Week Six -- Monday
Who: Bishop and Jace. What: Finally getting some rest. When: Monday evening. Where: Nova's vacant room. Rating: T for Teen.
Had it really been less than twenty-four hours? It felt like she'd been running for a week. Everything had sort of blurred together after the initial fight, leaving only a whirlwind of pain and strange faces. Nothing had really cleared up until a few hours before, when her body had finally righted itself after all that blood loss. Bishop still felt a little light headed, but that was miles better than she'd felt all day. Propping her hands against the counter, she leaned forward a bit, peering at her reflection in the mirror. Even after she'd washed off the worst of the mess, she still looked like shit. The harsh light also revealed a lot that she hadn't seen in a long time. The face that looked back out at her wasn't anything like she remembered. Her hair had grown, there were new scars, and she'd lost more weight than was probably healthy. Overall, it was a punch in the vanity. She'd thought she'd managed to keep herself together pretty well, but what she saw contradicted that to an extreme.
Sighing, she straightened, raking one hand through her damp hair. It wasn't like that should have mattered at all. Yet it did. It was just one more part of her life that sucked beyond repair. In the space of a day, that had only gotten worse. Everything that she'd managed to secure for herself over the last two years was gone. Like somebody flipped a switch. Sometimes, she had to wonder just why she kept on trying. A thump on the other side of the door brought her attention a little closer to the present. And then there were some times when she wondered if he wasn't the only thing that kept her going. She remembered how...unbalanced she'd been before they'd taken up together. If that had kept up too much longer, then there was no way she would have lasted.
Bishop tugged down the hem of her borrowed shirt as she pulled the door open. The girl who normally used that room was obviously much smaller, just as whoever they'd gotten the pants from were slgihtly larger. Even though the clothing fit badly, at least it was clean. The room was also tidy, and warm. The warmth was the biggest blessing. It meant that she could walk around in an ill fitting tank top and baggy sweats, and not turn blue. Despite everything that had happened that day, the fact that there was heat and fresh water was something that she was incredibly happy about. Twisting her head, she peered at the stitched wound on her shoulder. The scar would be long and jagged, unlike the dozen or so others that crisscrossed each arm. Some people said that scars told a story. If that was a case, then her's definately fell into the horror variety. Dropping down on the bed, she let out another sigh. "Alone again."