Chapter 2

yayyy

I’m cold. 

I’ve been sitting at this bus stop in my sports bra for what feels like forever. While I was walking here, I received many unwelcome stares from many unwelcome men that were probably well over 50. I got catcalled at least 5 times, and did I mention i’m cold? The bus was supposed to be here at least 10 minutes ago, and I'm getting a little tired of waiting for it to grace me with its presence. 

I’m actually considering putting on my cloak and blowing my cover when a slow rumble and the deafening screech of tires alerts me that the bus has finally arrived; Thank god. 

…

I swing open my door with my non injured arm, struggling to balance my cloak, my exhausted body, and my dignity. Slamming the door shut with my back leg, I stumble into the common room. Everyone’s asleep in their rooms; I have the place to myself. I toss my disposable face mask into the trash can next to the couch. Bending down, I fumble for the medicine box below the coffee table in the dark, grasping the edge tightly and yanking it open. Ointment… Ointment… Where is it? I empty out the box. It’s not there. You’ve got to be kidding me. Of all days…! I slam the box shut. …Hopefully that didn’t wake anyone up. 

I sigh and stare out of the window for a moment, rethinking… Life;-- Just as a whole. A student in a gray sweatsuit casually strolls across the campus, walking towards the dormitories. It’s nice to know I'm not the only one out this late, at least. I yawn before turning around and heading towards my room. I gently turn the knob, closing it behind me with as little as a click. I toss my cloak under my bed, and dive into my bed headfirst. I don’t think I've been this tired since that night. 

That night; the night my father died-- is a night I wish I could erase from my memory, and yet it always manages to claw its way back into my life. I don’t want to remember it. I don’t want to remember the hospital atmosphere, that stale and sterile air that felt thick enough to choke on. The harsh, artificial light that casted an eerie glow on the room, or the mechanical hum of the fluorescent bulbs seemed to drone on endlessly. I don’t want to remember the rapid squeaks of the hospital beds and stretchers that echoed, patients that cried, and families that weeped. I don’t want to remember his eyes as he reassured me that everything would be okay. 

“Everything will be fine, Mill,” he promised, his voice steady, “Everything will be…” And then, silence. Time seemed to freeze; I felt like I was suspended in an unbearable moment, where the world had simply held its breath. My father’s hand lay limp in mine, devoid of life. And in an instant, it became clear; This was not my father. He couldn’t be.

In a heartbeat, the foundation of my world began to crumble as my life frayed at the seams. My heart raced, and the tightness in my chest turned into something unbearable. My eyes twitched and I sputtered; A mix between a gasp of outrage and a cry of anguish. I couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t I breathe? He can’t be dead. The claustrophobia of my thoughts slammed against the walls of my mind as my senses began to reawaken one by one.

 Smell: The sharp, antiseptic scent of the hospital air mingled with a deep, lingering sterility that suffocated my spirit. 

Sight: My gaze swam through a blurred lens, struggling to comprehend the figure that once radiated strength and love, now reduced to a frail shell. 

Touch: A coldness enveloped me; what was once a comforting presence, now a horrid reminder of decay-- as a rancid, lifeless hand rested atop mine.

Hearing: I was consumed by the sound of stifled sobs that echoed around me, unclear if they emerged from my own lips. The relentless beeping and constant ringing of a flatline punctuated the air, serving as a cruel reminder of my loss, while my own ragged breathing hissed like a whisper; Like a cry for help. This man is not my father. He can’t be.

                          …

A cheerful chorus of birds trills the air outside my window, their chirping creating a lively morning symphony. A piercing beam of bright sunlight slips through the thin fabric of the curtains, warming my skin and zeroing in on my left eye, forcing it open. With a groan, I twist my body away from the relentless glow, squinting against the intensity of the light as it dances across the room, illuminating the dust motes floating lazily in the air. Ugh;- Mornings. What time is it?

