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chapter ten, stevie the psychiatrist
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DAPHNE'S MORNING IS ONE OF HUNGOVER REGRET.
Every light offends her eyes and the overwhelming urge to be sick rugby tackles her with a vengeance. There's a bubbly feeling of dread pooling at the bottom of her gut that's beginning to drive her mental, a tremor in her hands as she peers down at the unfinished watercolour paintings strewn on her floorboards. ( Daphne has a habit of painting whenever she feels stressed. ) Her ears are ringing as well from the racket her roommates love to make every morning — not that she's at all bitter. In the end, she chokes down a paracetamol, has a cry, casts a charm to soothe her... everything, and calls it a day.
The walk upstairs nearly killed her. She tripped over every missing step and was left completely confused by the totallybipolar rotating staircases. Seriously, who's idea even was that? It's simply inconvenient for everyone! On top of all that misery, irritating children in the years below her were consistently getting under her feet and on her nerves, her temper bordering on explosive by the time she reaches the ground floor. When she finally steps into the Great Hall, she sits and picks at a bland piece of toast for a good ten minutes until her serenity is disrupted.
Her sister slides onto the bench before her — sunflower yellow drowning in a riptide of deep clover — snapping her fingers to get her attention.
"Ow," Daphne murmurs, blinking the dark spots out of her eyes.
"Where did you run off to last night, young lady?" Stevie prompts, narrowing her eyes.
"Nowhere interesting," she replies.
Her stare intensifies, accusatory and comically piercing. "Really? 'Cause, I could've sworn I saw you walking out after a certain somebody." The stern expression breaks and she smiles brightly, wiggling her eyebrows.
Daphne scoffs half-heartedly. "You can't talk, Steph! You and your little friend disappeared into the night before I even considered leaving."
