Enough | ✔️

+ 40 +

They say that before something terrible happens to you, your life and the people who matter most to you flash before your eyes like a movie.

I don't bloody know what those guys are on about because in the millisecond between someone brutally shoving me towards the lake and me actually falling in it, all I'm thinking is 'oh shit, karma's a bitch'.

I'm submerged in the ice cold lake before my thoughts can progress further, the foggy water soaking in through my clothes thoroughly enough for me to feel the dangerously low temperature in my every cell. With not so much as a warning, I find myself nearly swallowing a mouthful of lake water, and immediately cough and splutter like a dying engine, resulting in a flurry of bubbles. I fight to the surface of the water, not even able to embrace the nostalgia of year three swimming lessons before I break from the surface and get blinded by my escape from the muggy, green water.

"MISS JAMESON!" is the first sound that greets my ears while I attempt to spit all the dirty liquid out of my mouth.

I look over at Martha through dripping eyelashes with a glare that could spoil milk, shivering profusely in my attempts to stay afloat. Students and professors watch me in shock as a complete silence settles over the campsite.

"Sleep with one eye open," I grit out, trembling in the cold, though I'm sure she can read every syllable off my lips.

"I didn't mean to push her that hard," is Martha's response as Slater storms over and demands an explanation.

"Why were you pushing in the first place?" he asks, combing a hand through his tousled hair and heading towards the edge of the lake to meet me.

The iciness of the water surrounding me starts to numb me, becoming so cold that for an instant I feel swelteringly hot. I welcome his offered hand, grabbing it and finding myself being dragged out of the water with ease, despite all the soaked items of clothing weighing me down.

Half of the lake's water follows with me as I stumble to find my footing, momentarily leaning into the warmth radiating from Slater. My handprints leave damp patches on his shirt but I'm too frozen to care.

He turns around to address the gathering of students, half of which who look horrified and half of which are laughing their asses off.

"Finish setting up your tents. The next person who finds this amusing will be getting suspended."

Even I'm shocked by the bluntness of his statement. Nonetheless, it successfully shuts everybody up and the crowd slowly disperses in a cloud of loud murmuring.

"Go get changed, Quorra," Slater mutters, as if only for my ears, "And don't wear light coloured shirts for the rest of this trip, please."

I don't even want to look down at myself.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm mostly dry. Clad in a oversized hoodie and thick leggings, I enjoy the silence of my tent (which the adults thankfully set up for me after the whole I-got-pushed-in-a-lake thing). I pull my knees up to my chest, blanketed in newfound warmth.

Still, the thin layer of material between me and the frosty ground unnerves me, making me feel as I'm still submerged in icy water. My hair still dangles around me ungracefully, heavy with the same remnants of dirty lake that linger on my tongue despite the thirteen times I washed it out with clean water.

The sad excuse of a door on my tent shifts, and is pulled aside moments later to reveal a pair of worried, green eyes.

"Hey," Hannah greets, eyebrows upturned in sympathy, "Are you still cold?"

I shake my head in reassurance, "No, not really."

She exhales noticeably, coming in to sit down beside me.