And here's chapter 8! No Irene/Flora progression here yet, very sorry about that. But there will be in the next chapter. ;D
Oh, and I really did not realise how similar Irene's situation is to the Karate Kid! Kinda sharp there, Kuroui.
I'll never kneel and I'll never rest
You can tear the heart from my chest
I'll make you see what I do best
I'll succeed as you breathe your very last breath
- Shall Never Surrender(DMC4), Jason "Shyboy" Arnold
Chapter 8: But Lightning Strikes First
The moment her foot made contact with the mat, Irene felt herself die inside. Her mind's thoughts were wiped out; all her senses were focused on her only point of contact with the ground. Two emotions were the most prominent in the mess that burst forth. Horror, helplessness. The moment she realized her weight had not landed on the sole of her foot or heel as it should have, but on the outer side of her foot, she felt sick. Taekwondo's sparring relied mainly on kicks. Kicks that drew power from the solid contact that the athlete's feet had with the ground. Every fighter knew it was important to be careful during matches, to not injure your foot. Because when you do, it's over. One could still stand after a slam against his chest. One with strong resolve, or who is stubborn, could still stand after suffering a blow to the head. But to stand, you need both feet to balance yourself. Lose your balance, and lose your match along with it.
It all happened so fast. She landed on the wrong side of her foot. She thought she felt a minor tearing sensation in her ankle, but that thought was immediately wiped out by the lance of pain that shot up her leg. Her limb gave out under her weight, and with a pained 'Ah!', the "Lightning" collapsed onto the floor. At the back of her mind, she noted the victorious 'Yes!' from her opponent, and a few gasps from the Claymore-occupied stands. Irene pulled her injured foot out from under her body with much difficulty, so as to stop putting pressure on it. She could feel her ankle muscles locking up, contracting so as to protect that area. She held on tightly to the area above her ankle, as if trying to form a tourniquet with her hand to stop the pain from travelling up her leg. The two medics who had tended to Olivia before kneeled next to her hurriedly, along with her coach, who looked stricken. One of them gently prised Irene's hand off her leg as the other took the ankle into his hands. The downed fighter suppressed a whimper when the medic probed her injury gently with a finger.
'Miss, I think you sprained your ankle.' The medic holding her foot informed her. 'A grade two sprain, too, if I'm not wrong.'
'We should bring her off the mat first, Jon.' The second medic suggested to his partner, who nodded, then proceeded to help Irene up.
'Would you like us to carry you, Miss?' Jon asked.
'No… no, I'm fine. I can… walk.' Irene, whose arm was around the medic's shoulder, leaned against him, limping painfully down the short flight of steps down to her seat. Before she sat down, she took a glance up at the stands. Everyone was staring at her. Their expressions told her the exact same thing. She lost. Her chance of winning, gone. Irene caught sight of her mother, who looked ready to run down the stands and vault over the barricade to be with her daughter. She felt her eyes prick and moisten, so she turned her gaze away as she was lowered into the chair.
Jon knelt down and held her ankle gently up again. It was red and swollen. The pain throbbed and occasionally turned into a surge of electricity up her entire leg. Irene silently wished that the medic would stop prodding and turning her ankle this way and that. Wasn't he supposed to alleviate the pain instead of perpetuating it?
'Can you move your foot?' Jon asked the athlete.
Irene, hoping against hope, willed the foot to move. She only managed to twitch it a little, before the burning pain washed over again. Just as she was about to try a second time, the referee appeared next to the small group.
'Miss Lancett?' He asked politely and carefully. It was best to be courteous to fighters who had their chance of winning ripped away by an accidental injury. They may either be very angry or depressed, or just generally upset. 'Is your injury severe? Are you able to continue?'
The athlete kept quiet, refusing to answer as she glared at her foot, as if the intensity of her look would jolt it back into action. She could only force the foot to make minute movements; even then it caused her no small bit of agony. Part of her already knew it was over. How could she fight with that injured foot? Going up there now was like trying to fight with an axe without an axe head. Useless. But her pride made her hold the words back. Just a simple 'no' dropped from her tongue right now would make her hate herself. And it seemed like she would not have to say it herself, the way Jon chipped in his two cents' worth.