I grope around my nightstand, fumbling sluggishly for my alarm clock. 9:30 A.M. Oh, whatever. I roll back over and force my eyes shut again.

Wait.

9:30?!!

My eyes spring back open as I aggressively peel my comforter off of my sore body. I jump out of bed with alarming effort and fling my closet doors open. Wrestling on a sweater, snatching a chocolate croissant that could either be a day fresh or two months old, running out the door, grabbing my keys, and grabbing my satchel all at once is much harder than you’d think. I glance at the microwave before I leave; 9:42. My lecture starts at 10:00. 

I check off an imaginary list in my head as I speed walk down the street to the main building. Coffee? Nope. Sanity? Don’t got it. Dignity? Not with these sweatpants on. Money? When do I ever? Food? Well, at least I have my croissant. I sling my satchel over my head with great effort, and adjust it like a cross body bag, before raising the croissant up to my mouth. I think this just may be the one thing that is going right for me today. 

Life: 1672

Millie: 1

I inhale the croissant through my nostrils, allowing myself to absorb the smell before scarfing it down. Just then, a very serious group of bikers, all wearing a jarring shade of neon green, zip past me like a stampede of bulls. There's no way one of them doesn't have a speed ability. I jump to the side, knocking my croissant out of my own hand as I curse under my breath. 

Life: 1673

Millie: 0

F**k my life. I abandon my croissant on the ground, granting it one, pitying look over my shoulder before continuing to run towards my building. The saddest thing about walking to my building every day is the giant holographic billboard directly behind it.  The billboard belongs to the Hero’s association, and they tend to plaster their top ‘employees’ all over them. In this sense, and only this sense, Cy is a victim. The guy is on almost every single one of them, and he’s always posed in a way that resembles a model more than a superhero. His dark brown hair glistens at me, fresh out of the shower, and my eyes burn. Just let me go! I can see the light! Every morning when I walk to school, I'm reminded of Cy’s face. As if seeing him once a week isn’t enough. 

By the time I make it to my lecture, I'm panting. I quickly check my phone before entering, and I notice three things: one, I made it with two minutes to spare, two, I only have 23% of charge left because i didn’t charge it last night, and three, i have 3 missed messages from Jackie insistently asking me why i’m not in class yet. 

J ♡ ( 9:43 AM) --Hey, Mills! Where are you? Class is starting in twenty minutes and I think the professor might talk about something less unrelated to the subject than usual.

J ♡ ( 9:46 AM) --Heyyyy!!! Getting bored here!!!! Don’t leave me in the classroom with this old geezer alone, please!

J ♡ ( 9:55 AM) --MILLIE!!

I’m about to put my phone away, when it pings again. I grumble and lift the screen to my face again.

J ♡ ( 9:58 AM) --Did you stay up late annoying Mr. Hotty-Mc-Hotterson again?

Jackie’s the only one besides me who knows about my current income situation. I trust her not to tell anyone; Not that I'd ever be able to keep it from her with that ability of hers, but the sentiment is there. Also, ew. We’re going to have a talk about that nickname. I pocket my phone and push open the doors, scouting the room for Jackie. I spot her when I see her waving at me from the corner, and quickly make my way over to her. She gestures to the seat next to her, and I take it willingly. Jackie has dark chocolate skin, with dark silky coils framing her face. The rest of her hair is tied back and is meticulously braided to perfection. Her eyes are a light brown, and she smells like perfume and fruit. 

She stares at me. 

“What?” I ask.

“You did, didn’t you?”

I’m confused. “Did what?”

“Stayed up late berating Mr. Hot Stuff.”

“Well, berating is a strong word,” I cross my arms. “Also, don’t call him that; it’s weird.”

She pokes my shoulder “It's true, is what it is.”

I deflect her comment with a shrug. 

She flails her arms around, speaking to me in hushed whispers. “Oh come on! You see him on those billboards! You see him at least once a week, AND you get to see him in action! You’re unbelievably lucky!”

