Seven (Completed)

CHAPTER 4 ~ Harvesting season

CHAPTER 4

Harvesting season

His sleepy eyes opened slowly, without rushing. Only last night did he realize that the harvesting season would begin in the morning and he had trouble sleeping for more than four hours.

He closed his eyelids firmly, covered his face under both the white pillows he had been sleeping on the last year and waited quietly for the alarm to wake him up properly.

When his light grey eyes opened again, the digital watch showed it was a quarter to six. Last night he thought he had set his alarm clock at exactly five thirty, but now everything seemed like a big blur. On the other hand, there was a chance he had forgotten to set the clock at all, so he unwillingly sat up and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He yawned loudly while running his fingers through his blonde, messy hair.

Pierre kicked the covers aside and dragged himself out of the comfort of his warm sheets. Getting up, he stretched his arms to the back and pulled his pyjama bottoms higher. He took a few steps, his eyes still half-closed and unable to gain focus.

When he entered the small bathroom of his room, he immediately placed his arms lazily all over the sides of the sink and looked up to his tired reflection in the square mirror. 'Morning,' he mumbled to himself and stared once more into his own, sunken eyes and heavy eyelids. The whites of his eyes had turned a reddish pink, making a noticeable contrast with his pale grey eyes.

Pierre thought that talking to himself had become quite a depressing habit of his. He rubbed his fingers around his prominent jaw line and cheekbones. 'You need to shave once in a while, you know,' he said as his fingers felt the blonde hairs rise on his chin. 'I know,' he answered to himself a few seconds of thought later.

The only thing he wanted to do anymore was a shower; a hot, relaxing and refreshing shower. For Pierre, showers worked like drugs. He always needed his little fix in order to wake up and function at his best. He looked at the shower for a second or two and slowly lifted a hand that opened the faucet. His fingers danced under the water that was progressively becoming warmer and warmer.

Without a second thought, Pierre removed his plain t-shirt and bottoms and surrendered himself to the warmth of the shower. He placed both his hands on the opposite wall, supporting most of his weight on them and closed his eyes for a moment, tilting his head downwards.

The water poured over his head with aggression, trying to rinse out the bad thoughts but Pierre started remembering. Piece by piece, word by word, it all started to fit together like a big, negative puzzle of thoughts that was feeding on his mind. It was inevitable. Everything he had been trying so hard to forget was now returning, together with the relentless pain in his chest that had started stabbing him with no mercy.

He opened his feet to regain his balance and fumbled around a bit until he closed the faucet. The only sounds left were his heavy breathing and the sound of a few warm drops of water crashing onto the tiles under his feet. Vapour was flying from his back and arms as heat was escaping from all over his body.

He licked his lips and only then found out his throat was hoarse and aching. He caused himself to cough with pour result. He did not leave the shower yet, until he felt a cold ripple of air passing around his body. He pulled down a towel from a nearby hanger and quickly moved it around his wet hair before hanging it loosely around his waistline.

He picked up his clothes and left the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind him.

***

A large and extremely loud crowd of students, all of which were carrying large backpacks and colourful suitcases, was gathered outside the main entrance of the school, a gate that only opened at this time of the year.