Decay

Of Curtains and Accidents

The day he approached me was not the proudest day of my life.

For one, it was our dress rehearsal, sophomore year. Everyone was running around, trying to get into position and to practice their lines. So many people were literally running, more than one costume had ripped along a shoddily done seam, and the backdrops were dangerously close to getting a knee through them if they continued to fall over during the performance. I was sewing up a particularly large rip in the lead's dress while trying not to get wrapped up in the curtains as they swung in and out of the wings of the stage. The director had just finished shouting at the leads who hadn't yet remembered their lines for the most important scene of the entire play when I looked up to see the curtains racing towards me.

I do admit, the sound that escaped me was closer to a squeak than anything. It swung, knocking me flat onto my back. The needle flew off somewhere (I was certain that if I didn't find it stabbed in my hand before the end of rehearsal, it would be stuck into my seat later by some vengeful asshole), and I laid there for a moment, dazed. Suddenly, a shadow appeared over my head.

"Are you okay?"

Woah. The shadow was speaking... Cenn promised he wouldn't do that anymore, so... It took a moment, but my vision cleared, and I saw him. Novak.

Oh shit.

I popped up, scrambling away from him. "Y-yeah. I'm fine. S-sorry..."

The corner of his mouth quirked up, revealing teeth that were honestly ridiculously white against his olive skin. I mean, who has teeth that white and straight? I self-consciously ran my tongue over my own small teeth, which several people had told me were small and reminded them of a sketch someone hadn't remembered to color in... Oh shit. He's talking. What was he saying?

"Why are you apologizing? I was the one who nailed you with the curtain." He offered a hand to help me stand. I couldn't help but notice that he didn't wear gloves. It wasn't so strange, as quite a few abilities didn't require them, but I don't know. I just sort of... expected him to have them...

Shakily, I took the offered hand, half expecting him to throw me or to pull me halfway up, only to let me fall again. Instead, he just tugged me to my feet, steadying me as I stumbled a bit. "Yeah. What was with that?" I couldn't tell if I was going for offended or joking, so I let my tone fall somewhere in between the two.

He took it for joking. He laughed, his dark eyes lighting up. "Sorry. I guess I got a little excited. They needed to run the next scene, and the curtains, you know? Once they start going, it's a little hard to stop them. Are you sure you're okay? It didn't get you too bad, did it?"

I shook my head slowly, my eyes now sweeping the ground for the needle. "No. I'm fine... " I sighed, muttering under my breath, "but not for long if Marissa steps on that needle..."

Novak frowned. "That's right, you were sewing, weren't you? I'm so sorry. Here, I'll help you find it." He dropped to his knees, sweeping his hands along the floor. I hesitated, then joined him on the ground, sweeping my own hands along the floor, waiting for the needle to pierce my gloves, then my skin.

"I'm Novak, by the way."

I froze, glancing up at him. We had been working in the same club for a little over a year now, and he still handn't heard of me? Even in the insulting way Marissa and Robert had been sure to spread? "O-oh... I-I'm... I'm Cay..."

He held out his hand again, sitting back on his heels. "Nice to meet you, Cay."

I reached forward to take his hand, but at that moment, I was shoved from behind and sent sprawling. That wouldn't have been so bad, but the needle just happened to be where my hand slammed into the floor, driving the point into the flesh of the heel of my hand. I heard Marissa laughing somewhere on stage and guessed one of her friends had done it on their way to their position. I didn't really care either way. The sharp pain in my hand was bringing tears to my eyes. I pushed myself up with my good hand and yanked the needle out, trying to ignore the blood that was seeping out of the wound, staining the white gloves that were required for me to work backstage. "Fuck..."