dead. She just couldn't be... but he stabbed her and all of the blood in the room was enough to say that she was dead.

"Madison isn't dead!"

It was what he was going to say to begin with, but as soon as Nicola punched Owen, he stepped forward, mediating, keeping distance between the two. The words came out frantic, and he was suddenly wide awake, holding a hand towards both sides. "Madison isn't dead. She's in the back right now, she's as alive as you and I."

As far as he knew, at least. What if she was braindead? What if she was mentally impaired? He didn't know the effects of his newfound strength, what it did to other people. Maybe 2 months wasn't enough of a charge. "Everyone calm down. Calm down." Slowly, surely, he lowered his arms. Everything was okay. Everybody needed to just chill.

The shifting of a chair caught his attention, and the boy turned his head, ready to say whatever he could to Nicola. What could he say? Hey, sorry I killed the one thing we had in common, hope you can forgive me! Yeah, right. He opened his mouth as she reached him, but was quickly shut up in a way he hadn't quite expected, yet wasn't surprised about. Her punch packed a... well, more of a punch than he would have expected from someone her size, and he took a step back, hand rubbing the spot she'd connected, initially too shocked to respond.

Owen had no excuses for her, but luckily, he was saved by Logan's intervention. The words echoed through his head and his eyes were wide for a few seconds. Alive? She was alive? But he'd seen her body, watched her be pronounced dead, felt her slide off the knife, the one he'd embedded in her. There was no way...

Her arm twitched again, agitation and grief blanketing her features. Even with the infirmary assistant standing in between them, Nicola eyed him suspiciously, gaze piercing red. She'd knock him out too if necessary, and it'd be his fault for trying to get in the way in the first place. A single extended arm wasn't enough to frighten her. What did Logan think she was? An eight year-old? Holding a little hand out like those street workers who managed traffic, a big 'STOP' sign in their hands to prevent the vehicles from running through while pedestrians were hustling across the cement wouldn't be enough. If she could, she might as well had run him over by now. If he hadn't said what he had at the time, she would've made sure to give him a black eye or at least a pleasant reminder for his unnecessary interference.

And all she could do was blink.

Not dead? Seriously? "You couldn't have said that first?" was the first thing to come out of her mouth without her even realizing it. The second to come to mind, when she had some time to think about it and took the opportunity to take a deep breath was: "She's dead. All of the blood and where she was stabbed proves that." Nicola shakily exhaled, sending a glare towards Owen that would've killed him if they were daggers. Once Logan lowered his hand however, her own fingers shaped themselves into a gun, sparks of red and black flickering at the tip of her nail.

"You best watch your back. I'll kill you if you aren't careful." The demonic energy dissipated as quickly as it came as she came to readjust her cap. Giving him a fair warning seemed right, a sickle of a smile etched. Of course she wouldn't actually go through with it, but he didn't need to know that. "Oi, Logan. Could 'ya explain what you mean?" Nicola snapped her fingers in quick succession, urging him to be hasty. She could only keep herself in check for so long, after all.

Logan put a hand to his temple. They were fighting in his infirmary. Not even a morning back and he had to break up a fight in his infirmary. "Enough, enough, enough," he said sleepily, rubbing his eye, putting a hand up in front of Nicola's finger gun with a casual stride of his arm. After wiping the sleep from his gaze, he faced Nicola with little hesitance, not even a wince to him as he reached and took her wrist. "You don't know what I'm capable of, Miss Kresnik. Wonderful things. Miraculous things." The pressure he applied to her arm was miniscule; slowly he began lowering it. "Madison is alive. I revived her. And if you go pointing weapons in this infirmary again, I'll be having to revive you too." Not an iota of humor mingled with his tone, his stern face shadowed with the wisps of facial hair and glimpses of fatigue.

Face still sore, Owen was already prepping for another assault from Nicola. Her gaze was piercing and hid unpredictable dangers behind her sharp eyes. If she hit him again, he didn't think he'd try to stop her, positive that he deserved it. But it was all squashed out of his mind with Logan insisting that Madison was alive, here, breathing, brought back to life somehow.

