56 - Pity

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The hot, almost boiling water drops were landing on my skin and I had been watching them slide down my hands for what felt like the past hour, the shower bringing me none of the relief I was so desperately hoping for. Nothing was helping. None of the of pats of reassurance on my shoulder from my coaches, including Brian and Ghislain who came to congratulate me before understanding that I was not in the mood for a celebration. Not Roman's texts that he kept sending, because apparently being repeatedly left on read wasn't a good enough hint and definitely not the pity. Even when people weren't saying anything, I could still see it in their eyes, clear as day.

So the only solution that I had left was to hide out in Christina's room, who was surprisingly quiet, hoping that no one would bother me here. I had to admit that seeing Chris so... calm was a bit off putting since it's rare that she abstains from joking about everyone and everything, but it was refreshing that she decided to be supportive for once. I snap out of my thoughts when I hear her pounding on the bathroom door, before she opens it, shamelessly striding in and taking a seat on her throne, or should I say the toilet.

"How long are you gonna stay in there?" she asks, crossing her arms and quirking a brow at me as I scramble to cover myself "I mean I know you want to go undetected in the near future but turning yourself into a grandmother by boiling off your skin is a bit extreme don't you think?"

"Spoke too soon... Of course..." I mumble, rolling my eyes at her before shrugging and starting to lathe my hair up with shampoo.

"Huh?"

"Nothing." I growl, shooting here the nastiest glare I could muster "What do you want?"

"Well seeing as this is my room, I'd like to shower." she snorts, unfazed by my anger as she sits on the toilet lid, filing her nails "I have a party to get ready for, I don't suppose you'd like to come? There will be a bunch of hot snowboarders according to Maia!"

"Nope."

"Well then get out of my shower, Rom' wants to speak to you!" she sighs before turning back to the bedroom, conveniently forgetting to completely close the door, allowing cold air to penetrate the room.

"Tell him I'm too tired! I'll talk to him some other time!" I yell, hoping she'd actually listen to me for once instead of forcing my hand. I reluctantly step out of the shower, quickly wrapping a towel around my shivering body and one around my soaking wet hair without even bothering to check if I got all the hairspray out. It's actually rather gnarly to think about how much of it is usually in my hair during a competition.

After getting kicked out of the bathroom rather unceremoniously I make myself comfortable in Christina's bed, snuggling under the covers and finding nothing better to do than just... staring at the ceiling. Eight. That was the number of yellowish spots I could make out on the ceiling, my body unable to move from the bed. Eight was the difference between a nice, clean ceiling and a dirty one while one point was the difference between a gold medal and the silver one. Not even one point. Less than that. A god damned half point. Zero point fifty six....if I had just that much more on my score, there would be now a gold medal around my neck. Everything I worked for during my whole life would become reality and all the pain, stress, all the injuries, it would have all been worth it.

But all my hopes and dreams were now buried somewhere deep down, along with the silver piece of bling that was currently stuffed at the bottom of my suitcase. Unfortunately for me, before I had the opportunity to even start thinking of a way to lick my wounds and because apparently a girl can't be depressed in peace around here, someone starts knocking on the door. Or should I say pounding at it, making the infuriating little noise resonate in the entire room. I get up with a sigh, hoping it's just a delivery or something, not exactly ready to face the world or any of my friends. I tiptoe to the peephole and have to stifle a gasp as I instantly jump back from the door, immediately recognizing the top of a certain someone's head on the other side of it, Yuzuru's mushroom cut was simply unmistakably his.

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