𝐃𝐄𝐉𝐀 𝐕𝐔

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟎𝟔

"Andrews!" The coach called - causing me to glance back towards the elderly and portly man, who too was wearing our school's colours, just not the kit (yellow knee high socks, black shorts and a yellow top). I glanced back to Cody, who hadn't reacted to being called. I guess he hadn't gotten used to his new last name yet, either. "Hernandez!" The coach yelled - this time Cody turning around to look, his expression falling from a grin to an almost embarrassed look for not picking up on the first time he'd been called. "You don't need to walk with Rogers, he'll join when his heart rate goes down again."

Luckily, our teacher wasn't as bad as last years. He was more understanding, but still strict.

Cody turned to me with a small, awkward smile - still embarrassed, somewhat. "I'll catch you later?" He stated, though it seemed more like a question - to which I nodded, giving him a slightly reassuring smile.

"Of course."

His smile seemed to grow faintly, giving a quick nod in return, hesitantly going to jog off to join the rest of the class, "Good, I'm glad, dumbass."

A faint laugh escaped me, as I called out in retaliation, "Wichser!" Which had earnt me one of his middle fingers accompanied by a smile.

【⦻】

I woke up to the sound of harsh rain and a slightly calmer wind hitting the nearby trees and roof of my cabin - the indistinguishable ensemble of howling and thuds making me grumble in frustration. I wasn't getting back to sleep. I gripped the pillow underneath my head by the sides, lifting them up to cover my ears - and with the sound of not truly muffled, I let out a groan of defeated, throwing my head harshly back against the mattress.

Reluctantly, I slid out of bed, pushing the thin blanket off of me - not bothering to make the bed, instead strolling over towards my chest of drawers - they were the same shade of brown as the floorboards (an orange tinted, lighter colour). I rested the palms of my hands against the top of it, tiredly blinking and looking at my reflection in the small, oval mirror that hung above it.

My skin looked sickly pale - almost white and with a slight blue tinge (around more vieny areas). Around my eyes were thick, almost purple, bags. Heck, even my eyes looked tired - they looked like a dull, lifeless brown, like their lids were heavy and ready to close at the next possible chance. The freckles that dotted my cheeks, underneath my eyes were faded, even though the light brown contrasted to my skin - only making me look even more old and exhausted. My nose looked crooked, ever so slightly - a faint bump on the bridge, pointing to the right. Probably from all the times I'd broken it - mostly from getting into fist fights and on missions.

I looked angry - my thick brows hung low, close to my eyes (the left having a slit just before it's arch), and my lips naturally pressed together in an unimpressed line. My lips looked chapped and dry, too - almost flakey, but more noticeably, the left corner was missing - it opened up into a gash; the skin around it looked ripped and scarred, all of the marks looking like roots coming from the gaping hole - it was almost like a dip to my slightly rounder cheeks, a dip that exposed the two rows of teeth that sat further back - along with bits of my gums. It made me uncomfortable how used to it I was, now.

I needed to shave, too. I was a mess. The stubble would probably get annoying if I didn't. But, at least I didn't need to cut my hair again, yet. That was a positive - it was still just below my jaw, which was tolerable. But it was messy - it looked like I'd been dragged through the woods, and it wasn't just from tossing and turning in my sleep. It was just like that, naturally, I suppose.

Hesitantly, I lifted a hand up from the surface, running it through a mass of the unruly, dark brown curls - stopping when I felt resistance, and instead resorting to gently wiggling my fingers to loosen up the knots. I let out a small sigh, my eyes falling to the patch of pale red on the left side neck, that extended to my shoulder - and then the same coloured patch on my right arm, on the back of forearm. I didn't even know how I got those scars - nor the similar ones on my stomach and legs. I didn't really know how I got most of my scars.

I grumbled softly, looking to the scar just above the crook of my neck, on my right side. I knew where I'd gotten that from. It was deep - and looked like a messy cut, the layer of skin looked bumpy surrounding it and on the scar itself looked red and sore. It always did. It was circular, with the cross going through it. The thing's mark. I sighed, tired.

I was thinking too much, and I could tell I was phsycially exhausted as well as mentally. It was all too much and I just wanted to sleep again. It was probably only just passed three, if that. I really wouldn't know - the smashed up, analogue clock that I'd hung above my bed had run out of batteries long ago.

Even though I was happy to get a memory back, even though I was expecting a memory (from talking to Cody about it so much), it was still draining. Being here was so draining.

I rubbed the left side of my face with my hand, groaning as I caught sight of my bed in the mirror - the reflection of the stiff, small furniture only making me conjure up a stupid idea. Knowing I wouldn't get back to sleep with all the noise and with how uncomfortable the bed was, with only a woolen and thin, blue blanket, only made me start to consider my stupid idea. I sighed, frustrated.

"Fuck it."