Colors (bxb) [DISCONTINUED]

ivy

"If you could see my thoughts, you would see your faces."

🔵🔴⚫️⚪️🔘

I wake up on Thursday with one of the worst headaches I've ever had in my life.

"Come on," my mother drawls, standing in the doorway, flicking my room's light on and off. I wince at the light shooting me in my tired eyes, even though they're closed. Is she trying to give me a seizure? "We have to be out of here in forty-five minutes, Kristopher. Get up."

Her red voice is not as loud and powerful as it usually is. I'm thankful for that; I don't know what's up with her this morning, but I really don't think I'd be able to take her earth-shattering screams. Just opening my eyes brings forth another pang of pain that trembles beneath my skull, eliciting a slight wave of nausea in my stomach.

"Urgh," I groan, twisting into my comforter. "My head is killing me, mom . . ."

She gives me a very unamused look. "I don't care. You aren't missing a single day of school, especially after what happened yesterday. Now get up and get dressed."

"It hurts."

Usually, that would send my mother into a violent rage, one that'd threaten to tear down the house - and me. But for some reason, she barely raises her voice as she looks me dead in the eye and demands, "Get. Up. And. Get. Dressed. Now, Kristopher."

No matter how much I want to argue it, I swallow down my complaints and reluctantly slide out of bed. As my bare feet hit the carpet floor, and I stand up straighter, another wave of nausea rolls down my body. It feels like there's a very small man living inside of my head, smashing against the walls with a sledgehammer. It's way worse than the headaches I receive from my chromesthesia. This headache feels personal, almost, like it's here for a divine reason that I have absolutely no knowledge of.

And now I'm thinking too hard. Which, of course, just makes the little man in my head beat even harder. I wince, rubbing away the tears that involuntarily spring to my eyes.

My mother studies my expression, probably checking to see any signs of trickery. I don't even try to look more hurt than I am, like I probably should. That doesn't work anyway. I can't even count the amount of times I've faked sickness, just so that she can yell at me even louder. Unless I'm literally puking blood, I'm going to school.

Besides, I don't even have to fake it this time; I literally feel like death, and I'm pretty sure my dry face shows that enough.

"You'll get better soon," my mom eventually says, turning away. "If it gets worse during school, though, just call me. I'll try to get to you in time."

I do nothing but blink, the surprise evaporating throughout my body. Really? She's never said that to me before. Even when I was younger, my mother never offered to pick me up from school. Am I really the one that's sick here? Is she high?

She glances back at me, eyebrows raised. "You understand?"

I snap out of my thoughts, nodding. "Um. Y-Yeah."

"Good. Now get the hell in the shower before we're late."

🔵🔴⚫️⚪️🔘

My head is still killing me, even after doing all of my morning necessities.

Sitting at the kitchen table, a spoonful of Lucky Charms inches away from my face, I say or do nothing but stare at my younger sister. Kloe stares back at me - or, more importantly, the infamous hickey on my neck. Honestly, I have no idea how people can be so quick to acquire these wretched things. They're way more annoying than they're worth.