Hollows In Time (✔️) | 'Hollows' Book Ⅱ

Chapter Seventeen

^ Sky in the outfit I describe 👇🏼 ^

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H o l l o w s   I n
T    I    M    E
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Currently Friday, currently freaking.

Today, I have to hop back into Academy life like nothing ever happened. I wouldn't be going to school, but I'd have to actually step out of the room. I had been cooped up in my room all day on Wednesday and Thursday, eating the takeout that Jameson ordered; this was a big jump for me.

It was eight in the morning and I was sat upright, staring at the door like a wide-eyed hare, as if someone was about to burst through it and attack me.

Jameson emerged from his room. I saw in the corner of my eye as he knelt by the side of my bed. Close. He was close.

"It won't be that bad." He reassured me.

"Coming from you," I responded, not taking my eyes off the door. "You've actually been here."

Jameson shook his head slightly. "You're forgetting that I haven't been back at the Academy for three months." He was right. I had forgotten that.

"Three months isn't the same as one whole year." I shot at him. "And you look the same. I don't." Referring to the fact that I looked like a walking skeleton.

"Are you sure I look the same?" He asked. He was trying to draw a response out of me. I stupidly turned my head to look at him. I frowned as I took in his features. He looked different, by a fine margin; nothing compared to mine. The bags under his eyes were deeper than I remembered. Stress lines more prominent than I remembered. His eyes duller than I remembered. And he had stubble.

I said nothing. I turned my attention back to the door and glared at it until it was the only thing that I could see. Jameson sighed and stood up, moving over to my cupboard. 

"What do you want to wear?" He asked me, opening up the doors.

The world came back into focus again. "Nothing in there fits me." I stated.

"How can you be sure?" He asked, his hand flitting across my clothes that were hung up.

I slipped out of my bed. "Because I look like this." I stood before him now, and he followed my hand to where I gestured to my thin frame. "Because my thighs are so skinny that I can wrap my fingers around them." I pulled up the oversized t-shirt, displaying my spindle legs, sporting baggy bottoms. I sighed, dropping the fabric. Jameson just stared at me.

"Move." I ordered. Jameson stepped away from my cupboard upon order. I could feel his eyes following me as I got the floor, pulling underwear out of the drawer and leaving it by my knobbly knees.

I bit my lip. I need a society-approved outfit that didn't make me look like the skinny freak I was. It was still technically summer but I didn't want to show my stick legs. So I chose the most tightest jeans I could, and, regretfully, a short sleeved white top, with scalloped edges that I hoped would distract from my lanky limbs.

I stood up, my clothes in hand. But Jameson wasn't in sight. Had this been fifteen year old me, I probably would've freaked. Oh no, Jameson's gone. Oh no, now I'm going to be killed. Oh no, is Jameson okay? Now, I honestly couldn't care less what the devil does with himself.

When in the bathroom, I decided to play it safe and have another shower. Greasy and deathly skinny. Hmm, no thanks.

When I had stepped out of the shower, the digital clock on the side of the mirror displayed the time as half eight. I changed. My top hung lower than it used to. It only exposed the smallest inch of my stomach. Yet I still felt uncomfortable. The jeans weren't too bad. Apparently, tight was the new baggy. But baggy looked good—sometimes.