Page 3 of Those That Don't Exist
As we step onto the busy pedestrian street outside our house and start walking to the main campus buildings I don’t think about any of that. I instead feel eyes turning to look at me. I focus on taking deep slow breaths, and fiddling with the plain metal band on my thumb, to distract myself. It's my dad’s wedding ring, I haven’t taken it off since the hospital posted his stuff to me. I’d been in a coma when they cremated him.
Almost every house on this road is filled with students so there are plenty of people bustling on the street heading to get some breakfast or to their first class.
My skin prickles as my worries become true. Whispers of “she's back”,and “isn't that the girl from the crash”,and “hey, it's her, doesn't she look different?”come from the lips of curious students.They’re not exactly bad things but the attention has me flinging my hood up. The whispers bore down on me like spot lights. I keep close to Claire, who’s a step ahead of myself and Bree.
“I will be glad when the gossip stops. I hate hearing them talk about me as if I’m not even here,” I murmur to them as we get to the end of the road.
“I can’t hear anyone talking about you,” Claire says as we cross the cobbled walkway into the student cafeteria. Our habitof treating ourselves to a bought breakfast on the first day of the week had become a cemented tradition.
Being fully human Claire doesn’t have amplified hearing like me.Lucky her.
“Sorry sweetie,” Bree adds, putting her arm around my shoulders. “It’ll die down in a couple of days I’m sure.”
She gives me a little smile. I know she can hear it too - being nearly pure Fae, her delicately pointed ears would pick up more than I did.
Unable to stand the bustle of the busy cafeteria I grab a coffee to go and head to the exit.
My roommates had ordered food so it took a few minutes for them to join me as they waited to collect it. I stood on the pavement facing the wall of the building a little ways down from the exit, keeping my eyes low, and letting my hair fall forward to close off my face from any onlookers.
Breathe in, breathe out. I can do this.
“Not eating?” Bree raises an eyebrow at me as she joins me, diving into her porridge to go pot. Me not having breakfast was unheard of, I’d always insisted on it before.
“I’m not hungry. Nerves,” I say as a way of explanation. It's true, I’m nervous, but that never stopped me munching on a breakfast bagel before. The bigger truth is I’m almost never hungry anymore, but I don't want to alarm them.
Since the accident I’ve noticed I just don't like food anymore. I mostly eat when I know I really need to but food has lost its appeal. Grief hits in strange ways, I guess, and I’m sure I’ll be ok soon. Least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“You’ll be fine, see your professors, find out how to catch up and knowing you, you’ll be ahead on the curriculum by the winter break,” Claire tries to reassure me as she joins us too and we start walking towards the lecture halls. Bree gives us both aquick hug and dashes off to the studios, her mornings spent on various dance practices.
Claire and I share a few classes, including this one on architectural history, so we head into our lecture room and find seats near the back.
As my recovery took so long it was already four weeks into the term. I’d had to beg the university to let me start now and not defer a term. They argued that missing even a few weeks of my final year would leave me at too much of a disadvantage.
I knew if I couldn’t come back now I would’ve allowed the wallowing to sink in. I needed to get back to normal, whatever this new normal was. Thankfully my excellent grades and dedication of the previous years persuaded the university to let me catch up rather than wait.
The lecturer enters at the bottom of the hall and walks up to the lectern to start the session. I settle in, blocking everything else out except for the subject being discussed.
That’s how I get through the several lectures and seminars on my schedule today. I take notes, keep quiet, and at the end stay behind to receive the work I’d missed. Some professors are supportive, others tell me I’ve made the wrong choice coming back. All have that air of pity I hate.
Going between classes wasn’t as bad as I had been imagining, thankfully. A few people recognised me and I overheard a few bits of gossip which contained my name but I just stuck my headphones in and turned my music up louder. A few students, whom I vaguely knew from the previous terms, talked to me as though I wasn’t fragile, or recently orphaned, and for that I was hugely grateful.
Hours later, feeling tired and drained, I’m finally opening my bedroom door and flopping down on my bed with my satchel still slung across my body. At least I have something to focus onnow, tasks to do, books to read, essays to write. It would help me, I was sure, to keep myself together.
Laying on my back I scrub my hands over my face. I’d survived the day.
I take a couple of minutes to just let my mind blank out before I move. When the darkness starts creeping in I force myself to sit up. Shuffling around, I get comfy, sitting cross legged, and pull everything out of my bag.
I begin to build myself a schedule with all the ‘to do’s’ I’d noted during today’s classes. If I could just get a timetable in place, something I could stick to, I would feel much more in control of my life again. This is what I needed.
Joltingupright I snatch the duvet to me and stare out at the pitch darkness.
Breathe in, Breathe out.
I repeat the words, elongating them to try and slow my breathing, which is borderline hyperventilating.
Sweat pours down my back and pain lances through my left wrist, so much so I drop the duvet to grip it with my right hand. I look down at the scar, massaging the jagged half moon line that runs from the base of my palm round and over the veins of my wrist.
It had throbbed when I’d regain consciousness in the hospital and I’d had several spells like this since. Tonight it was particularly bad. As a fresh wave of burning pain shoots up my arm, I have to sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stop any sound from escaping my throat.
