Sheets | ✓

THREE

A/N: In case the seasons are confusing to some of you, I'm from Australia so I'm basing things off our hemisphere's seasons! 

I was immediately regretting deciding to walk to the station instead of getting a lift with Jamie. Even though summer was waning, it was still sweltering hot outside, the city's power grid struggling to keep up with the demands airconditioning units were making. It wasn't a long walk from my house to the station, but under the heat it felt like I'd run a marathon by the time I was stumbling into the packed train full of other bitterly sweating public-transporters, my glasses slipping off the sweat-slicked bridge of my nose. The metal can was somewhat packed, with all the seats taken up and others standing shoulder-to-shoulder, gripping onto whatever sweaty railing they could get their hands on to avoid falling into others.

I apologised under my breath as I moved through the train to the other side, nestling myself into a pocket of free space by the door. I dropped my backpack by my feet to make room for others, my back hitting the hot metal as the last few stragglers pushed themselves into the train. From the corner of my eye, I could see the familiar colours of my school uniform blinking from amongst the crowd. They weren't people I know, which I was grateful for after scanning their faces that rose above their white shirts with the navy school emblem embroidered on the pocket. Their ties white and navy striped ties were loose around their necks, unlike mine which was pulled up against my first button. Their shirts were untucked from their grey pants, and black shoes scuffed and their socks scrunched down low. 

I rolled my eyes as one of them let out a loud, raucous laugh and threw something at one of their friends, who caught it at the expense of a girl sitting behind him, the back of his hand slapping her on the back of the head. The boy didn't apologise, only laughing as the girl shot him a pointed look before moving down the train, away from the noisy group of students. Ignoring them, I pulled out a book from my bag, pulling the supermarket receipt and make-shift bookmark from between the pages, folding it behind the back page as I quietly read my book. 

The ride to school wasn't long, but lengthy enough that I had to keep myself occupied somehow. I tried to ignore the loud yelling of the other people from my school, some female voices joining them after the train pulled away from the next stop. Their uniforms were also dishevelled, their skirts hemmed higher and their top buttons undone to reveal just enough of their chest to make the boys in front of them glance twice. The dark blue of their somewhat frumpy uniform clung tightly to their frames, likely having bought a size or two too small to accentuate their assets. Snorting again, I turned away from the group to draw my eyes back to my book, but the words were muddled as my mind wanted to wander elsewhere. 

Elsewhere being Nico Beckett.

I had pondered over him, the party, the morning after in detail over and over for the rest of that Saturday, and well into the night on Sunday. My eyes were heavy and I'm sure my dark circles hadn't lessened, but at least I looked somewhat put together. My hair was combed back, the sides neatly trimmed, though my regrowth was still growing out slightly. My complexion, always on the paler side, didn't appear as pasty and sickly as it did after the events of Friday night, and my cheeks were red from the heat. At least I looked alive, even if I felt like a complete train wreck on the inside. 

I still couldn't remember everything that happened at the party, but a few bit and pieces had come back to me, even if they were only small fragments that hardly fit together to form a cohesive storyline. I could vaguely remember being pulled into a car by strong arms, the smell of cigarette smoke mixed with alcohol, and the taste of it on my tongue, warm and bitter. I remembered falling onto a bed, shoes and shirt off, my bare back hitting the soft mattress as hands hovered above me. I remembered those hands, rough fingers brushing over my skin and tugging at my jeans.