Chapter 12: From Your Friend
Tick-tock. It was time to go back.
On their way back to their classroom, Boscha trails behind Willow. They take their usual path through the empty hallway, and from across the hall, Skara stood, reading a small novel. She hears the sound of footsteps nearby, and looks up to see Willow. She waves at her with a smile on her face, and approaches her calmly.
"Can you give this back to Luz?" She hands Willow the book.
"Of course!" Willow said.
Tick-tock. A phantom pain crept up her back.
Boscha recognizes her voice. She leans to the side, and Skara notices. Her smile falters. She whispers to Willow, "Boscha's behind you…"
Willow quirks her head, "Yeah?" She turns, checking if Boscha was doing anything before turning back to Skara. "Is there a problem?" She asks, and Skara is taken aback. Her eyes dart between them, attempting to distinguish why they could possibly be together. Boscha huffs. Did Skara think Willow was better than her? Or that she was out of her league?
"Sorry—" She places her hand on Willow's shoulder. "Does this bother you?"
"No no no no no! Not at all," Skara waves her hands frantically, chuckling nervously as she noticed the blush on Willow's face. "I think it's great that you two already made up!"
Glaring at Skara's nervous fidgeting, she pulls Willow closer. She's not leaving Willow any time soon, despite what Skara believed. Or what she thought Skara believed. She waves Skara off as if she was nothing to her, but deep down she felt a sense of regret.
As Skara leaves the two Willow pushes off Boscha's hand. She ushers her to get a move on. However, Boscha hesitates. She sighs, an empty feeling overwhelming her as Skara's footsteps grew fainter and fainter.
It hurt her more than she would like to admit.
Tick-tock.
Boscha flinches, her fist clenching into a tight ball. The realization of nearly forgetting something important quite literally hit her like a truck. But the pain served as her daily reminder.
Willow attempts to touch her, asking if she's alright, but Boscha swats her hand away. Shocked, flowers blossom at Willow's feet, and vines form a barrier between them. A green glow latches onto Willow's eyes, and the sight of her magic irritates Boscha. She stomps at the seeping vines, but they only increased.
Boscha runs off. As Boscha was sprinting, Willow attempts to run after her, but each step caused a flower to grow. She knew that if a teacher saw them then they would assume they had gotten into another fight.
It wasn't worth it.
Tick-Tock.
Dashing through the halls, Boscha finds her locker. She shoves her fist into the poor thing's mouth, yanking a potion bottle out with such force that papers and sticky-notes come flying.
Boscha hides herself in the showers. As she gulps the potion down, her head aches. She wonders what happened. She was so strong before, and yet now she could barely keep it together.
The sudden pain was no unusual event. In fact, they've been happening more frequently. But the memories they brought back would always shatter her fragile ego.
Tick-Tock.
~•✽────── ✿ ──────✽•~
Her alarm screamed.
Boscha grabbed her grudgby uniform and nearly darted out the door. Her mother stopped her dead in her tracks, "Are you not going to eat breakfast?"
"No," Boscha hummed. "I don't want to be late for practice."
"It's 5 in the morning." Her mom pulled out a comb and started to fix Boscha's hair. "I know you're excited, but please refrain from overworking yourself." As she tied Boscha's hair into a loose bun she mumbled to herself, "Your healer's already going to kill me for letting you play."
Her healer had already advised against her playing any dangerous sports. Injuries drain witches' magic in order to heal. But Boscha didn't care. So far the injuries she has sustained only took a little bit longer to heal than most. But they were still manageable. She trusted herself to be able to handle anything that the other schools may throw at her. After all, the Banshees were well above their competition. They couldn't even land a finger on them.
Their move plan was solid, and despite a few hiccups here and there, they persevered. As per usual, winning the island championship would be easy, and the team was ready to bring home another trophy. Nothing could go wrong.
That was until their team captain, Amity Blight, decided to change the plan to something… Flashier.
The ground shook under Boscha's feet. A giant cluster of vines emerged below, and she stumbled and crashed to the ground. She saw the lit figure of Amity throwing the ball through the goal, and Amelia on the ground beside her. The crowd lost their heads.
That's all she remembered before she was brought directly to the Healer's.
While Amelia could be healed easily, Boscha was stuck wallowing in bed with a cast on her leg. She knew her mother would be upset. She sunk down under the covers. She heard a knock on the door. She waited in silence because it's not like she's going to open the door herself, is she?
Amity opened the door. She stepped meekly into the office with flowers in hand. She approached the white bed. At the time, she'd already known about Boscha's condition. However, this was the first time Amity witnessed how it affected her.
She coughed, making her presence known. Boscha hissed jokingly at her. She sat down on the bed. As Boscha peaked from under her thin blanket she noticed Amity holding her grudgby jacket. Amity reached over Boscha's head, draping it over her shoulders. She touched the smooth fabric with her fingertips, and the colors faded into a brighter shade of magenta. The letter swapped from A to B as it settled unto the body of its new owner.
Boscha looked up at Amity in confusion. Why would Amity give her this?
Amity smiled at her, though her face struggled to keep the happy expression. In her attempt to hide her guilt and shame, she wrapped her arms around Boscha, pulling her into a tight hug.
Boscha felt her shoulder moistening, and the soft sniffles were enough to give away what was happening. She sat there for a few seconds, taking in Amity's emotions. As Boscha rested her chin on Amity's shoulder she felt her cheeks grow warmer as she struggled to stifle her own tears. She held her tighter.
~•✽────── ✿ ──────✽•~
As she soaks in the rest of her medicine, it only deepened the pain in her troubled heart. But now, a splitting headache came over her, as if to taunt the weirdo mulling over herself in the showers.
'Of course they moved on so quickly from you. They took any opportunity they could get.'
As she stares back at her reflection in a mirror, the red face of a troubled child looks back.
"You are talented, you are a star. You may be hated, so long as you are feared."
It was silly to think how she ever thought any of that was true…
She sat there quietly, the dripping of water droplets echoing in the cold shower room, with the damp floor growing wetter as tears struck the porcelain tiles.
Well, at least one line was still true.
Author's Note:
I hope y'all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this :D