'She's barely able to move her foot.' Jon directed it to her coach, who had been silent throughout. 'If it's injured to this extent, I don't think she can move around quickly even if she wanted to.'
Irene felt a wild urge to swing her fist at Jon's jaw, but she stayed still. A lump was forming in her throat. She was afraid that if she said or did anything, she would burst into tears. Helpless, frustrated tears. The 21-year-old never took her eyes off her swollen ankle, which had a growing purple tinge now. She thought of the consolation that would no doubt spill from every direction the moment she was surrounded by the club, her friends, her mother, and Sonya. She wasn't sure if she could handle it. She wasn't sure if she could stand looking at herself in the mirror and accept the fact that she lost the championship title to Celestine Smith, because of a stupid slip-up, an accident.
'Her injury is bad.' Coach Eric finally spoke up. He sounded like he had already made up his mind.
"Hope to watch you receiving your gold medal."
'We forfeit this-,'
'No.'
All four men's eyes swiveled to the athlete, whose eyes were still riveted on her injured ankle. Her voice had been so quiet, her word almost went unheard.
'I'm… sorry, Miss Lancett?'
'We will not forfeit this match.' Irene repeated firmly, though as quietly as before.
'Irene, I don't think you have a choice.' Eric cut in just as the referee opened his mouth. 'You can't fight on that ankle. Even if you want to, you can't. I won't let you injure yourself even more.'
A pause.
'Try me.' The fighter's voice came out a little louder this time.
'This is no time to act like a child. There's no place for your pride.'
'Try me.' Irene hissed venomously, her tone sending the two medics shuffling back a little. The fighter finally took her eyes off her foot to glare at Eric. The coach did not back down from the piercing gaze. Instead, he returned it stonily.
'I will.' He stated simply, before placing a hand on Irene's knee and pushing it forcefully down.
It had the effect he wanted, at least initially. His action made Irene's foot slam into the ground. The impact travelled up from the sole to the ankle, causing the stabbing pain to explode, eliciting a restrained yell from the young athlete's lips. Her eyes watered from the pain, and she actually gave a few sobbed pants as she clutched at the spot above her ankle with both hands in a death grip. Her nails dug into her flesh, trying to divert her awareness of the pain from her ankle. She felt her coach leaning in, speaking in a gentler tone.
'I know that you want to win this, Irene. I know you can't stand the thought of losing the champion's title to Celestine.'
A few tears escaped her eyes, mingling with the cold sweat on her face. She kept her face down, not wanting to let any of the other men around her notice it.
'But the fact is this. You can't fight. This is Taekwondo. You need your feet to kick. Your foot is in no condition to do that. Furthermore, now the opponent knows you're injured, so she knows your weakness. She'll exploit it.' He stopped for awhile, letting the words sink into his student's brain. 'The championship is not important, Irene. Your health, your body is. There's always next time. Nobody will blame you for forfeiting this.' Eric withdrew, straightening his back. 'So, I have said my piece. Now it's up to you.'
The referee looked uncertainly between coach and student. He started tentatively, 'So should I… declare that the match is over?' His question hung in the air.
'No.'
Surprised looks from the four men. They thought Eric had convinced her to back down. Apparently not.
'… Are you sure, Miss Lancett? I mean,' the referee glanced at the injured foot. 'If you continue, any further injuries would only be held accountable to yourself and not-,'
'Yes.' Irene interjected loudly. Why can't these people just let her do what she wanted already? 'I will continue. I won't hold my injuries against the organization. I will be held accountable for whatever happens to me.'
A hesitant pause. Then he relented. 'Very well, then.'
'Wait.' Irene stopped him before he could walk over to the judges. 'Who will win the first round, in this case?'
'You, of course. You have higher points, and you were not knocked out by the other contestant. The first round is yours.'
'Good. Thank you.' Irene turned to the medics as the referee walked away. She held up her ankle as best she could towards them. 'Use as much freeze spray as you can, please.' "Freeze spray", a spray that could kill pain temporarily. Although Irene was not sure that it would take all the pain away from her current injury. 'Then bandage it up so that my foot won't move easily. Make it tight.'
