Chapter 3

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My body feels lighter as I stroll out of my second final of the day. I do believe I could have done better if I had gotten some decent sleep last night.


I had woken up at least three times tangled in my sheets and my hair a heap of entropy. I kept bolting awake after suffering through dreams filled with the unnerving feeling of someone lurking close to me. I would just groan and shove my face back into my pillow and re-equip my headphones. I blasted my music somewhat louder to quell my unsettled feelings and undesired nightmares. 


Upon my third awakening, this time I nearly ended up on the floor, I noticed that the sheer curtain of my bedroom window was flowing subtly. I watched at it for a moment while shaking my head. While rising out of the disarray of pillows and sheets, I muttered to myself that I was losing my mind. In addition to being acutely insane, I was now going to become sick because I left my window open in the middle of December. 


After slamming it shut, I watched the dust and dirt that had collected the fire escape settle back down. I momentarily viewed the hushed and moonlit street. The only sound that filled the air is the indistinct creaking of the ancient fire escape, possibly from the harsh wind or a portly raccoon. With my luck, it was probably the raccoon. Good thing I had woken up to close the window. No one wants to spend Christmas recovering from rabies. 


I returned to my bed and fell out of consciousness once again; this time I stayed asleep.


The sleep wasn't enough to conquer my finals but I'll settle for the possible B. With lifted spirits, I take a stroll to the psychology department to kill some time before I have to pick Rory up from school.


I enter the research room to see Sienna and Mason discussing something on the couch. It seems that she's in the middle of making a serious point. Her face is wrecked with passion and her hands are flying around in multiple directions. Mason's expression darts back and forth between amusement and concern, probably thinking that he is going to be smacked in the face. 


"Mia!" She bellows out when she sees me and beckons me to come further into the room. I see Mason's chest depress slightly as he sighs in relief that she is not swinging anymore. "Thank God you're here. We need your help."


"What is it?" I ask assuming she isn't pleased with the direction of the  project. Last year, she had a whole fit about the font on the cover page. The font. All productivity was halted until the matter was addressed. 


"Well, I want a tattoo," she begins, already exasperated. She throws her body against the back of the couch in an anguished huff. 


 "Silly me for assuming that any work gets done in here," I roll my eyes while taking a seat at the center table, not wanting to be sandwiched on the couch again. 


"I want my sorority letters on my collar bone," she ignores me while pulling the collar of her shirt down further than necessary to expose the area she wants tattoo'd. "But old man Gregor says it's tacky."


"I didn't say tacky," he defends with his hands up. "I'm just saying you spent four years complaining about half of those girls and really only went to the parties. And don't call me by my last name. I'm barely older than you."

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