Like Gold

09.

WHEN HAD I become so... grey?

I stared at my reflection. My eyes were sunken holes in my head, with dark purple stains kissed into the skin beneath them. My lips – they were cracked and dry. I ran my tongue over the peeling bits of skin and frowned.

Even my skin had turned dull, spots of acne sticking out on my chin and forehead. I tugged at my hair. Even though I'd pulled it into its usual bun, it still frizzed at the top and my baby hairs stuck out over my forehead, curling and frizzing wildly.

I pulled at my sleeves. I wore my usual sweater, and combined with my messy hair and dull expression, I looked like – I looked like I did a year ago. I looked like I was in the hospital.

Had I ever truly left?

Last night I'd dreamt of her again. I'd dreamt of the screams and the blood. I dreamt of bones snapping and tendons ripping.

And I woke up to salt in my mouth and tears on my pillow. I woke up to silence, though my throat felt raw and dry. I must have been screaming, though my mom didn't say a word.

I was supposed to be better. What was wrong with me?

I snorted, turning away from my bathroom mirror, and grabbing my backpack. What was right with me? That'd probably be a much shorter list.

I slung my bag over my shoulder, heading out the door and grabbing my bike off the porch. I hopped down the steps, my bike clattering onto the footpath. I threw a leg over it, hopping on and pushing off the ground, my bad ankle throbbing with each pedal.

It was a dreary day. Grey clouds lined the sky, blocking the sun from my view. A chill bit at my face and I was glad I wore a sweater today – as if I ever wore anything else.

I released a tight breath. I really hadn't wanted to leave my bed this morning.

I was two streets down from my house when I saw him.

Dark hair stuck out from behind his ears, tousled by the wind. He wore a sweater too. It hugged his broad shoulders, showing how the muscles in his back flexed each time he moved his arms. This one had been stretched out around his wrists too, and he tugged the sleeves over the palms of his hands whenever a chill bit past.

He walked slowly, still limping slightly, though it was better than it used to be. I remembered when he'd first come to West Mormet – the clumsy way he used his crutches, the way they rocked under his weight.

He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder, and his eyes met mine then. Brown on brown. I warmed and he blinked in realisation.

"Jasmine," he said, his voice carrying on the wind.

I offered a small smile, wheeling my bike towards him. I slid off the seat, my ankle throbbing as I hit the ground, and continued pushing my bike forward.

"Jace," I said, my fingers tightening around the handlebars self-consciously. "What are you doing walking to school so early?"

He shrugged, avoiding my eyes. "Good exercise, remember?"

I blinked, remembering our conversation from the other day. "Right... except... why..."

I trailed off and his smile grew. He flexed his leg out in front of us and I realised then how long his legs were compared to mine.

"I wanted to stretch my leg out a bit," he said simply. "Thought it might train my limp to get better faster."

"Okay," I said unsurely. "But just remember –"

"I know, I know," he said quickly. "Don't rush it. I'll get there in time. I remember, Miss Ali. Gotta listen to my coach after all, don't I?"

I released an awkward chuckle, feeling my face heat at his words. How embarrassing. We'd known each other for such a short amount of time, and yet I'd managed to embarrass myself in front of him so much already.