Language of Love

Superstes

I wake up with machine attached to me and a collarbone + should wrapped. My head hurts. I look to the left and see Fitz sitting next to me. He rises from the chair the moment he notices I'm awake.

I can't move my right shoulder, but I raise my left hand and pull him into a hug. His head presses against mine and I can see his tears.

"I thought I lost you," He says.
"I'm right here, I promise," I say, whispering into his ear.

That night, Fitz lays back on the small couch to sleep. A nurse walks in.

"Darling, you better marry that man. He sat in those bloody clothes until a buddy brought him new ones so he didn't have to leave your side," She says.
"Oh my god," I say. She smiles.
"He's a good man," She says and leaves the room.

I was allowed to go home a few days later. They are reopening the school in three days.

"You can go, Fitz. I'll be fine," I say.
"I'm taking off," He says.
"There's no reason too."
"You can't use your dominant hand! What do you plan to eat for lunch? How do you think your going to cook it? It's not like you can go anywhere. You can't tie your shoes! I'm staying home," He argues.
"I can order pizza. Plus, it's three days away, I might be fine." I say.
"You aren't going to magically get better in three days!" He yells.
"Don't yell at me!"
"I'm not yelling at you."
"Yes you are, you're yelling right now!"
"I'm not!"
"Fitz, you need to go back. There are very few subs who are even willing to work at the school anymore. People died Fitz, they need subs. I probably won't be able to go back, I need a sub. You can go back. You don't need one," I say.

Fitz finally agreed. I slowly start to feel better. I've got a patch on my right arm, but the sling I had been using the past week was unnecessary. My doctor agreed that a patch would do as long as I restricted my arm movement.

The night before, I decide I'm okay to go back.

"No! Didn't you already get a sub?" Fitz argues.
"No. I was told that they'd figure it out in the morning once they saw who came back and who didn't." I say.
"You aren't going back. You aren't ready."
"I'm ready, Fitz."
"No you aren't! You still have to change your bandages and avoid using your arm. That's not ready." He says.
"You said you didn't want to leave me alone, just take me with you. You can help me, but I can still go back," I convince.
"Fine, but I'm checking in on you every period." He decided.

I walk into the school that morning with Fitz by my side. The front office's glass is still punctured with bullets, but there's a tarp over it now. A sign says to go to guidance for all main office needs. We walk through the guidance office and into the cafeteria. Fitz and I walk to the foreign language hall. There's white paper leading between our classrooms. He picks up the one edge by his room.

"My blood." I say. My trail of blood stained the floor and they figured the best way to cover it was to tape white paper to the ground. I unlock my classroom and see the stains, see the holes and see damage. They weren't expecting me back.

I call the office and ask if what they had planned to do. The woman asks if I would move my room to the empty room at the end of the hall for the remainder of the year. I take my laptop and gradebook along with a few other necessary things. I add a sign to my door and walk to my new room. It's strange because it's arranged completely different from my old room. The teacher desk is in the opposite corner and the board is on the opposite side. I check out my neighbors. Across the hall is Devin, who thankfully I know. And next door (down a locker set) is Jenny. I met her at the beginning of the year, but I never got to know her. Marx's classroom is halfway between mine new and old rooms.

I text Fitz. Got a new room. Come check it out. I hate it. He responds. K. I sit in my new desk and lay out my laptop. Fitz walks in and looks around.

"Boring." He says.
"Right?"

A girl walks into my room as I'm talking with Fitz. She holds a large box.

   "Hey, Mr. Kennedy and Ms. Thorne!" She says.
   "Hi."
   "So my mom works for a tee shirt company and she made tee shirts for all the staff. They are survivor shirts. All the teachers are wearing theirs today." She says. I grab my purse.
    "How much are they?" I ask.
    "No, they're free. Then company wanted to do what they could for us," She says.
    "Oh okay."
    "What size do you two need?"
    "Medium."
    "Large."

    We thank her and she leaves. I look at the red tee shirt. It reads "Caldwell Strong! 3.15.18"
On the back, there's more. "10 lost, 4 in critical condition, 12 injured, 964 changed forever."

    "I'm going to go change." I say.
    "Me too."

   We go into the teacher workroom. Fitz puts his on and leaves the bathroom for me.

   "I need help." I say. He nods and follows me into the bathroom. When we walk out, a judgy teacher stares. Oops.

   I teach my classes, but I don't really teach them. Mostly, we just talk. Some classes want to talk about what happened, others would rather discuss last week's episode of the Bachelor.

    The worst class was second period, the class period of the shooting. I know it was hard for all the teachers to face their kids that period. Luckily, I had planning after so if I needed to I could go to the workroom. The silence is terrifying. A chair squeaks a little and no body moves.

   "Good morning," I say to their blank faces. No one answers. I glance around at empty seats. The seven shot are all gone. I know two died. The rest, to my belief anyway, are still in the hospital. If not, I have no doubt they stayed home. I spot a couple empty chairs, but unsure if it's because they skipped this particular class or if they stayed home. I look down at my roster and up at them.

   "You are survivors. We lost a lot that day, but we can't let get to us. There's no point of being a survivor if the only thing we can ever think about is that day. Don't forget, but push forward. Don't let that day hold you back, rise up. We lost some amazing people, we lost people that might have changed the world. Don't let them die for nothing, you take their place and change the world." I say.

A couple girls start crying, a boy puts his head down, trying to hide the tears that might fall. Ivy walks up to me, watery eyes. She hugs me. I feel the sobs of that girl and begin to feel myself cry. Damnit. I feel the mascara running. Another girl joins Ivy and I's hug. Soon, half the class stands at the front of the room, embracing. I hear others sobs, along with my own.

    The bell rings and they all leave. Tears still run down my face, so once the halls clear I walk to the teacher workroom.

    Marx sits at the table with his head down. He looks up and then stands to leave. His eyes are just as watery as mine.

   "Wait." I croak.
  "Yes?" He says, not facing me.

   I walk around him and wrap myself around him. My one arm is useless, but my other does a fine job.

   "You know I'm Marx, not Fitz, right?" He asks.
    "I know. But Fitz has a class and I think we both needed a little hug." I say.

    My one armed hug comes to a close when my phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but I answer anyway.

    "Hello?" I say after a sniffle.
    "Ms. Thorne? It's Sally."
    "What's wrong, hun?" I ask.
    "Can you come to the girls bathroom?"
     "What's going on?"
     "Just come, please."