Unpredictable

Chapter 36-- Piacular

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Piacular (adj)
Meaning: Making or requiring atonement

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Waking up the second time wasn't half as bad as the first, probably because I went to sleep knowing I wasn't dying. The absence of a certain small child's weight on my bed did give it an empty note, though. 

I blink, letting the golden morning light from window fall onto my eyes and across the sheet covering my torso. My back burns and aches. Sitting up and holding Kit last night probably didn't help with that. Still, my lungs fill with the sweet air, and I'm thankful. 

Their healing bay smells like oak wood mixed with soft herbs, and the lingering scent of strawberry. My mat crinkles under me, and the soft, cotton blanket keeps me covered and warm. I ease into it, blinking slowly. 

As a habit, I take note of myself, checking bits and pieces over. There's a lot to heal. My shoulder wound has been wrapped with gauze, and my back is going to need some serious work. It's bandaged, too. I have some scratches, here and there, and bruises and loads of burns on my arms, but surface wounds don't bother me too much. 

Someone took the time to take off my blood-soaked gear, and situate me in a plain, gray tee and sweat pants. I can tell that my bra and underwear are the same by the dirtier, more soiled feeling of the fabric. Man, I've worn the same undergarments for how many days now? That would be bad enough, but the bra has old, crusty blood on it making it even worse. Kit would be so disappointed. Even I  feel gross. 

The door swings open, creaking and swooshing. Large, soft feet pad into the room, and the the door shuts. Lloyd sits down, criss-cross next to me. His face is as soft as the sky. "You up, Rosie?"
I hum in reply. I tilt my head up to face him. I must look like crap. I feel like crap. 

He, on the other hand, looks fine. Pretty, even. Hair blond like the sun, swishing to a point on the back of his head, pink lips pursed. His eyes, bright emeralds, flick over me, then back to the door. His hands plant on his knees, and he chews on his bottom lip. I wonder if he knows he does that when he's nervous. 

"The others are angry. Sensei's disappointed. When you're up and running, you'll be stuck on dragon-dung duty for months, I'll bet."

I shift, playing with the soft cotton of my blanket, rubbing between my forefinger and thumb. In my head, I'm replaying our moments in the cave, then going to our dance, then before to our fun with dragon racing and pink hair and all the other crap we did. He was always light, carefree. Serious when he needed to be, but playful otherwise. He's anything but now. 

My eyes flick up to meet his. "And you?" 

Lloyd shrugs. His eyes linger on me. There's something there that wasn't before, something knowing and weary. Weary of me? He cracks, smiling. His eyes don't crinkle like they do when it's a real smile, but the shine of his teeth against the pink of his lips steals my worry regardless. 

"It's a lot. Fays and powers and stuff. Life elemental, huh? Sounds fancy," Lloyd wiggles his eyebrows. 

I roll my eyes and rub my cheek. "It's really just an exaggerated term for healer." 

There's a lull. Come on, Willow. You want to stay with them? Convince them that you're worthy. Make things right. I look down, then back up. I make sure to meet his eyes. "I... I'm sorry. I know that changes nothing, but I am."

Lloyd's smile dims. He leans forward. "Sorry that we found out?" 

I glance the other way. "I'm sorry for a lot of things."