'But…' Jon hesitated. 'If we put too much pressure, we may worsen it. Especially if anything happened to the bone.'
'I don't care. Just do it!' Irene snapped, springing them into action. Part of her regretted her tone, but as she had just said, she did not care anymore. This was what she wanted, so she would take responsibility for it. 'I'm sorry, coach.' She apologized to Eric, who was keeping a stiff silence. 'But I'm going with my own judgment.' There was no response for awhile, as Jon and his colleague sprayed the cold painkiller on her ankle and then wrapped it up. As the bandage was finished, Eric spoke.
'I understand.' He stood, just as the scoreboard reset itself, showing zero-all for the second round. Turning slightly, he watched as his student got on her feet as well.
Irene put her weight carefully onto both feet. Then she tried leaning on her injured foot. The pain was alleviated, but not totally. If she put too much force on that ankle, the pain would still shoot up her leg, causing it to tremble. The bandage was good, though, just as she wanted. It would prevent her from twisting her ankle all out in the heat of battle, hopefully. Irene squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath and trying to look as confident as she should be in her condition. She walked as steadily as she could towards the arena, her coach by her side.
'Do your best, like you always do.' Eric repeated himself, clasping his student's shoulder.
Irene tossed over the best smile she could manage, then made her way up the steps to the middle of the matted arena, trying to make herself look as dignified as possible and walking with as little limp as she could.
The two contestants stood in front of the referee, who started leading them through the bows again. Irene could read the confidence in Celestine's eyes and noticed something that disturbed her a little, a dangerous glint that wrapped a cold hand around her heart. Irene barely had time to think over it when the referee started the match. The moment his arm was lifted from between the two fighters, Celestine flashed forward, a kick aimed straight at Irene's head. Instinctively, Irene backed off, but she almost fell while stumbling backwards. The pain in her left ankle had caught her off guard, when her left heel dragged unexpectedly on the mat. In that moment, she could almost feel the slight tear in her ankle's muscles that her sprain had caused. She gritted her teeth as she righted herself. Irene did not know how stupid she looked just now, but it did not matter. She had avoided the head hit.
As they circled around each other again, Irene felt lucky that it was her left ankle that was injured. Even though Sonya had trained her to use both legs naturally, Irene still favoured her right leg for higher level kicks such as the back hook, her favourite. Guess that's something small to feel happy about, Irene thought to herself as she dodged a newly-launched series of attacks, courtesy of Celestine Smith. Irene had already conceded five points to the woman. She felt the pain shoot up her leg every time she put pressure on the ankle, but she was getting used to it. Never taking her eyes off the onslaught, Irene searched for a small gap between her opponent's kicks, a short interval that she could take advantage of. Then, she surged forward, leg snapping up just before Celestine's active leg could fully extend. Irene felt the impact on the instep of her right foot, and she knew made contact. But she could not celebrate, not with her left foot practically wailing under the stress its owner was putting on it. The silver-haired fighter quickly retreated, discreetly resting her left foot as she watched Celestine regain her bearings. The brunette did not disappoint, snapping her eyes up to connect with Irene's as she rushed forward again.
Irene kept a close eye on her opponent's limbs, reading and predicting their trajectories and bringing her arm up to block a kick when necessary, all the while trying to open up the distance between them. But Celestine's legs, for the lack of a better metaphor, were like the clingy tentacles of an octopus. It seemed to always be there, and she had already scored two more points on the injured fighter. Irene watched Celestine's movements and acquainted herself with the woman's rhythm again. Then she attacked, left leg brought up without her realizing it, ready to serve a good old turning kick. But Celestine, it seemed, had learnt from her lesson and quickly brought another leg up to counter the oncoming attack. Their shins slammed against each other, the impact travelling up both women's bones. Irene started to withdraw her leg, but Celestine had another idea. The silver-haired fighter was surprised when she could not bring her foot back down to the ground, and found that Celestine's foot had hooked itself around her calf, holding it up. Suddenly, the brunette's foot slid quickly down the calf, hooking it onto Irene's ankle, and gave the injured foot a hard tug.
