(A/N)- LAST CHAPTER! I apologize for the delay - final projects, exams, essays, not to mention getting ill and feeling near death yesterday ... it kinda delays things. I'm much better now, just some food poisoning, but now I'm very scared of food and I'm eating even smaller portions than before. Fun! Anyways, hope you all had a pleasant holiday! Wish I'd gotten this up sooner, but ... think of it as a last minute pressie. Enjoy! And thank you so much everyone who reviewed! Words can't express how much it means to me.
- Chapter 6 -
Imogen couldn't sleep the following night, and she expected she would since Miss Cackle had returned and sent Broomhead packing ... she suspected Constance was behind it all. She must've taken her advice about calling Amelia and pleading her to return ... but ever since Amelia came back, she'd been avoiding Imogen. In fact, she hadn't left her headmistress's side.
The non-witch tried to convince herself that Constance must've been too stressed in Hecketty's wake and probably missed Amelia more than she'd ever dare to mention, but ... still, Imogen was hurt.
She didn't give her so much as a sideways glance.
Imogen sighed, putting her hands behind her head as she stared up at the ceiling. Constance's behavior was to be expected. She was, after all, Imogen's superior.
Still, it pained her as she recalled how the woman attempted to comfort her, how she'd actually shown concern for her ... returning the favor, Imogen supposed. But Constance was never like that before ... deep down, she wished Hecketty would return if only so that she would see the kinder side of the formidable deputy headmistress.
A soft knock resounded at her door, so quiet that she thought she imagined it. She sat up on her elbows and looked towards the door, and a few seconds later several louder knocks echoed throughout the room, and she threw her covers aside, not bothering to grab her slippers. She assumed it was one of the girls, more often than not she'd have a student turn up at her door complaining about not being able to sleep on account of nightmares, noises, etc.
So she was incredibly surprised to open her door to find Constance Hardbroom, hair unbound and disheveled, purple silk covered arms pulled tightly against her middle as she stared, brown eyes big and round, her eyebrows creased slightly in a sort of sadness.
"Sorry to bother you," she managed in a hoarse whisper, "Can I come in?"
Dumbstruck, all Imogen could do was nod, stepping aside to let the witch in.
As soon as the door closed, words came pouring out of the sports mistress's mouth.
"I'm so sorry I pushed you away the other day, it's just been so stressful with that awful woman here and-"
She was cut off as Constance, shaking, showed her the underside of her spindly pale arm, tinged red and flecked with fine lines of red and pink. More horrifying than that, several of the cuts were bleeding fresh.
Her eyes were glassed over as she choked out, "I ... I can't ..."
"Go sit down," Imogen ordered gently, fingers ghosting her elbows briefly as she showed her to the twin bed, for her desk chair was piled up with books, papers, and sweat jackets. Constance was in such a state that she didn't bother to argue with her, nor did she scold the woman for keeping her bedroom in such poor shape. Her gaze was blank, and she stared into nothing as she perched precariously at the end of the bed.
The blonde disappeared into the small bathroom and soon emerged with a damp towel and a first aid kit.
"It won't do any good -" Constance protested, pulling her injured arm away when the non-witch made to reach for her.
"Just let me clean it."
"It won't -"
"Constance, please, I'm not a witch, just let me help in the only way that I can. Please?"
Eyes glassed over, the witch eventually relented, trembling as she brought forth her arm from the folds of her silk robe. Imogen took hold of her as carefully as she could, her fingertips cradling the underside of her arm as she gently compressed the wound. A hiss escaped through gritted teeth and she met eyes with the witch.
"You didn't tell Amelia, did you?"
The witch's brows creased from a wince into a look of guilt, and Imogen shook her head in dismay, looking back to her arm as she turned a clean bit of towel over against the cuts.
"She ought to be locked up for this. I mean, it's beyond unacceptable, it's ... beyond words. What if she harms one of the girls?"
"She won't." Constance replied with such certainty that Imogen looked up at her in disbelief, "Not as long as I'm around," the witch explained with a grim smile.
She pulled her eyes away quickly, taking the warm towel off of her pale skin to check her progress, "Seems to have stopped."
"For now," Constance muttered.
Imogen slipped her hands away and dove into her first aid kit.
"What are you doing now?"
"Dressing them."
"What's the point in that?" she spat in annoyance, "It will only bleed through. What a waste of bandages ..."
"You voluntarily came to my room, what did you expect would happen?"
Imogen blushed as dirty thoughts entered her mind after that sentence, and she was glad she wasn't facing the witch, though she could feel her ears burning up.
The two did not exchange any more words as Imogen did her best, finishing it by wrapping bandage wrap snugly against her arm, cocooning it. She made sure not to wrap it into a sort of cast so as to not allow the students to see it wrapped on the palm of her hand, despite how much easier it would've been to keep the bandages on.
Once she finished, her eyes instinctively flew to the other arm, and without thinking, she reached for it, only to have it whipped away from her without a word.
"Let me see,"
"There's nothing there," Constance insisted.
"Just let me have a look?" Imogen gazed up at her pleadingly, and Constance rolled her eyes and held out her left arm.
Imogen rolled up her sleeve to reveal her bare arm, white as snow in the moonlight and free of any fresh cuts.
Imogen dared and found herself running her fingers gently along her arm, tracing the faint white scars one could barely see unless they looked hard enough.
"She's hurt you before."
"Yes." Constance said matter-of-factly.
"Why didn't you say something?"
Constance wouldn't answer. After a long pregnant pause, Imogen sat up, tears clouding her eyes as she looked to see the witch had turned her face away towards the window, a curtain of ebony hair hiding her eyes from the non-witch's gaze.
Her fingers found the older woman's hand and she slowly brushed her thumb across her knuckles, the simple touch causing the witch to exhale gently. Slowly, Imogen was allowed to lay her hand in hers and, once comfortably placed, she gave it a small reassuring squeeze.
Imogen shifted closer to her so that their legs touched. She could feel her tense slightly at this but she soon relaxed, but she still would not look at her.
Imogen's free hand reached up to run through her raven locks and gently tuck it behind her ear. Now exposed, Imogen could see that Constance had been silently crying. Ashamed, the witch turned to look at her, only to see evidence that several tears had trailed down the non-witch's face as well.
Constance cupped her cheek, brushing away a fresh tear with her thumb before leaning in to kiss her fully on the mouth. She trembled, breathing shakily as Imogen did not immediately return to kiss, and in fear she went to pull away but Imogen quickly pressed into her, taking her breath away in a passionate kiss.
A while later, Imogen found herself lying in bed with a sleeping Constance wrapped up in her arms and blankets. Neither had planned nor suggested this, but like all that has happened between them lately, it just happened. She absentmindedly stroked her hair gently as she stared up at the ceiling, not quite believing that she'd stared up at the exact ceiling moments earlier in a state of doubt that Constance even liked her.
It all happened so quickly ... she was sure that the witch would regret it by morning, but for now, she just wanted to remember every second of the time they had together.
She pressed a kiss atop her head and soon joined her in sleep.