'And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light'
~ Evening Star, Edgar Allen Poe
Chapter thirty-five - Distant fire
"Hey!" Neil patted the empty space on the floor next to his head, which dangled over the side of his bed. "Sit down and tell us everything." Kat toed her heels off and settled in the spot Neil had pointed her towards, with her back resting against the bed, and the cushion that Knox had thrown over laying in her lap.
"So? How was it?" Neil demanded, his cheeks flushed from the blood rushing to his head. Why he insisted on hanging upside down all of a sudden, Kat didn't know, but her head was swimming slightly and the sight of his face the wrong way up certainly wasn't helping.
She sighed, hugging the cushion closer, "his Father was so awful that I almost feel sorry for him."
"Most of us have less than perfect parents. It's no excuse for the way he acts."
"I know," Kat turned her head to meet Neil's eyes, "that's why I said almost."
"Surely some good came from tonight?" Meeks adjusted his glasses. "You were gone for almost three hours."
"Let me think," the sarcasm rolled easily off her tongue, "perhaps the good came from my life plans being mocked, or possibly when I was told I'm too rich and pretty to go husband hunting at university. Maybe even the blatant racism, or the reminiscing about 'the good old days' of Wall Street." She paused, "no. It was the marriage discussion. Love is irrelevant in a transaction, after all. I should have studied my Shakespeare better."
Meeks opened and closed his mouth in a convincing imitation of a fish.
"Are you alright?" Todd shuffled closer, eyeing her cautiously.
"Fine and dandy," she replied, briefly thinking how odd the phrase sounded when it wasn't spoken in her Father's brogue.
"Wait, are you drunk?" Knox snickered, "don't make things equal by puking on me."
Kat shook her head, pouting, "I'm not pissed, wait, I am. Not off my face pissed, angry pissed."
"Either way, you're pissed," Nuwanda grinned. "Share with the group, what did you have?"
"Only a little red wine. Apparently, it's dear Cordelia's favourite," she rolled her eyes, "I was always under the impression that my mother liked Sherry...but that isn't the point. He keeps giving me the things that she liked, or were hers."
"Is he aware that you're different people?"
"Clearly not. You know, at one point I thought he would whip out a betrothal contract over dessert. Luckily Fraser and I played it off like we hardly knew each other," she shrugged, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. "It wasn't much of a lie, not that it satisfies men with dollar signs in their eyes."
Todd patted her shoulder sympathetically. Kat forced a smile that appeared more as a grimace, unable to dissipate his concern as she had intended to. Such an oppressive feeling felt uncomfortable to see on the features of one so undeserving.
"Just think how romantic it would have been," snorted Pitts, " 'I do' over mushy fruit salad with the elderly."
A small hiccup escaped from Kat as she giggled. She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock.
"Oh, Mr Darcy," Neil tumbled off the bed into a heap on the floor. He stood up, removing his dressing gown with a flourish and tying it around him like a little girl playing dress up in ballgown made of bath towels and blankets. Much to their collective surprise, he dropped to his knees and crawled over to Charlie, batting his eyelashes. "I do, I do," he swooned.
Charlie threw his arms around his oldest friend, planting lavish fake kisses on his cheeks, before playfully shoving him away.
"Who needs an Austen novel when Mr Collins is down the hall," Kat said, catching her breath once Neil returned to his spot. Unshed tears of laughter brimming in his eyes as he howled at Todd's expression, a perfect mix of a scandalised horror, bewilderment and joy.
"Shhh," Cameron hissed, stretching over to clamp a hand firmly over Neil's mouth to smother his raucous laughter. "We're here after curfew. Are you trying to get us caught?"
Whispered apologies echoed around as they fell silent, obeying his instruction, much to Cameron's delight.
Taking advantage of the rare tranquillity, Pitts moved further into the lamp light and began to move his hands in variety of intriguing contortions. But after a series of confusing and rather monstrous shapes, he settled for a simple butterfly, using the shadows to create the illusion of a delicate creature fluttering. Cameron intervened swiftly, muttering about 'summer camp,' unleashing an impressive quantity of expert animal silhouettes, earning more than a few hushed compliments. Despite the usual, cool demeanour, his delight shone through the cracks of his facade as the show progressed, uninterrupted by even his roommate.
Kat was so immersed in the story that it took several moments for her to respond to the sensation of warm breath tickling her ear. She blinked, suddenly registering Neil's urgent whispers.
"Do you believe he would ever really do it? Force you into an engagement?"
She bit her lip, "no. I-I don't think he would force me, but if he saw an opportunity... he would certainly try his best to manipulate a proposal at least."
