St. Văduva's School for Prestigious Girls

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖛𝖊

☽☼☾

She curled herself into bed, having skipped dinner when her stomach began to twist. Her nausea was fast approaching, and she barely had enough sense to run to the small bathroom by the teacher's lounge to vomit up what was undigested of her lunch. She slinked through the crowds on her way to her dorm, the pain not quite there, but nausea made her want to throw herself out a window.

She quickly threw her uniform to the ground, switching to a nightgown that she snagged from Constance's drawer. Switching the lights off, she immediately crashed.

Slumber did not last long. She groaned as she rolled onto her side, her head rolling painfully like a bowling ball replaced her brain. The pain was back — worse than ever before. She whimpered as her eyes fluttered open. She pressed the heel of her palm to her sweaty forehead, trying to stave off the excruciating pain that ate through her tissue and brain matter like a rabid dog.

It crested and fell, rose and crashed, not letting up like it normally did. A particularly painful twinge made her cry out, muffled in time by her pillow.

This is it, she thought. They'll find me in the morning belly-up like a goldfish.

And just as she prepared to die, it receded. Huffing out a breath of relief, she rested her head against the warm pillow, her sweat matting what was left of her hair to her face.

Her body felt like mush, dissolving into the sheets as she tried to gather herself. Slowly — and reluctantly — she sat up, plopping her legs over the side of the bed like they were weighted sandbags.

Pills. I need the pills.

She had to hurry up and get the pain relief pills in her system before she suffered anymore and contemplated alternative means of pain control. Standing, she wobbled over to her still-unpacked bag, tearing up the compartment and pulling clothes free. At this point, she debated whether or not to just down the remaining ones, of which half a bottle remained. Give her a pain-free death. Sure, it would be suicide, but she really did not care. At least she could die with her cognition mostly functioning. The white bottle gleamed in the darkness from between her clothes and Temperance's sense of triumph flourished, snatching up the bottle—

Only to find it empty.

"No," she whispered, horrified. "No, no, no, no!"

She tore through the bag, looking for something — anything. But all she found were clothes and books. Defeated, she slumped to the floor, eyes haunted as she ground her teeth. Where else would she be able to get some pain relief?

The nurse! Maybe she's still there!

She dove over to the dresser, unplugged her phone, and took a look at the time. 2:07 AM. She furrowed her brow, doubtful that the old lady was still at her desk, but maybe there was a night nurse who stayed to make sure there were not any nocturnal problems.

She used the dresser to stand, her legs feeling like Jell-o, but she pursued the door. She grabbed her ID, activated the flashlight on her phone, and set out to find some relief from the cancerous pain that plagued her.

The hallways at night were eerie and made all her hairs stand on edge as she stepped into their domain. Blackness crept along the beam of her flashlight, making it almost impossible to see long distances. But she was determined, and the pain was one hell of a motivator. She bit her lip, closing her door quietly as she made her way through the halls. Thankfully, the big metal doors that guarded each block remained open, allowing students to wander the halls if they needed.

At night, the inkiness seemed to stretch out for eternity, winding passageways seeming simultaneously wider and yet also narrower. She drew her shoulders up around herself unconsciously as she traipsed down the marble flooring. She regretted not grabbing shoes before she fled, as the floor's icy bite nipped at her bare feet. But alas, she was too far gone to meander back.