Back home, I just sit down on my bed, staring at the wall.
Today has been shit. And I'm angry. Angry at myself, but especially angry at Vi.
Who does she think she is?
She knew what she was getting into when she recognized me as her sister.
Yes, I fucked up on a major level in the past. But does she really have to guilt trip me over it? I feel bad enough about all of this as it is.
Maybe it would've been better if she hadn't remembered who I am after all. Or who she is.
She isn't the Vi I knew. She just isn't herself anymore. But then again, neither am I.
I mean, look at me. Angel blonde hair, innocent blue eyes. Skinny jeans, white shirts. Heck, this one has pastel blue flowers on it. Flowers.
This isn't me.
I clench my fists.
Fuck, what am I even doing here? I'm not normal, I'll never be. Who am I kidding?
I stare down at my arms, pushing up the sleeves of my shirt. My right arm is covered in blue clouds and pink bullets, the left is covered in scars.
I let out a scream and then, with all my strength, punch the wall.
I can feel a bone in my hand snap, but I don't feel the pain.
I kick my night stand, the lamp falls to the floor and breaks, along with the cup of tea that Olivia made for me that was still half full.
I grab my hair with both hands and pull, screaming, half in pain, half in... desperation.
"Fuck! FUCK!", I yell, on my knees with both my hands buried in my hair.
I'm sitting right across the full body mirror.
Look at you, you pathetic little thing.
On all fours, I crawl to the mirror, staring myself in the eyes.
Who the fuck is this person that's staring back at me?
I raise my already broken hand and lightly punch the mirror.
Then, clenching my teeth, I punch again, shattering the glass.
The shards cut my skin, my left arm and hand are bleeding, but I couldn't care less.
I hope it hit an important vein in my arm.
My screaming has now faded into quiet sobbing.
I don't know for how long I've been sitting here, might have been five minutes as well as an hour, when I hear the doorbell ring.
Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck.
I get up from the floor, now fully aware of the pain in my left hand. Ow, fuck.
I tumble out of my bedroom, making sure the door is closed shut before I open the apartment door.
"Olivia?"
Hastily, I pull down my sleeves, so she won't see the tattoo. And the scars.
"I brought you some notes from the afternoon lesson," she said, holing them out for me to take them.
As I go to reach for them, her eyes widen.
"What happened to your hand?!"
It has swollen to double its normal size by now and there's at least one rather deep cut on my wrist.
"I tripped and fell," I say.
Olivia, not asking for permission, slips past me and heads for my bathroom.
"Wha-What are you doing?!", I call after her, a little louder than I intended to.
She turns around at me with a rather concerned look on her face. Concerned, and maybe a little confused.
"This needs to be taken care of."
"I – I don't have any bandages," I stutter, desperately trying to stop her from opening my medicine cabinet, "But... I think it's broken."
"Let me see it," she says, coming closer.
I hold out my hand, to let her inspect it. It hurts like hell, even though she's incredibly gentle. Even the slightest movement, the lightest touch feels like being hit with a metal hammer.
"Yeah, this is definitely broken."
She looks at me.
"You sure you don't have bandages?"
I nod. Olivia looks like she's thinking hard.
"With the afternoon traffic, it would take forever to get to the hospital..."
Pleasedon'tsearchmybathroomforbandages,pleaseohpleaseohplease.
"I have bandages at home. I don't live too far from here, come on."
"Wait, what?"
"You heard me. Here, I'll help you put on your shoes."
She grabs my shoes that are standing next to my apartment door. I slip my feet in and Olivia bows down to tie them for me. Then she points at the hook on the wall, next to the door.
"Those are your keys, right?"
"Yeah."
She takes them off the hook and then takes my non-broken hand and drags me outside.
"Shouldn't we let a doctor have a look at my hand?", I ask as I get into her car.
"My dad was an emergency doctor, he taught a me a thing or two," she responds as she pulls out of the parking lot.
She wasn't lying when she said she lived close by. Within not even ten minutes, she parks in front of a fancy looking, modern apartment building. It's just as pretty on the outside as it is on the inside. Even the stairway looks like it was just remodelled.
She unlocks her apartment door, gesturing me to get in. My jaw drops. Clean, white tiles on the floor. Freshly plastered walls. Highly modern, very clean and probably very expensive furniture.
I feel like a slimeball in a room made of diamonds.
"Sit down, I'll get the bandages."
Terrified I might get blood on the white leather couch, I hold my hand as far up in the air as possible.
When Olivia returns with what looks to be an oversized first aid kid, she gives me a funny look.
"I hear blood and white leather don't mix well," I mumble.
She laughs. "No worries, the leather is fake. It can be cleaned easily. Now put your hand down so I can bandage it."
She sits down next to me and puts my hand on her lap. First she pushes my sleeves up and, completely ignoring the scars, cleans the wounds and wipes away the blood.
"Okay, this is going to hurt. A lot. I'm sorry."
Just as I want to ask her what she's talking about, she pushes the broken bone in my hand back into its original place. I scream in pain, my eyes filling with tears. This might just be the worst physical pain I've ever felt.
"I'm sorry," she says again.
Then she applies ointment on my hand, every times she touches it makes me want to die.
But despite the pain, I have to say she's doing an amazing job. She's even using splints to immobilize my hand before bandaging it.
"I hope you're not left handed," she says jokingly after she's done bandaging my hand.
"I'm pretty ambidextrous," I say, barely audible.
She looks up from my hand. Her face is so close to mine.
"Thank you... for patching up my hand," I whisper.
"You're welcome," she responds, also whispering.
The tip of her nose is touching mine and I can feel her breath on my lips while I'm holding mine.
Don't even think about kissing her. Don't even think about it. Don't...
Her lips are the softest thing I've ever felt.