He nodded thoughtfully. His voice low and distant, almost as if he was asking himself, "I wonder what would be worse, a loveless marriage, or seven years of medical school?"
"I really couldn't say," she whispered back. "But medical school doesn't have to be the end. Keats went, and he was immortalised as one of the greats for his poetry. Ask the Captain about him after class tomorrow. He must know a great deal about his namesake."
"I will," Neil smiled softly, "thank you."
"No, thank you," She laid her head on his shoulder, "you rescued my evening."
XXXX
A shrill ringing roused Kathleen from her slumber. She took a moment to orientate herself, rubbing against the familiar, soft, white bedsheets before opening her bleary eyes to the sight of her dorm flooded with blinding natural light. Her curtains were pulled back, and the tartan blanket which was always folded at the foot of her bed was somehow spread across her. Sitting up, she realised that not only was she still in last night's dress, but there were mascara stains on her pillowcase, and she had no memory of leaving the boys dormitory last night.
Still disconcerted, she removed her clothes, discovering her shoes already removed and placed neatly by her bedside table. The bathroom mirror revealed further horrors in the form of yesterday's make-up smeared under her eyes. Mentally berating herself for the havoc this would no doubt wreak on her skin, she wiped it off and showered, spending longer than usual under the scolding water to pump some energy into her body.
By the time she made it to breakfast, the boys were almost finished. She hurriedly gulped downed some juice and grabbed two slices of toast for the walk to Chemistry.
"How are you feeling?" Asked Knox as they slipped into their seats.
"I'm guessing hungover," she glanced around the room, her eyes resting on Fraser who was across the hall with his head in his hands, "and it seems I'm not the only one."
"Definitely not." Knox's eyes darted between the pair, "you, however, are in a much better state. Not that I know much about this stuff, but you look great. I would never have known you were guzzling wine by the bottle last night if you hadn't of said."
"Shut up. It wasn't by the bottle," she groaned. "Besides, if can't remember getting back to my room, how am I supposed to remember formulas?"
He laughed, "I can't help you with second, even without impairment. But to the first, Nuwanda and I walked you back after we pried you off Neil. Apparently, you're a clingy, sleepy drunk with an attitude."
"Oh no," she sunk down in her seat, "what did I do?"
"Not much," he grinned, "stumbled and cuddled a little, told me how sweet I am about Chris. You almost fell asleep on Nuwanda, then complained about him smelling like 'those damn coffin nails.' The truth really came out."
"And that was all I said," she sat up a little, forcing herself to breathe slowly.
"Yeah," he nodded, swinging his legs under his desk and pivoting towards the front as the teacher walked in. Kathleen barely absorbed the lesson, concentrating more on her mounting panic. Surely, if she had said something, Knox would have heard. The boy could hardly keep a secret as it was. A revelation about her feelings would be impossible for him to keep quiet about.
The day progressed in a similar fashion, quiet classes, avoided eye contact and distraction with an undertone of anxiousness. Keating's class was both a blessing and a curse since it was the only class that she was in close proximity to Charlie in.
Sure enough, the first interaction of the day happened seconds after she walked into the classroom. She had almost made it to her seat when a shadow fell over her. Fraser blocked her path, startling her.
"Hi, um, are you feeling less hungover?"
He nodded, his eyes skipping over the surrounding classmates frantically for a moment. "I just wanted to say thanks for, you know, not saying anything."
"It's not my place to comment, and you mostly kept your end of the bargain."
He bobbed his head, awkwardly holding out his fist. Kat's eyebrows rose slightly at the gesture, but she bumped her fist lightly against his. The absurdity of it all kept her rooted to the spot as he shuffled away, his pace quickening when Hopkins entered the room, much to her amusement. Hardly a second seemed to have passed before Nuwanda was at her shoulder.
"Everything's fine," she waved him off, moving at last to her desk. "It's a just a little weird to have a kind of secret truce."
"I don't understand why it has be secret," he scoffed, slipping into his own seat with his legs thrown casually up to rest on top of his desk, "being seen with girl who doesn't look disgusted by his presence could only help his street cred."
"Oh, I don't if I help anybody's street-cred after yesterday," she laughed nervously, deciding to test the waters. "Knox said I was little loopy and I don't remember anything past Cameron's surprise shadow puppet show. That can't be a good omen."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing," she confirmed, unpacking her satchel. A moment passed without a response, causing her to frown. The frown only deepened as she caught sight of his expression. "No. Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Smirk and act like there's something you're aware of that I'm not."
He shrugged.
"Stop!" She kicked the leg of his desk in protest, "I know there isn't."
Nuwanda's shoulders twitched as he tried to conceal his amusement. "If you're so sure, then there is nothing to get worked up about, is there?"
