Enough | ✔️

+ 17 +

It's surprising just how much your view of yourself can change when a person tells you their opinion of you. This opinion is easy to ignore until many people tell you it - then, it just becomes a fact.

Being told I'm a disappointment by my parents is one thing, but having that repeated by professor - of all people - is a slap in the face.

The roaring fire that once burned inside of me, licking the edges of every insult and prepared with a comeback to every sentence, has withered down into a glowing ember.

I drop my pen onto the desk and push back against the edge of it, leaning my head back against the top of my chair. My hands drag down my face as I sigh tiredly. The words in front of me are no longer making any sense and may as well be written in French.

The dim light from the lamp flickers with exhaustion and as I touch the lampshade to resteady it, I quickly retract my hand with a wince.

The bulb is scalding hot.

How long have I been working?

My weary gaze finds the window, which is slightly open, filtering in a soothing breeze. I sweep my eyes over to Slater, who is already looking at me intensely.

Ignoring your roommate is as difficult as it sounds, but I've managed it for the whole of today.

"I've watched you struggle for the last four hours. Why don't you ask for help?" Slater asks, his observations a degree away from being creepy.

I swiftly turn away from him, not allowing myself to get swept up in his smooth, low tone of voice. The clock reads 2:07am.

It was ten the last time I checked.

"No," I snap back immediately, "I don't want your help."

I lean my elbows against the desk, leaning my forehead into my hands to reread the text in front of me.

Slater soon walks up behind me, reaching a hand over to glance at the sheet of paper that has been sitting before me, untouched.

I grit my teeth and build a taller wall of resistance as his intoxicating scent wraps around me, closing my eyes as my heart thuds in my chest.

"I said I don't want your help," I repeat, but the strength in my tone has disappeared.

I don't dare to look up at his eyes as he replies, "Sometimes we need things we are too stubborn to ask for, Quorra."

As my name leaves his lips, I almost forget why I'm even mad at him. I shake my head, sitting stiffer and crossing my arms over my chest.

It seems to be years before another word is exchanged between us.

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble with your family," Slater says, voice much lower in the quiet of the room.

Sometimes stabs me in the chest as I bite my lip hard to hold back a response. He doesn't mean that. He saw you suffer in their presence. He knows and he did it anyway.

"Quorra, I'm sorry. But don't do this to yourself."

Part of me melts inside, but I keep the defiance plastered across my features.

"Too late," I bite out.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

I blink away my drowsiness slowly as I return to reality. Uncomfortable, I sit up and rub my eyes, surprise threading through my tiredness as I realise that I've fallen asleep on the desk.

Eyes still half-closed with the remnants of a bad dream, I stand up, feeling the ache of protest in my weak muscles.

How long have I been sitting here?