An involuntary yell of pain burst from Irene's lips as she fell forward, pulled along by Celestine's tugging motion, onto her hands. She put her weight onto her hands, preventing another collapse on her injured ankle. Irene panted as she tried to collect herself, the pain causing nausea to rise uncontrollably. She felt her stomach turning over, and she clamped her mouth shut, swallowing deliberately to ride out the wave. She felt someone kneeling down beside her, and she turned her head to look into the concerned face of the referee.
'Are you all right, Miss Lancett?'
"Miss Lancett" nodded curtly, raising her eyes to find Celestine and her coach in front of the panel of judges, along with her coach, who was gesturing fiercely at a small television screen.
'What's happening?' She asked, rising painfully up onto her feet again, accepting the referee's hand for support.
'Your coach asked for a review of the round. Probably calling for a foul against Smith.' He accompanied Irene to the small flight of steps, where she broke off and sat down on the second step.
'Thanks. Do you think it's going to be a foul?' She asked the man crouched next to her.
'I think so. I saw what she did. She grappled her opponent's foot, which obviously breaks the "no grappling" rule, and it was on an area below the waist. It was clearly an act of sabotage, to me, anyway.' He looked back at the small commotion in front of the judges. 'But I don't think she'll get disqualified. Maybe they'll give her a second warning and kick her out on the third.'
Irene let out a bitter laugh. 'She may not even need a third foul.' The athlete looked down at her throbbing ankle, then up at the scoreboard. Only twenty-seven seconds left in the two minute round. 'Hey, could you do me a favour?' She directed the question to the referee.
'Sure.'
'Tell the judges I forfeit this round.'
The referee looked surprised. 'Forfeit a round? But… I've never heard of anyone forfeiting just a round before. Usually people forfeit the entire match…'
'Please?' Irene almost pleaded. Almost.
'Okay, then.' The referee got up and went over to the judges.
Without any conversation to distract her, the awareness of the pain in her ankle came crashing back. She gripped her leg above her ankle, and cast her sights around, looking for the medics. They were not far away. She waved a hand, catching their attention, then mimed for a freeze spray. They nodded, and Jon's friend quickly retrieved the can and brought it over to her. After she took the can and waved the medic away, she heard her mother calling her name. She looked up at the stands, to see her mother standing behind the barricade. Valencia pointed at her ankle, then turned one of her palms up, asking silently whether she was all right. Since Irene could not roll on the floor with her face screwed up to show her agony, she settled for a reassuring smile and a thumbs up. Of course, Valencia did not buy it. Her mother frowned, pointing a finger at Irene again, and then directing it to her own temple. Are you crazy? Irene smiled again, patronizing the older woman, pointing a finger at herself then at her temple, nodding. Yes, I'm crazy. The silver-haired woman suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to burst out laughing, despite her current situation, when Valencia shook her head and waved dismissively at her daughter. Irene knew her mother was actually rather protective of her. But she held herself back, knowing that her daughter needed space to grow up.
Irene heaved a sigh, and started planning what she was going to do with the third round. Even if they did not allow her to forfeit the second round, Irene was ready to give it to Celestine. What was important was the final, deciding round. From what Irene had been through in the second round, she knew her foot could not last long. Every step she took in the arena made her want to flinch, cry, and throw objects around the room. The pain was debilitating. She knew that, if she wanted to win, she had to end it fast. End it before her foot could take any more damage from all the extra movements and weight she forced it to take. Irene racked her brain while spraying the freeze spray all over her ankle, even though she was not sure whether it would work through the bandages. As she was playing with the can, it hit her. It was so obvious, she must have been blind to miss it. She needed to end the fight fast. Fast, means speed. Speed was what she needed, and it was right up her alley. She was the "Lightning" after all. But how? She had speed, but what should she do with it? Irene stared at her outstretched legs, thinking. Her ankle was injured, so that may be a problem. She could only kick with her right foot, looking at how her left could only act as a pivot now. She replayed her match in her mind. Celestine knew her ankle was her weakness. Irene could not fight her head on now. She would have to do something, something that would catch her opponent off guard. Something that the brunette would not expect.
