Why She Drowned [1]

the twelfth gulp

• xii. •

THERE WERE NO SET RULES FOR HIERARCHY IN THE HALLS of Jack Mountain Institute that considered one group of people more popular than the other in regards to trashy chick flicks and gossip columns that Clair's cousin loved to indulge in, but that did not mean she did not notice the distinctions between groups with a critical eye.

While no group of plastics, the drugged up, rebellious "it's just a phase" teens always made Clair snort as she breezed by them on her way inside the institute, crowded together under their haze of smoke and black humour. They weren't necessarily cool as they were grunge and closed off, and like every cold, calculative character can do to a person's curiosity, they were mysterious. With that being said, what self-respecting person wasn't intrigued by mysteries?

Clair always accepted their offered cigars, placing it behind her ear like one did with a pencil, and walked up to the doors. It had been less than two months for her to pick out the guises of others. Layers were too much fun to peel off.

"Clair!" a chirpy girl named Marinette frequently greeted her every morning, next to her own locker. "Have a busy morning?"

Marinette was polite. Meant well. Unfortunately, being so kind also meant pointless small talk, and for an introvert like Clair, it was difficult keeping up with the chatter.

"Well, thank you," was her light response, discreetly putting the cigar at the top of her locker.

"Hot day for autumn, huh?" Marinette said conversationally.

"Indeed," Clair responded.

Soon, her gaze was darting around, scrambling to find something to talk about without letting in too many long pauses. Marinette... people liked her. After all, this was a cookie cutter society. She was what everyone should be.

Distantly knowing Marinette was speaking to her, hearing it like a sense of background noise, Clair finally found her sight settled on the white and ashy stick mocking her from the top shelf in front of her.

She eyed it pensively, and felt a little warm. It truly was hot, which she knew as well as she knew how easy it would be to apply the still hot cigar onto her hands. Knew what it felt like to wrinkle her skin with its rings, how it felt to leave behind burns—

"... I'll see you later!" Clair jolted out of her thoughts when she heard Marinette's final words. Feeling her cheeks burn up, Clair bobbed her head in farewell. Watching the petite girl bounce away out of her vision, her feet automatically took her in the direction of the girls bathroom.

Sweat clung to her back, perspiration lining her forehead and making her palms sticky as she fisted them. Heat smacked into her from her like it was a tangible thing, like a blanket made out of fire (the world goes down to flames) and she barely pushed the door aside to the restroom stall before she heaves—her heart defying gravity as it lodges inside her throat.

Bile filled the toilet seat more than a few times. Her hands were a flurry of movement—from gripping the flushing handle to the toilet sides to her pockets, greedily pulling out her prescribed medication from the hospital.

Take this when you feel sick, the male nurse said before she'd been discharged.

Was this sickness?

Choking on the pills, she coughed to get it in, dry swallowing because she knew that even drinking water wouldn't be any help (was there water when she'd needed it, back then behind the busybusybusy roads of Toronto).

Ten minutes later, she'd shakily texted her aunt to inform her that she'd be late to first period class. Her aunt replied instantly with a warning and "we'll talk later. Do not be late for second." Clair said that might be difficult and silenced her phone.

She leaned back against the stall, her legs aching as crouched in the chipped enclosure. Her eyes struggled to remain open as she breathed, wondering why she felt so empty and finished. She didn't feel like breathing. She didn't feel like anything.

Clair decided this was what the taste of death was, soul transparent and thinned. 

It left a bitter aftertaste, and she wanted to taste it again. 

• ∞ •