Seventh Floor (703): 12:00 AM
The snap of the air around her jarred Joanie from an otherwise restful sleep. Wiping her damp forehead, she shook her head, heaving a short sigh. She was tired of waking up in fits. This was the first time in well over a year. After giving up on academic excellence, Joanie had found her body was much happier - she was less tired, slept better, and craved food less. Overall, divebombing her GPA was the best thing that had happened to her.
And now she was feeling that old jittery sensation again.
Gulping, she leapt out of her bed, her legs shaky beneath her as she stumbled towards her bathroom. It was times like this that she bemoaned her forgetfulness - a glass of water by her bed would save her so many late-night trips. But then that would create the need for late-night bathroom trips, and she wasn't about to start peeing in a bucket out of sheer laziness.
She reached the bathroom quickly, leaning against the sink and turning on the faucet. The cold water fell in a torrent against the cool basin, little flecks of water catapulted onto her chest. Dipping her hands in the water, she splashed her face casually, reveling in the wet sensation that crawled down her back. After a moment, she gave pause, realizing that something was off. Blinking away the water, she pushed her dark hair from her face, catching short glimpses of her hands. Something wasn't right. Feeling terror clutch her chest, she slowly straightened up, staring into the mirror.
A beast with her face and a rich green complexion stared back.
She wasn't sure how long she screamed, but she remembered the pain in her chest as the sound went on. Her lungs were on fire, but she couldn't stop. Her skin was emerald, everything from her cheeks to her tongue. Eyes wide, she looked down the back of her green throat, watching her green tonsils bob and clench as she shrieked loudly enough to raise the dead. Her nails dug into her palms as she wailed, her shrill voice slicing through the late-night silence that had blanketed Bellum Letale.
When she finally stopped, Joanie could feel her heart in her throat. She was green. And not sick green, either. Kermit the Frog green. This just wasn't right. This just wasn't fucking right. People didn't turn green overnight. Something was wrong. Something was so terribly wrong.
She rifled through her closet, finding a black turtleneck. God bless the Gothic stage of her life. She yanked it over her head, simultaneously shimmying into a pair of black sweatpants. She scurried across the room, tripping over her own feet as she stuffed them into blue clogs that she should have thrown out weeks ago. Pausing at the jewelry box on her bureau, she wrenched it open and pulled out the first two items she saw.
The lipstick was a relic from years past, and she barely noticed that she was painting her green lips with streaky blue. Hands trembling, she dipped her fingers in a pot of white concealer, raking her nails across her face in a messy attempt to cover up the emerald tone of her skin. She was too frazzled to realize that she looked like a frog that failed clown school, and before she could take another breath she had a baseball cap on her head and had rushed out her door.
She had moved into Bellum Letale the day before, and she had skimmed the forums in her boredom. There were two doctors in this building, and one of them had to be awake. After locking her door, she ran down the hallway, a blur of black and green with her hands stuffed in her pockets. She could've sworn one of those docs was on the eighth floor, so she barreled towards the stairway.