WICKED { #Wattys2016 }

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Late Bloomer

The next morning the doctor removed the neckbrace and Cordelia was discharged from the hospital. Despite Eleanor's improved health, both she and Malcom still needed a few more days in hospital to recover.

Violet, Grandma, and Grandpa all offered to drive Cordelia home and look after her and the house until Eleanor and Malcom were ready to come home.

They attempted to make conversation on the drive home, but quickly gave up when Cordelia gave short yes and no answers while clutching the oh shit handle so tightly her knuckles turned white.

When they pulled into the driveway, Cordelia didn't bother waiting till the car had come to a full stop, and unbuckled her seatbealt before jumping out of the vehicle.

No one said anything when she sat down in the middle of the driveway and held her knees to her chest but she did catch Violet and her grandmother exchange a look that said something along the lines of, 'She must've hit her head pretty hard.'

After a moment passed and Cordelia once again felt grounded, she got to her feet and let her family lead her inside.

She was immediately greeted by a cold house, and a meowing cat whom she scooped up into her arms despite his protests. She scratched her chin and soon she was a purring mess in Cordelia's arms.

The house looked exactly the same. Cordelia didn't know what she had been expecting but seeing the pictures on the wall, and the vase of hydrangeas, and the shoe rack took Cordelia by surprise. She wandered around the house and looked around as if she was seeing it for the first time, while cradling Buffy.

She noted that Buffy's bowls of food and water were full and briefly wondered who had been feeding her. Kendra? Violet?

She slowly made her way upstairs and dropped the cat when she pushed open the door to her room. She stood rooted to the spot and immediately knew someone had been in her room. No one but Cordelia would've noticed. Because there weren't any obvious signs of an intruder.

It was the details. Her bed was too far from the window. Her hairbrush was on the left side of the vanity. And her laptop wasn't closed.

It made her sound like a crazy person, but Cordelia wouldn't have pushed the bed, or set down her hair brush on the left side, or left her laptop open.

So maybe she was being a little paranoid but could you really blame her?

When her muscles finally obeyed her, she looked through the drawers and saw the clothes were all folded. Eleanor always scolded Cordelia for her messy, disorganized drawers.

Next she inspected her desk. The script for A Midsummer Night's Dream and her history homework was all in a neat pile, and her pencils and pens were all in the jar on her desk.

Finally she noticed her bed was made. She racked her brain trying to remember the last time she had slept in her own bed. It had been too long, but it felt even longer. So much had happened.

She had to remind herself that just last week she had been at Practical Magik with her best friends. She hadn't performed a spell. She had never fought with her parents or best friend. Kyle hadn't tried to kill her. She hadn't known she was a witch. Her entire family hadn't almost died. Which left her wondering how someone's life could change so drastically in a week. In seven days. In one hundred and sixty eight hours. In ten thousand eighty minutes. In six hundred and four thousand eight hundred seconds.

When she finally reminded herself why she had even started thinking about everything that had occured, she realised with much frustration she couldn't remember whether or not she had made her bed Sunday morning.