This breaks my nonchalant facade. I gape at her. “Well, you’d realize he’s not as attractive when he's actively trying to hunt you down.”

She raises her manicured eyebrows pointedly. “Still hot,” She says. I turn to the professor, who's straightening his papers, about to start talking. Still hot, I commend her in silence.

When the lecture ends, me and Jackie both have a two hour window before our next classes. We’re now walking to the coffee shop beside campus in the cold because I made the mistake of telling her that I didn’t get to eat this morning. We pass another billboard with Cy on it. He’s completely shirtless and… Ick. How on earth does this incentivise justice and moral duty?! I avert my gaze and keep walking, but Jackie comes to a full stop, yanking me back by the arm. She gawks at the billboard, practically drooling. 

“Okay… Uh, can we, like, keep walking--” 

Jackie whips her head back to face me so quickly I think I hear a crack.

I roll my eyes grinning, against my better judgement. I point my free finger at her mouth as she opens it. “Don’t even start,” I jerk my other arm away from her vice grip. “Let's go get some coffee.” 

We stroll inside the shop, the bells on the doors jingling behind us. The man behind the counter waves at us, Jackie makes her way up to the counter to order for us both, and I scout for any tables by the windows; It's a well thought out system, and it moves like clockwork. Today, I’m lucky. My favorite table, the one in the corner surrounded by windows & plants, is completely empty. I glance back at Jackie, who’s just made it up to the counter and is reciting my usual order; A small iced americano. I slide into my favorite old fashioned booth, soaking up the light. I’m practically photosynthesising. I think in a past life, I might have been a plant; but specifically only one of those plants that stubbornly refuse to grow anywhere but in the sun. 

I glance back at Jackie at the counter, where she’s supposedly buying me my coffee. I told her that was all I wanted, but she’s suspiciously scavenging the display case for a second pastry, Which only becomes more suspicious when she picks out a chocolate croissant, which just so happens to be my favorite kind of pastry. And her least favorite kind. I suppress a smile at the gesture and turn to stare outside the window, my mind drifting off to the artifact I broke yesterday night. Money signs suddenly start to rotate through my vision like a slot machine. I needed that money for rent. Or was that the grocery money? Whatever. It was going towards something important, I'm sure, and Cy went ahead and ruined it all. 

My trance is broken when a scrawny man, around my age, stands beside the booth, loitering. He awkwardly scratches his head and holds something behind his back. The silence between us is so deafening I swear I can hear crickets. “Sorry, did you need something?” I do my best to smile. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say. Please. Please, god. “I uh--” The man says, blushing profusely. I bat my eyelashes innocently. Make this man stop talking. “Do you want to go out with me? I’ve seen you around, and I” He pulls out what he’s holding behind his back. A bouquet. Yikes. “When?” I ask this solely because I plan to tell him I'm busy. I’d just outright say that, but it’s not very believable then, and just all around kind of a jerk thing to do. “Tomorrow night.” He hands me a pleading look. My heart pangs. On the other side of the shop, Jackie is eavesdropping, sipping her matcha bubble tea. Help me out, damnit. She simply shrugs, like this is none of her business, and pulls out her phone to scroll through pinterest. Then I remember something. “Sorry, I have a football game to go too; you know, the big Cougars-Versus-Bears game? So sorry.” I add this last part because I honestly do feel bad. At least I'm not lying. The man practically deflates, but still maintains his composure. “Oh… That's uh… That's fine…! Have a nice day.” He stalks away, dejectedly tossing the bouquet in the trash. Oof, poor guy. Jackie is by my side in two seconds flat, and she leans to the right behind me, watching the man walk away. She still holds the tray of coffee and pastries in her hand. “I would have taken the flowers,” She states, sliding into the booth in front of me. I snort, slightly incredulous. “ I would have helped my friend out. You, on the other hand…” I point an accusing finger at her before snatching my americano from the tray.