Sweet Charlotte

「 three: bitter turmoil 」

"Honey?"

It was hard to describe what it felt like when one woke up after passing out, especially in such a public setting. In a way, Willow felt like she was underwater, and like the sea was parting enough for her to peak her head through, and like the closer she came to the surface, the louder everything became.

The sounds went from a muffled, diluted mumbling to a coherent, far away voice. The darkness grew lighter and lighter, then engulfed her. The voice now clear beside her ear.

And then, her eyes parted.

"Oh, phew," the woman leaning over her said, sliding back and sighing. "I was worried I was going to need to call someone."

Glancing around, Willow could tell she was in the communal area of the guidance counsellors' office. Their school had three, with two who were actively in their offices. The communal area was well-kept, a relatively easy task seeing how small it was. It had a couch, three chairs, and a small coffee table scattered with pamphlets from Planned Parenthood and various universities. It was normally where students sat to wait for their appointments and, occasionally over lunch hour, where the bullied kids came to eat.

Willow groaned, pushing herself up on her elbows. "I'm fine, Mrs. Evans."

"Even if so, please take it easy." She said, reaching out to capture the girl's thin arms in her palms, easing her into a sitting position. Once she was upright, the woman smiled and held out a plastic cup. "I brought you some water."

Willow smiled, accepting it and drinking greedily.

Mrs. Evans had always been Willow's favourite guidance counsellor. When her parents had insisted she go back to school, Willow sat down with Mrs. Evans to work out her schedule. Even when she was getting ready to leave school for health reasons, Mrs. Evans was the one who helped organize her homework drop-off program, so she could continue taking her classes. If it wasn't for Mrs. Evans, the chance of Willow graduating on time would be next-to impossible. Willow owed a lot to her.

She was what girls in Willow's grade would call 'pudgy,' but Willow always thought the term was demeaning. She was soft to hug, always dressed either professionally or cozy, and never a day would go by where she was in-between.

Willow could tell it was a cozy day, as was the case for the both of them. Mrs. Evans had her blonde hair rolled into a bun on the back of her head — neat despite the sleepiness of the rest of her attire. She wore Marvel leggings with the super heroes splashed in every which way, and a black hoodie that said "be kind to each other" written in cursive on the upper right side corner of the chest.

She had pale skin, so pale that Willow saw her as more of an ancient Greek statue rather than a real woman. For makeup, she only ever painted her eyelashes, would add a sprig of pink to each cheek, and dressed her lips in tinted, honey lip balm.

"So you found out, huh honey?"

Willow furrowed her brows, detached her gaze from Mrs. Evans' sweater. "Huh?"

Mrs. Evans shifted uncomfortably from where she was kneeling on the floor. "Charlotte, honey. You found out about Charlotte?"

Willow remained silent, letting the moments before her fainting spell wash over her again. The missing poster, the thick air in the halls, the sensation of something missing. "Yeah," Willow breathed. "I found out."

"I'm so sorry," she breathed, a hand settling on Willow's arm. It was gentle but Willow still jolted, swishing the remaining water around in her cup. "Were you two close?"

Willow hated that question. "Not really, but she was important." As if a question like that could determine anyone's state of grief, or sorrow, or terror.