"Do your best, like you always do," her coach had told her. She was best at speed, she knew that. But what should she- wait. She was the best at attacking. Lightning does not defend, it destroys. Her best, and favourite, move was her back hook, and it could knock her opponents out cold. But it would stress her ankle, which means she most probably should not do it… Irene blinked. Celestine knew her weakness. Her ankle. Celestine knew her best move. Her back hook. Celestine knew, so she would anticipate and expect. She would conclude that Irene could not rely on a back hook anymore. So… all that was left to do now was to… surprise her. Irene's light bulb practically exploded. There she had it. A gambit, no doubt a risky one, to help her win. Irene could only hope that her assumption about Celestine's assumptions was right. That's it. Let's go all in.
Her coach returned, looking irritable, but Irene could tell he was already restraining himself as much as he could.
'How are you doing?' Eric asked the moment he reached her student.
'As fine as I can be.' Irene replied, eyes searching his face. 'So? What happened there?'
'I petitioned for Smith to get disqualified, but she only got a second warning.' He cast an unhappy glare across the arena at the Westville side. 'It was so obvious she was trying to take advantage of the injury, but she said it was unintentional. And guess what? It looked that way on the recording. She looked like she tried to pull her leg away but it got caught with your foot.' An explosive sigh. 'Well, enough about her. What about you? Can you still do this?'
'I can.' Irene said, and got up when she noticed the scoreboard resetting itself again. She gave a smirk. 'Even if I can't, I still will. Champions aren't quitters, are they?'
A grim smile from the coach, and he patted Irene's head guard lightly with his hand. 'No, they're not. Just make sure you don't become a crippled champion at the end of the day. I don't need your mother and Sonya biting my head off.'
Irene nodded, before slipping her mouth guard over her teeth and limping her way into the arena. She did not bother to hide it now and even tried to exaggerate a little, to get her opponent to let down her guard even more. Conceit would be her downfall. Irene reminded herself of what Celestine did to Alexa. She looked at the brunette's nose, and made it her target. One last shot at making the day end in her favour. They went through the bow, and got ready in their fighting stance.
One chance. Two minutes.
'Shi-jak!'
Like in the round before, Celestine stepped forward and starting flinging kicks at Irene, taking advantage of the silver-haired athlete's inaction. Irene forced herself to stay calm, focusing on her opponent's kicks, blocking and dodging them. She had to wait for an opening to make her move. If she did it too fast or slow, Celestine may be able to evade it and become aware of what she was trying to do, robbing her of the element of surprise. There was an increase in the amount of head strikes her opponent was trying to deliver, but Irene diligently avoided them, stepping backwards out of range, but she had already suffered two solid kicks to her side. How much time had passed already? Was it getting too late? She lost track of time the moment the match started. The pressure to fight back increased, but Irene bit it down. Haste would do her no good, though she sensed that Celestine's fun time should be brought to an end soon.
The brunette closed in, and Irene flung out her left arm to block the attack. Then she shifted backwards to give herself more space, and sent a slamming kick over, leg stretched out in front as high as it could before bringing it down hard on Celestine's chest. Irene saw her knees buckle slightly before she moved backward. Her opponent's eyes were more wary now, but she could still see the confidence in them. Savour this moment, bitch, Irene thought to herself as she waited for Celestine to make her move. She forced her muscles to relax. Tense muscles are not able to stretch as far as it can, and would hold her back. Celestine rushed at her yet again, ready to launch another mini-blitzkrieg at the injured opponent. Irene readied herself. She had taken the time during Celestine's last assault to scrutinize the woman's demeanour and style, and noted that she was more relaxed. She was throwing more kicks than usual, probably wanting to win with points, to widen the gap between them and shame the previous year's champion.
No way in hell, Irene spat out silently as Celestine brought her leg forward. She would give her opponent a surprise, oh yes, and it would not be a pleasant one either. The brunette swung continuous kicks at the platinum-haired fighter, gaining yet another point. She broke off the combo and flung her left leg outwards, making an arc and aiming a crescent kick at Irene's head. Irene, predicting that attack, quickly evaded it and jumped forward to Celestine's left, the wide opening just beckoning at her to take advantage of it. Without giving her opponent time to think or react out of instinct, Irene jumped, spinning around and delivering a perfect back hook into Celestine's face. Her heel crashed into her opponent's nose, and she relished the short feeling of the nose breaking under her foot before she landed on her injured left ankle. A bolt of lightning shot up her leg, the most excruciating one yet, as her entire body weight landed on it. The limb collapsed under her, sending the fighter to the floor. Irene whimpered a little as she clutched at her leg, wondering how it could be that she felt pain and numbness at the same time. Her breath came in ragged gasps as the exertion of past matches caught up to her. Her entire body felt weak, she felt out of breath and light-headed.
