「Previously titled as - 'Parallel Scars'」
Aria Bradford thinks it's best to keep one's problems to oneself because talking about it to other people won't solve them. That is why she never talks to her friends about her past and the occasional nightm...
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I don't like weekends.
Primarily Saturdays.
You won't find this fact baffling when I tell you how I have to attend four hours of lecture in the morning and then work eight hours at my part time job with only a fifteen minute break window in between. My Mondays are more peaceful than Saturdays; I only have five hours of class and a three hour work shift in the evening.
Today is one of those said Saturday mornings, and I'm currently sprinting like an ostrich across campus. You'd think that'd make heads turn toward me but this has become a common occurrence for pretty much everyone in the University of Santa Midd. Every Saturday morning, after the first class-change bell goes off, I'm found dashing from one end of the college campus to the other end, to reach my second lecture that starts within two minutes of the end of my first one.
I do get some funny stares now and then, but I've learnt to live through them by practicing the art of ignorance. It's not my fault that these two classes are poles apart from each other.
By the time I reach the lecture hall, I'm sweating like a pig and breathing like an angry bull. My t-shirt awkwardly clings to my body like duct tape, sweat making itself visible on the surface of the fabric. I tug the hem to detach the damp material from my skin in attempts at easing my discomfort, only for it to fall back and stick to my skin again.
A population of thirty students is scattered across the timbre seating of the giant lecture hall originally designed to house a student body of one hundred. There's a brief pause in Professor Cavitch's dialogue when he watches me greet him with a nod but then continues on with his speech as I scurry off to a seat in the second row.
The weather is awfully humid for a day in mid October. A type of humidity that makes you sweat even in an air conditioned room. The sun is hiding behind a veil of clouds today, but it's not hesitant in making its presence known by projecting colossal amounts of brutal heat.
We're already halfway through October but it doesn't feel like fall at all. Although, I guess, this shouldn't be surprising when you live in Sunny Southern California. You're blessed with a year round bright, hot sunlight. I don't need to bring out my parkas until late December. Fog hardly shows up during winters in the small town of Santa Midd; snowfall is far-fetched.
My wrist watch lazily ticks away at ten minutes past eleven as I start taking notes on the lecture, but my concentration wears thin. There's a singular bead of sweat running down the valley between my chest that's making me itchy, and my annoying baby hairs keep latching themselves onto my sweaty forehead no matter how many times I push them behind my ears.
It's only been ten minutes since class started and I'm already counting seconds to when this torture is going to end.
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When I walked out of class today, I made the mistake of thinking the rest of my day was going to pass without much of a hindrance. I realize my bad day is only getting progressively worse as my eyes stare down at the disaster of a soufflé lying on the oven tray.
