lovely |k.k|

XXIX

I woke up at noon on Sunday morning. Or at least, that's when I forced myself out of bed.

Besides small bruises and cuts on my arms and legs, my injuries were easy enough to hide. My face was fortunately unscathed, beyond the raw lips of any regular old teenager. Even my neck was fine, absolved of any of the misdeeds I had fallen into the night before.

I'd twisted and turned all night. Sometimes, I thought I was asleep, only to realize the shapes in my dreams were just the furniture residing in the darkness of the room. When I thought too hard about the night I'd begin to cry, my hands pressing against my throat, my chest, the stray cuts on my legs where my jeans had been ripped.

I massaged my head when my skull began to pound too hard.

And I'd cry again, until I couldn't anymore. When it felt all the moisture in my body had been depleted. When I lost the ability to feel sorry for myself. And after that, I couldn't feel at all.

I think I watched the sun come up at some point in the early morning, seeing the way in shone through my window as it illuminated the room, sunbeam by sunbeam.

But now, awake, I think I dreamed it. The sun didn't rise on this side of the house, anyways.

I threw on a hoodie and too-big sweatpants. I stopped by the bathroom, seeing puffy eyes and sighing. I heard Lara downstairs, somewhere between the kitchen or the living room. How was I going to spin this?

I knew I didn't want to see Kevin tomorrow. I didn't even want to say his name. I sighed and turned on the hot tap and grabbed a towel from underneath the sink. I ran it under the water and pressed it against my forehead and cheeks. Afterwards, making sure I didn't look too red, I dried my face and tossed the towel in my room, somewhere out of sight.

On my way down the stairs, I passed the art room. It's door was shut, and I couldn't help but feel relief. As long as that door was closed, I didn't risk seeing Khatchadourian. He wasn't stupid enough to show up at my door. He knew I could still have his DNA. The cops could still find evidence at the park, even if he had removed the arrowheads.

I shook my head. Why was this the place where my brain went to?

I stepped down as I heard clicking on the keyboard, coming from the kitchen. I stepped right in, grumbling out my greeting as I drifted towards the fridge,

"Good morning." I gave a small wave as I opened the door and grabbed the plastic milk carton, hearing Lara's reply as I guessed, she hadn't yet looked up from her computer,

"Good morning sleepy head. You clearly had some fun last night." I forced a laugh, although it didn't quite catch up to my face. I closed the fridge and headed toward the cupboard, my back turned,

"Yeah. It went really well-" I began tentatively, "But I started feeling sick on the drive back. I threw up last night." I heard the sound of a computer stop clicking,

"I figured. I heard you last night." I raised a brow, finally turning to her, "You do that sort of thing where you vomit really, really loud-" She paused,

"You look terrible, Birdy." Lara murmured softly, having been caught off guard by my appearance. Her motherly instincts in full gear, she raised her hand as she beckoned me close, "Come here."

I did as she asked, stepping over slowly. I let her press her hand against my forehead, watching as her eyes narrowed,

"You do feel pretty warm." I hummed, and raised a hand to my temple as I pressed my thumb there, massaging,

"I have a pretty bad headache, too." That, at least, was true. I just wouldn't mention that it was from getting my hair pulled, or perhaps, from slamming the back of my head into a tree.