The details of that night flooded his mind again. Everything flashed in vivid imagery, the darkness, his light, the blood that splashed on the floor, coated his hands, soaked his clothes and hers, wet her hair. The boy suddenly felt incredibly weak, his knees shaking and his hands going numb. How could he face Madison after that? Would she even remember any of it? Did she know she'd died? What did she remember? His mind raced with the possibilities, making him dizzy, his legs wobbling now and his hand falling from his face to grip the bottom of his jacket, tugging on it loosely. Surely, he could always explain that it was an accident, she would understand that, right?

Opening his mouth to ask if they could see her, Owen found himself incapable of speech, only a short squeak escaping his throat. This would be hard.

"H-hey...!"

Logan had stepped in front, intervening with a shot that she wasn't going to take. Still, Nicola didn't want to shoot him and an accidental misfire with the nurse's assistant in the bullet's line wouldn't end well in the slightest. Before she could even lower her arm herself however, his fingers had coiled themselves around her wrist and she felt the stabbing pain, her glare deforming into a wince. He was babbling on about the grandiose things he could do or something like that, a mention of revival, and that Madison was alive. Would he quit it with that? She was dead, she was dead, she was dead. The last thing Nicola wanted to hear was anything regarding false hope.


She rolled her eyes, unable to take a healer's threat seriously. He must've been new or something. His little recovery powers weren't anything compared to the fact that she could have an entire army do the bidding of her will without a single spoken word. "Hah, yeah. You can try that, but you won't get far." Twisting her hand out of his grip, Nicola kept her Cheshire-like smile plastered as she curled her fingers back into a fist, storing it away in her pockets. Her glance swapped back towards Owen, the one who had squeaked like a tiny mouse cowering in the corner. What a nuisance. She wanted him dead. But she wouldn't kill him.

That was too extreme, even for her standards. Not like he was the worst person she had ever met either. "Spit it out already. Or cat got your tongue?"

She was getting on his last nerves. The weary, embittered boy turned, rubbing his eyes. "Follow me," he snapped, in a tone unlike him, a grouchy, unfiltered one. He did so much for them, for Madison, and this was how he was treated, like a window. He wished he didn't have a healing power. He wished he had something a bit more lethal. "Do not fight in my infirmary. There are sick in here, and your selfish squabbles are not good for their safety."

The back room was barriered by both a curtain and a door, the first being thrown back to reveal the dark section of the front room, a place where further beds sat for those who needed sleep. Sick students were passed out in corners, some from simple colds, others from more serious afflictions. Logan smiled at the ones that awoke from their presence. Like that his venom was gone, and he was back to looking the part of a philanthropist. At least as they crossed the room.

She was there, behind the door, in the same place she had been when he revived her, the same place she had been when she was dead. In the corner, Kaya sat asleep in a recliner chair, one made for visitors. He pursed his lips. How long had she been up, exactly? She seemed so wide-eyed a few hours earlier, but she was out like a light.

As Kaya was, Madison was motionless, save for the rise and fall of her chest, the agape intake of air from her pale lips. Both bodies were asleep, neither dead, ready to wake again. When, or if, Madison would wake as Kaya, Logan did not know.

This was new to him. He still was incredulous he could do it.

The boy said nothing, standing by the door, letting the other two walk past.

He felt numb. It felt like he was moving through a dream as they follow Logan through the beds. His mind racing, Owen didn’t spare a glance for any of the other sick students, kids lying in bed in various states of physical health. There had never been a thought for death in his life, never the worry that someone close to him would disappear, not until he started here. He had also never imagined that he would be the cause of it, that he would be sending that close friend over the edge. Desperate to ground himself, he balled his fist in his pocket, digging his fingernails into his palm, grabbing onto any reality he could.


If he hadn’t been so worried about her, he would have noticed his faint reflection in a window they passed. His hair was unwashed, greasy at the roots and a tangled disaster. Dark bags shaded his eyes as they seemed to sink back in his skull, his tired mind pulling them away from the light. Clothing rumpled, skin oily, fingernails uneven, everything a mess. But that wasn’t important now, right? It didn’t make a difference to a girl that had been dead for several hours.


As they reached the door, he almost turned around and walked away, the anxiety building in him overwhelming, the idea of seeing her and having her know it was him too much. Yet there was a childish need to see her. An eagerness was building inside him as well, something he couldn’t crush no matter how guilty he felt.