'Miss!' The medic, Jon's friend, rushed to her side and helped her sit up. 'Are you all right? Are you hurting anywhere other than your ankle?'
Irene shook her head, trying to inhale again and only managing a strangled sob. She turned her head to look at Celestine as the medic went to work on her foot, and found the woman lying on the mats flat on her back with Jon trying to rouse her awake. There was blood streaming out of her nostrils. Irene felt the urge to laugh again, but she felt too exhausted to do so. A buzzer sounding caught her attention, and her eyes went over to the scoreboard.
Female's finals, Winner: Lancett, I.
There was an eruption from the stands where the Claymore students sat. At first it was wild cheering, then it turned into an organized war-like chant.
'Lightning! Lightning! Lightning!'
Irene caught her breath and grinned widely, suddenly feeling much more light-headed than before. Her coach knelt by her, gripping her shoulders. He looked torn between crying and screaming, his mouth opening and closing a few times. He could not find the words, and settled for wrapping his arms around his student, enveloping her in a crushing hug. Irene returned the gesture, but suddenly realized her airway was almost cut off by her coach. Had he been attending Hugging 101 taught by Leo?
'Coach…' She started hitting Eric's back. 'I… I need to… breathe.'
'Oh! Oh, sorry,' He immediately let go, looking apologetic and embarrassed. 'I just… I just, you know.' Then he grinned. 'We're the champions this year again, then.'
'I guess so.' Irene replied with a wide smile, accepting her coach's help to stand up. She looked at the Claymore part of the stands and raised her fist, triggering another explosion of roars. They really look like crazed people, Irene mused indulgently to herself, so undignified.
-Wind Flower-
Irene watched as the doctor patiently strapped the walking boot onto her leg. There were so many damned straps on the contraption; it would become more of a patience-training device for her rather than something that would help her leg heal. Valencia sat next to her daughter, never letting Irene's hand go from between hers. After the prize presentation ceremony, Valencia finally surrendered herself to her motherly instincts and held her daughter tightly, as though the younger had just escaped death. The woman never strayed away from Irene, always staying close to her, riding in the ambulance with her child and handing her car over to Sonya to drive to the hospital. Valencia constantly ran her thumb over Irene's skin in soft caresses, something that the younger did not stop her from doing, even though she felt completely calm.
'Well, that should do it.' Doctor Liana announced, finishing the last strap. 'Does it feel too tight or loose?' She asked her patient, who shook her head. 'All right, then. Give your ankle time to rest, it has already worked harder it should have for you today.' She said reprovingly. 'You almost tore one of your ligaments completely. So remember, no more strenuous activity. No more acts of god.'
Irene nodded like a child berated for drawing on the wall.
'All right, then. We're done.' The doctor finally smiled. 'Until our next appointment. If your ankle's doing well by then, we can start scheduling your physiotherapy.' She stood.
Valencia got up as well, helping her daughter along. The two older women slowly walked to injured patient to the door. Doctor Liana held the door open.
'Thanks, Doctor.' Valencia smiled, shaking hands with the medical practitioner.
'Yeah, thanks.' The daughter chipped in.
'No problem.' The doctor mirrored the smile, seeing them out before closing the door.
The parent and child made their way slowly to the waiting room, where Sonya, Eric, Teresa and, Irene took a double take, Galatea were waiting. Her coaches stood immediately upon noticing her arrival, the two friends following suit awhile later.
'How was it?' Sonya asked, patting Irene's head lightly before helping her sit on the chair.
'A serious grade two sprain. The doctor said she almost tore off one of her ligaments.' Valencia answered, evoking grimaces from the welcoming party.
'I'm all right,' Irene insisted. 'Foot injuries are common. There are other worse injuries.' She reached out and slapped Teresa's arm, when the woman shook her head as though Irene had just said something downright stupid.
