Maybe that thing you said under your breath, you mean it Holdin' on to thin lines 'til we just walk between 'em Gettin' so loud, I can't pretend that I don't hear 'em Maybe that thing you said under your breath, you mean it I know you mean it Do we let go? Are we too far gone? I don't know what we started Mean It, Gracie Abrams
Too cold to care, I run through the house, running to my room.
What have I done?
Cam is never going to forgive me. This was entirely my fault. How could I be so stupid?
"Oh god, oh god." I sob as I throw myself down onto my bed.
The damp bathrobe feels cold and disgusting pressing into my skin, bikini straps rubbery and constrictive. I stumble to my feet and tear off the bathrobe, stripping off the bikini and turning the shower all the way up.
The water scalds my back and the rest of my body. I get shampoo in my eyes and drop the tub of body scrub. The tears flow faster and hotter, until it becomes impossible to differentiate the shower stream from my wracking sobs. Reluctantly, I crawl out of the shower, skin stinging and face swollen.
I look in the mirror, my face red and blotchy. With a deep breath, I change into a silky sleep set, wrap my hair in a towel and smooth over my skin with moisturiser.
I'm not really sure what to do now, so I plug in the hair dryer and begin drying my long hair, brushing through each section methodically, slowly feeling some sense of normalcy return.
"Trinity!" A voice rings through the hall outside. "Your brothers got back from something called the Drop!" The door flings open and Iqra stands in the frame, Adrina at her side.
"A concerning amount of injuries are -" Adrina stops.
"Are you okay? What happened?" They rush towards me, both dressed in thick wool sweaters and cosy looking pants, fuzzy UGGs on their feet.
"I'm fine," I smile through my lie, setting down the hair brush. "I just made a mistake."
"Well, what did you do?" May is standing in my doorway, still wearing the sweater dress from earlier.
YOU ARE READING
The Glass Ballerina Who Danced On Knives
Fiksi Penggemar"Which one is she?" I ask as Trinity leaps gracefully through the air, ornamental knives strapped to her feet. "The Glass Ballerina or the Knife?" Nash cracks a smile. "Both of 'em and neither. Shes the glass ballerina, the knife, the player, and t...
