THAWING FIRE • VHOPE

C10 - We're going to your real class

C10 - We're going to your real class

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Saturday morning and I jump out of my bed, groaning like a sleep-deprived cat as my backbone gives a little pop after I stretch it.

"Jesus," I mutter under my breath and pat my back, limbs awkwardly reaching behind to massage my hurt bone. (As if bones get hurt. They're like, hard-headed, frozen milk sticks to me anyway.)

I walk my way over to the bathroom in my boxers, cursing because of the coldness of the floor and immediately regretting it. I'm so sorry, Lord.

My horrible reflection in the mirror is what greets my tired, puffy morning eyes.

"What's up today, TaeTae?" I ask myself and snort, running a hand through my curly hair, squinting my eyes at myself in the mirror. "You should cut your bangs. They're becoming your eyes' personal curtain... besides your eyelashes, of course."

Wow. I'm talking to myself again. (As if I don't do it all the time already.) They should transfer me to the Troubled section. I'm becoming crazy.

Sighing in defeat, I flip the white cabinet overhead and pull a certain sharp thing out; the scissor almost falls over as my careless fingers accidentally knock the wall hard.

I hiss and bite my lip, stopping myself to drop another forbidden word. I draw the tip of the scissor to my eyes and strike them with it.

Blood instantly oozes out.

Of course, I'm just joking. Laugh for me, people.

Joke's over, I bring the sharp parted blades near my eyes, just above my nose as I bend over the sink. From here, I can see the frickin' mole on my nose near my nostril and it's staring at me as I pull the scissor closer to the stray hairs covering my eyes.

I stare back at it and we stare for like a minute then suddenly my hands move and the scissor is doing its cutting now. A lot of hair are on the sink now as they have fallen after the blades cut them, making my bangs a bit shorter now, eyes a little lighter as I smile to myself.

I see the 'boxy' smile my mother has always adored and complimented me for and I frown.

My mother; the woman who gave birth to me, grew me with all her strength, listened to my complaints about the outside world and my dreams and nightmares when father wasn't around.

She was the one who put the pieces together: me, her, and father – a family.

But she was the one who called the Institute and gave me over to them.

She told me not to call her 'mother' anymore.

I can still remember her terrified face, messy bun, eyes bulging out in anger as she spat those words at me.

She was the one who put us together, but was also the one who drew us apart.

Glancing at the watch on my wrist, I read over the schedule of the day and what uniform to wear and snort at the images of the K.I. students' weekend uniform — white long, slightly baggy sleeves paired with white pants and white shoes — that pops up the hologram screen.

Sure, the uniform here is kind of weird, and so is everything, but I just huff a puff of air and contemplate for a second to take a bath or just take a quick shower. Tapping my fingers onto the cold marble of the sink, I sigh and just put my hands on my head.

Water instantly flows out my palms and I smile as I start massaging my hair, mumbling the first song that comes into my mind.

"If I lay here. If I just lay here."