Divided

:Chapter Seven:

*****

I wake up in a solid white room. My sight is still blurry and my head hurts. After my vision clears, I see Matthew sitting in a chair by a window to my left. I don't want to talk to him, not after I passed out in the middle of training. My sides still burn, but not nearly as bad as my throat. I glance over at Matthew again but he catches my eye.

"Look who's up." He smiles at me, looking more worried then mad. I frown. I lost. I actually lost bad. "What's wrong?" He asks standing up. I try to laugh, but it sounds more like a strangled groan.

"Nothing, why?" I choke out. He walks over to the side of my bed, looking down at me with a half-smile. My breaths come in short clumps, hurting my throat as they go down.

"Sorry, that was the wrong way to phrase that..." He bends over, sitting on the nightstand. "How are you doing?" He says softly. I stare at him for a minute, as he gently brushes a strand of hair from my face with the tips of his fingers. His hand lingers for a second more than necessary.

"You're not mad?" I ask hoarsely. He shakes his head, "mad at what? At you?" He says softly, confused. I don't know why, but his voice seems to calm me.

"For messing up training! For punching a kid in the face! For being too weak to-" I break out coughing before I can go on. I wish I sounded stronger, more upset, but no matter how hard I try my voice sounds like the soft squeak of an injured mouse. He almost looks astonished.

"You think I would be mad at you for almost dying just because it was during training?" He says sounding a little hurt. I just stare at him. "And that kid you punched was not just 'a kid', he was the person who's been tormenting you for almost a week now!" Tears gather in my eyes at the reminder. "You are not weak. A weak person would not have done anything. A weak person would have waited for someone else to do the hard work for them." He whispers. His words do make me feel better. He doesn't think I'm weak. I almost smile. Almost.

"Have you seen him yet?" He asks. I shake my head and he smiles. "Let's just say a weak person couldn't have left the marks on him that you did." I smile at that. I didn't lose terribly I suppose. He rests his hand on my forehead, then stands up. "You've missed some training... Do you think you can make it up at night?" He asks.

I nod, "when?" I ask in reply. He looks at his watch. "How about 9:01?" I smile and nod again. I want it ask where, but my throat burns. His hand brushes mine as he leaves and I can't hold back a smile.

I wake up feeling like crap, but like I accomplished something at least. Accomplished crap. I check my watch. 7:05, if I move fast I can catch breakfast. I'm not supposed to leave until 5:00 tonight, but I can't miss another day of training. Besides, it's not like breathing is a necessity. I slide out of bed and onto my feet. Stupid hospital outfits, both uncomfortable and unflattering. I search the room for my clothes, finally finding them on a chair in the corner. I quickly slide into my jeans and pull on my shirt.

My neck throbs when I put my arms above my head. I walk over to a small mirror above a sink on the left wall. I look awful. My neck is swollen and purple, there is a large cut and bruise on the side of my lip, along with huge, dark bags under my eyes. My hair lays in knots down my neck from not being brushed and there is a blood stain trailing down the front of my white shirt, probably staining it. I'm assuming it belongs to Derrick.

When I walk into the dining room, everyone goes dead silent. I step up to the empty lunch line and get a plate of food. Matthew isn't in here, neither is Bruce actually. I turn around and spot Derrick in the crowd. Matthew was right, he looks just as bad as me - half of his face is swollen and he has a cracked lip. I smile and hold my head up higher, plopping myself down in a seat by Kelly. Her mouth is open wide.