"I hate you," she turned to face the front, and to her surprise, Mr Keating.
"Hate?" Mr Keating repeated, standing a mere few steps away from her desk with a handful of marked essays. "Some say hate is only an absence of love. Others believe it to be love gone wrong. In any case, we all sympathise with you, Miss Murray. It is well known that Mr Dalton is capable of driving even a saint into the arms of the devil" he winked at the boy as he handed the pair their essays. "Excellent as always, Kathleen. And Charlie, I daresay this is your best work yet. Perhaps the theme inspired you."
He inhaled sharply at Keating's words, "they are supposed to be universal themes, Sir. I've seen enough movies."
Keating smiled kindly, immediately sorry for his rather public, and perhaps premature meddling. "Apologies, I never pictured you as one to enjoy the delights of an on-screen, romantic epic."
"There is a lot you don't know about me, Sir." He replied with a smirk, grateful for the redirection of his classmate's attention.
"And that opens our discussion on the works of Mr Edgar Allen Poe," Keating announced, bouncing back to the chalkboard where he began to map ideas. "Today we shall be perusing the contrast of emotion in the layered Evening Star. We continue with universal themes of human emotion such as love, lust, longing and of course, hatred. The use of nature as form of revelation, and the methods deployed to achieve the desired effects. Turn to page forty-three and discuss!"
XXXX
"As much as I enjoy Keating's lessons, they're killing me," Meeks complained, drawing worried looks from the society.
"Do you still have a headache?" Pitts asked, scuffling briefly with his roommate as he attempted to feel his sweaty forehead. "You do," he frowned, touching Meeks' burning brow until he was swatted away. "You should go to bed."
"No, I'm fine," Meeks insisted, "it's probably stress."
"Stress over what?"
"I don't know," he sniffed, "but I never get sick."
"Never?" Kat repeated, scepticism evident in her tone.
"It's true," Charlie sighed, "one year the whole school was down with the flu, except Meeks."
"He was one of five kids to turn up to class, even the teacher couldn't make it out of bed."
"Best week off we ever had," Charlie shared a look with Neil who rolled his eyes.
"We were delirious, Charlie."
"Exactly. A natural high."
"Shut-up guys," Pitts interrupted the staring contest, "he looks pale. I think you're hurting his head."
Neil apologised, promising to keep their voices down.
"Meeks? I really think you should get some rest," Kat's forehead creased as she studied the boy. His curls were damp and stuck to the skin at the edges of his hairline, the dark scarlet locks contrasted with the ill pallor of his skin. His knuckles gripped the radiator he was leaning against. Most worrying was his subtle reliance on the radiator for heat despite his temperature. "You have a fever."
Pitts jumped up, "I'll get you some water." The lanky limbed teen was out the door before Meeks' weak protests could be heard. He shook off the blanket Neil tried to wrap around him.
"I'm fine!" He growled.
Nuwanda pulled him up, ignoring his protests and pushing back the flailing arms hitting out in his direction. "You're not fooling anyone, God."
"God? God wouldn't fool me, I'm catholic."
"Come on, St Peter," he guided the boy towards the door, signalling for someone to open it. "Let's get you bed."
They watched the pair leave with Knox following closely behind until the door blew shut with a bang. Neil reached out to the centre of the circle and began to sweep the abandoned cards towards himself, smiling gratefully at Todd for pushing every card in his own proximity towards him. Wordlessly, Kat passed the empty box over and took the armchair Knox had abandoned. She traced the tartan print on the cushion with her index finger, mesmerised by the blurring lines until her eyelids began to droop.
"There is a bug going around lower school," Cameron's voice pulled her out of her stupor. "A two or three-day mild flu. Nothing to worry about."
"How did Meeks of all people catch it?" Neil frowned. He threw his arm over the back of the sofa, oblivious the blush it evoked from Todd whose shoulder was almost touching his fingertips.
"I would say tutoring or clubs but children are unhygienic, germ machines so it hardly matters how. We should be concerned about preventing the spread. Realistically, a few of us have contracted the illness already, but are not displaying the symptoms."
"Maybe your future should lay in medicine, not mine."
Cameron ignored the quip, studying the remaining three. "We all look tired due to our late night, so I propose we go to bed and reconvene in the morning."
"Reconvene? It's just a bug, Cameron."
"This is Welton, Neil. We can't afford to fall behind."
"I think he's right," Todd spoke before the brewing conflict could escalate, "we should get some sleep."
"Alright." Neil acquiesced, giving Todd a hand up. "I guess missing rehearsals would suck."
The four wandered back to the dormitories, bidding one another goodnight. With each ache and sniffle from the day forgotten, they drifted easily into dreamland, unprepared for the trials tomorrow would bring.