Finally, heart racing, he stepped inside past Logan, his eyes going directly to the chair where there was another person. That wasn’t part of the plan. He stopped just a few paces inside and couldn’t tear his eyes from this other person. It would mean looking at the bed and he wasn’t completely prepared for that. This girl was sleeping, slumped in the recliner beside Madison, her hair in two simple braids that fell across her shoulders. It felt like ages before he finally tore his eyes from her and moved his gaze to the bed.


Something squeezed his lungs. All the air he had rushed out in a sharp breath, leaving him with nothing, but he didn’t try to gasp for air. He let it happen. Because Madison was there, her chest rising and falling, her eyes closed but there was movement, sure proof that she was alive, her skin no longer pale and splashed with her scarlet blood. She was dressed in fresh, clean clothes. It was clear she had been taken care of.


A strangled sound came out of Owen’s mouth. He didn’t try to stop the tears from falling. They were filling his eyes too fast to stop, anyway, and he couldn’t move to wipe them away. Instead, he stood there, frozen and pathetic, too happy that she was okay and filled with too much guilt. And so he cried.

ooc;; sorry i took so long without even writing a good post either @_@;;

"Tch," the sound escaped her throat in a more dismissive manner than necessary as she crossed her arms, eyes glowering at the brunette boy. It wasn't like verbal arguments were going to bring distress to people that weren't involved in it, and there was no way in hell that she would've started an actual fight here. The courtyard would've been more fitting, if she could find Owen there at one point. The courtyard was a nice place - she met D'Angelo and Madison there, and after that, they were attacked by swarms before she destroyed the entire lounge due to her lack of attention towards her own gift. Rather exciting times, more simpler times, but that was the past. Thinking about it now wouldn't bring it back. What was done was done; no point regretting the path she had fallen on to spiral at this point.

Warily, she tailed after the two, going out of her way to shove Owen to bypass him. He was in a pretty pitiful state, but Nicola couldn't bring it in her to give him any mercy, especially given the never-ending silence he held. Her own mind couldn't decide whether this was just some sort of prank the two came up with to set her back, to throw her off guard after the many things she had done to them - like retribution being served on a silver platter -, or that Madison really was dead, that there was no way she could wake up again, and that Logan was only putting up this act in a poor attempt to console her somehow, tricking her. All hints were definitely pointing to it being a prank, but at the same time, they didn't. She despised not knowing the answer, the solution to this intricate puzzle. This just happened to take place on the day she was out. It didn't seem like a coincidence. Yet...

Mismatched blue eyes scarcely acknowledged the patients around, all of her fingers except her thumbs shoved into her pockets. There really were a lot more people than expected, considering the fact that it was only autumn. If it was this bad in the more moderate climate, then it could only be threefold in winter. But that didn't really matter in the slightest. That was the infirmary's problem, not anyone else's. Azure irises sporadically flickered between its usual color and blood-red.

As they neared the door, the nervous and crushing atmosphere only became more eminent. Her head wouldn't stop throbbing, shots of pain never missing their target. If this was a prank, she had all rights to literally kill Owen and Logan for messing with her. If it was real, she still had that privilege. Logan's gift wasn't resurrection. He couldn't bring people back from the dead. Healing was just that - mending physical injuries. Unless he got to her before she completely died, then there was little to no chance it was possible. That had to be the case, it had to be.

... So why was it that, as the door swung open, she could see two girls resting peacefully? One was a student she didn't recognize, but the other one was someone Nicola couldn't mistake. My eyes are playing tricks on me, was the first thing to come to mind, even as Owen made sure to be the first one in. As though she were tired, her hand came up to rub her eyes, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in a fruitless attempt to ward off the incoming migraine.

Owen's emotional display was very convincing, really. Persuading enough to tell her that he really did kill their roommate and that Logan had healed her. Madison was alive, she really was, but that didn't change one fact.

"Why are you crying when you were the one who killed her?"

She didn't stray off very far from the door, forcing herself to keep her gaze away from the person she thought she could call a friend. She didn't know how she could trust him and rely on him in the first place.