'It's not all right when you have to hobble everywhere.' Galatea piped up.
'I'm to blame,' Eric told Valencia. 'I didn't stop her from going up.'
Valencia just waved her hand, dismissing his self-reproving words. 'No, no, I know it's not your fault. She's just too stubborn sometimes, just like a troublesome bull.' The woman ignored her daughter's indignant look. 'Anyway, we just have to pay the bill now. It's all right for all of you to leave, if you want to. We don't want to hold you back.'
'If you're sure,' Sonya said, turning to Irene and rapping at her skull with her knuckles. 'Take care of yourself, little girl. Don't do anything stupid.'
'I won't.'
'Rest well. You've earned it.' Eric, though friends with Sonya, spoke with less sarcasm.
'Thanks, coach.' She watched the two walk off, before turning to her friends.
'Planning to pay my bills?' Irene raised her eyebrows.
'No.' Teresa cocked a brow back.
'Then I think you can go back now.' Irene motioned towards the counter in front. 'It's just going to be another long queue to pay for my bills. I don't want to hold you back.'
The black-haired woman shrugged. 'If you insist.'
'I insist. It's pointless holding you back here with me. You too, Galatea.' Irene addressed the blonde woman sitting close by.
The statuesque female shook her head. 'I've got something to do here.'
Oh, Irene realized with a start, this is Queenridge Hospital. She's attached here for her course.
'Okay then.' Teresa made for the exit. 'Call me if you need anything.'
'I will. Thanks.'
Her friend waved her hand dismissively, striding towards the exit. 'See you next time, Mrs. Lancett.'
'See you,' Valencia answered, watching Teresa's back for awhile. Then she handed her purse over to her daughter. 'Hold this. I need the washroom. Do you?' When Irene shook her head, she turned and walked briskly away.
'So…' Irene started, directing her words to the only companion left. 'What are you staying back for?'
'I'll be dropping by the pediatric ward. Haven't visited the children for quite awhile.'
'Hm. I've always suspected you were a pedophile.'
'No I'm not!'
'So you say.'
'I visit them, Irene. I just play with them. I don't diddle them.'
The silver-haired senior let out a short laugh. 'Diddle them…' She let out another extended chuckle that earned her a punch in the shoulder. 'Fine, fine. You just make your rounds and don't diddle them.'
'Tsk, whatever.' Galatea crossed her arms. 'You know, your pretty lady was rather worried about you.'
Irene's spine straightened. She felt perked up, but worked hard to hide it. 'My pretty lady?'
'You know who I mean.'
'Erm… okay. Thanks for telling.' Was she working too hard at appearing nonchalant?
Galatea scrutinized her closely. 'Really, Irene? That's it?'
'How do you want me to react, blondie? Skip for joy?' She retorted exasperatedly. The slight jolt of pain in her ankle was not helping. It was not supposed to be there. What was the painkiller doing?
'Appear happy, at least. When are you going to ask her out, anyway? Are you going to wait until someone else snatches her away?'
'I… I'm not going to let her get snatched away.' Irene said slowly. 'I just don't want to take things too fast.'
'Sometimes, speed is of the essence, my dear "Lightning". You should understand that better than anyone else.'
'Maybe.'
'Come on. Just tell her you like her. See how she reacts. What if she likes someone else? You'd be wasting your time, then.'
Irene shifted in her seat, making sure her leg did not move too much in the process. 'I'll see.'
'You've been "seeing" for too long, Irene. Stop being such a wuss and make a move.'
'Shut up, woman. Get off my back.'
Galatea raised her hands in a mock surrender gesture and shrugged, just as Teresa did moments before. She stood and stretched her back. 'Ah well. It's up to you, anyway. You just have yourself to blame when she slips out of your grasp.'
'Just go!' Irene leaned forward as best she could and pushed against the junior's lower back, forcing her to make a few steps forward. 'Go and diddle your little kids!'
'For the last time, I'm not a pedophile! Stop superimposing your secret fetishes on me!'
'Just go!'
"Diddling". Lol. Hope it wasn't too hard to read through. Had quite a lot of unfounded trouble while writing this. Le sigh.
