Searching for a Perfect Day

Time

Chapter Nine: Time

Nothing is assimilating.

Heavy green-blue eyes drag to a ticking clock at the corner of the room that reads fifteen minutes after nine. Atop it, typed on faded printer paper in comic sans, of all fonts, is a smartass quote she had probably seen first on the internet: Time is passing. Are you?

She sighs outwardly, her neighbor giving her a brief look she pointedly ignores and lays her head back down on her sprawled arm, eyes first. The pressure of her forearm against her sockets keep the impending throb in her temples at bay, for now, but the potent combination of weariness and depression permeating over her body is starting to set deep in her bones. It's a small wonder she's still cognizant of her surroundings. Of course she knew it would be like this, considering the late (or early depending on how you look at it) hour she and Elsa had fallen asleep, but she knows it's not just exhaustion from a less than three hour nap that's causing such a tiring and confusing combination of unrest and fatigue.

Her thought flies back to an empty home devoid of warmth and her source of happiness within the last several days and it feels as if the pit of her stomach bottoms out even more, if that's at all possible.

Lead-like arms slide off of the cool desk, forehead meeting wood momentarily. She's seated so that she's bent as low as possible at the back of her chair, forehead hanging at the edge of the desk where her eyes have been darting restlessly towards the ugly brown carpeted floor. Seeing past it, her right hand hovers over her face, thumb grazing her bottom lip as her other hand reaches inside her jean pocket, searching and finding her phone after some patting and groping.

She pulls out the device and presses the middle home button, the new wallpaper summoning a ghost of a smile on her otherwise weary face. She had requested it of the older girl before leaving the cafeteria—a throwback of sorts to the original wallpaper from Elsa's first phone. Just like the first one, she can really see happiness and content in her own face, and her sister's expression a near mimic of her own. Their easy smiles are frozen in time—real, unmanufactured. Genuine. Every time she sees it, she can hear her heart beat just a little faster in her ears. Right now is no different, and the curve of her lips becomes just as automatic, dying all too soon because what she's looking for isn't there.

A blank screen. No notifications. Nothing.

And she knew that would be the case, but it doesn't stop her from checking. She knows that there's nothing Elsa can do, considering the older girl's still up in the air where calling is almost impossible and texting is definitely out of the question, and yet, this would mark her tenth? Fifteenth time, checking? She lost count hours ago.

Pressing her thumb over the fingerprint input, she waits for the home screen to slide out and taps the messages button, eyes reading greedily at a text she had also read innumerable times since receiving it.

I hope you have a good day in school. Try to pay attention, even though you'll most likely be too tired to. I'll call as soon as I land. If you don't answer, I'll text. I'll see you tonight. Seven my time. Ten yours. Love you. 

The ghost of a smile is back on her face, redness dusting her freckled cheeks.

Tonight. A little less than thirteen hours…

She really needs to stop counting because regardless of the length of time, it'll still feel too long for her liking.

Her fingers pass over the message, upper teeth clamping on her lower lip, and she knows she looks and is acting like a complete lovestruck teenager, but she can't help it. Maybe she is…

Another loud sigh is released inadvertently, her eyes darting to the floor as her hands mechanically turn off the phone and push it back in the recesses of her pocket.