Simular Beings

Drizzle and Showers, Downpour of Rain

Val gasped awake, cold sweat rolling down her forehead. Her eyes darted left and right, trying to examine her surroundings. It was all too familiar, but there was something covering her left eye that made it all the more harder to work out. What the hell was it? She felt around—it was soft, like fabric soft.

Bandages? It was the first thought that came to her mind. Her head ached as if somebody had hammered her with nails. A figure was next to the bed, slumped down on the sheets next to her. A familiar figure...

"Coach?" she croaked. Her throat was so damn sore. "Is that you?"

"Val?" He stirred from his slumber. "Are you fine?"

"What... happened?"

"It's alright, lass. Take a rest."

"Coach, what happened?" She could feel her heart beating a little faster. Her eyes started to water. "The fight. What happened to the fight?"

She clenched her teeth hard; her hands balled into tight fists. She already knew the answer. She knew the moment she had woken up. The events of the fight immediately started playing on repeat. The moment of the punch, the fall...

Coach softly held her hand, tenderly rubbing her palm to the pitter-patter rhythm of the drizzling rain outside. His face was taut, pulled thin by his expression—he was as frustrated as she was.

The steady drops of rain couldn't manage to soothe her enough. She could feel something soaking through her bandages.

Stop it. She didn't deserve to cry. What had she done right to deserve that? She pinched herself in the arm; the pain would temporarily distract her from the moment. And instead, she focused on the storm. That torrential downpour outside...

"Here. Take one." Coach pulled out a small pill from the drawer.

A nutrient pill. It was replacement for food.

"And this." He pulled out a few more and held them out. A bottle of water was already on the bedside table beside her. "For your injuries."

Painkillers... She reached over but fumbled, accidentally scattering them away. The drugs clattered to the floor. The same way she had thrown her chance away—a chance of a lifetime, a chance of redemption...

"Ah, that's fine. I got it." Coach leaned over. "You'll have to get used to that."

"What?"

"Your eye. You're lackin' peripherals, lass."

"Right." Her left eye was gone.

"Here." The pills were gently placed in her palm this time. There was no chance of dropping them.

She had a split second of hesitation—an invasive thought to just throw them all away. What good would all these pills do anyways? It wouldn't turn back time; it wouldn't even help her feel any better. Maybe she deserved to feel all this pain... But she shook the thoughts away and steadied herself, then swallowed the colorful assortment with a single gulp of water.

"It's my fault, lass. I knew we should've waited."

"No." Her nails bit into her palms. She wanted to scream. Loudly. She couldn't stand her pitiful state. "I could've won. If I just—just..."

"It's not your fault."

The feeling didn't ebb; she couldn't take it. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry so much. It felt like maggots were crawling through her skull, chewing and ripping away at her. She tried to forget—the loss, the anger, Beady, everything that she had done wrong. But it kept coming back. It kept pouring back like the rain.