Relief was not a large enough word for what Genevieve felt knowing Alex was alive.
Gen, despite a plethora of friendly acquaintances, had never had a true friend—not until Alexandra Starling. They had been an unlikely pair from the start, but the two girls understood one another and that bond had withstood longer than any other friendship Genevieve had tried to maintain over the years. Losing her would have been unbearable.
She clung to the other girl until she convinced herself that Alex was real. That she was breathing.
Tears filled Gen’s eyes only as she realized Alex was choking back sobs of her own. It was jolting, almost, to witness Alexandra cry. It was something she had never seen. The girl typically had such a precise control over her own emotions—something Gen guessed Alex had needed to learn in a family such as hers.
The voices of the professors shooing them out of the ballroom grew louder, but she and Alex didn’t move. Gen could only nod when Alex asked if she was okay. She was traumatized and exhausted—but that was more than many of her classmates could say. “You?”She asked as the professors became more and more insistent. And when Alex told her to send a pigeon if Gen needed her, she tried to smile—it was more of an effort than she thought it would be—and nodded. “Same goes for you, I’m here if you need me.” She squeezed the girl’s hand once before they went their separate ways.
The walk back to the dormitories felt like a death march. The halls were silent save for the echoes of footsteps. No one spoke. Gen kicked off her shoes halfway there, needing to feel the rough stone under her feet. Needing something to ground her to this moment, because she was truthfully afraid she might drift away in the sudden numbness.
Even her room looked different, as she stepped through the door. Like someone picked everything up and moved it over an inch. She was overcome with an uncomfortable sense of wrongness in a setting that should have been familiar. She felt like crawling out of her skin.
Instead, she closed the door behind her with a soft click, leaning against the frame and slid down to the floor. There was a weight on her now. A pressure in her head. She hadn’t cried yet. All she could picture when she closed her eyes, was the pressing feeling of cold and bony hands on her shoulders—and the creature’s face gazing into hers.
She couldn't help but see the blood. Hear the screams.
Gen thought briefly that she should message Alex. Or just show up at the girl’s door. But Alex had done enough comforting tonight. She couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like for her. That terror of coming face to face with death clung to her still—and Alex had experienced that same wash of emotions, only tenfold.
The moment the world felt off-kilter kept replaying in her mind. She couldn't help but picture the feeling she had right before the glass broke overhead. The last moments of normalcy before everything went to hell. She prodded at the memory for the same reason someone presses on a bruise—there was something satisfying in the way it ached.
Her guilt was a living, writhing, thing in her chest. And she was angry. Angry at the sick bastard who orchestrated the attack, angry at the horrors she witnessed, angry at the faculty for not being able to keep them safe, but above all—she was angry with herself.
The same questions ran circles around her mind: Could she have done more? Why did she get to live when she watched so many others die? What good was it to have access to the fantastic, but not possess the skill to utilize it in a way that mattered?
She was a useless waste of magic.
And when that self-loathing became a beast so large it pressed against her the confines of her skin, wanting to break free, Gen let it. She rose to her feet and pushed everything from her desk. Pulled the books from their neat places on her shelf. Ripped papers apart. Broke the mug on her bedside table. For once, she gave into destruction. She let herself fall apart. And when her room mirrored the broken, chaotic feeling in her heart—Genevieve sat on her bed and cried.
———
She hadn’t managed a wink of sleep when the headmistress’s message came. Her tears had long run dry, replaced by a deep pit in her stomach and a surprising dullness to her senses.
Last night, once she had regained a semblance of composure—Gen went about putting back together all of her broken pieces. She cleaned up the mess she had made, throwing away the things too broken to save and taking extra care to reshelve her books and organize her desk. She showered and applied products to her hair. She hung her dress back up—blood and dirt and glass and all. She finished her charms homework.
And when she had nothing left to do but wait for the sun to rise, she sat in the center of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, and cried again. This time, for herself. For the parts of her she wouldn’t be able to fix.
But the headmistress’s summons was enough to motivate Genevieve out of bed and into a fresh set of clothes—barely. She swiped at the dark circles under her eyes, but decided that she didn’t care enough to cover them.
Some of the other students were already in the office when she arrived. Alex and Tav were on one end, while Foster was already arguing with Headmaster Carmine. Gen fell into place on Alex’s other side, offering a small good morning as the rest of the group appeared in the doorway. She wasn’t sure why they were here, when the headmistress should be getting to the bottom of the incident last night.
“This hardly feels like the time to rectify our punishment for the library mishap,” Gen said sharply. “When much more pressing events have happened since then.” She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to speak to the headmistress in that way, she’d barely ever spoken in the woman’s presence before.
But that anger she had felt the night before still simmered below the surface.
Relief was not a large enough word for what Genevieve felt knowing Alex was alive.
Gen, despite a plethora of friendly acquaintances, had never had a true friend—not until Alexandra Starling. They had been an unlikely pair from the start, but the two girls understood one another and that bond had withstood longer than any other friendship Genevieve had tried to maintain over the years. Losing her would have been unbearable.
She clung to the other girl until she convinced herself that Alex was real. That she was breathing.
Tears filled Gen’s eyes only as she realized Alex was choking back sobs of her own. It was jolting, almost, to witness Alexandra cry. It was something she had never seen. The girl typically had such a precise control over her own emotions—something Gen guessed Alex had needed to learn in a family such as hers.
The voices of the professors shooing them out of the ballroom grew louder, but she and Alex didn’t move. Gen could only nod when Alex asked if she was okay. She was traumatized and exhausted—but that was more than many of her classmates could say. “You?” She asked as the professors became more and more insistent. And when Alex told her to send a pigeon if Gen needed her, she tried to smile—it was more of an effort than she thought it would be—and nodded. “Same goes for you, I’m here if you need me.” She squeezed the girl’s hand once before they went their separate ways.
The walk back to the dormitories felt like a death march. The halls were silent save for the echoes of footsteps. No one spoke. Gen kicked off her shoes halfway there, needing to feel the rough stone under her feet. Needing something to ground her to this moment, because she was truthfully afraid she might drift away in the sudden numbness.
Even her room looked different, as she stepped through the door. Like someone picked everything up and moved it over an inch. She was overcome with an uncomfortable sense of wrongness in a setting that should have been familiar. She felt like crawling out of her skin.
Instead, she closed the door behind her with a soft click, leaning against the frame and slid down to the floor. There was a weight on her now. A pressure in her head. She hadn’t cried yet. All she could picture when she closed her eyes, was the pressing feeling of cold and bony hands on her shoulders—and the creature’s face gazing into hers.
She couldn't help but see the blood. Hear the screams.
Gen thought briefly that she should message Alex. Or just show up at the girl’s door. But Alex had done enough comforting tonight. She couldn’t even imagine what it must have been like for her. That terror of coming face to face with death clung to her still—and Alex had experienced that same wash of emotions, only tenfold.
The moment the world felt off-kilter kept replaying in her mind. She couldn't help but picture the feeling she had right before the glass broke overhead. The last moments of normalcy before everything went to hell. She prodded at the memory for the same reason someone presses on a bruise—there was something satisfying in the way it ached.
Her guilt was a living, writhing, thing in her chest. And she was angry. Angry at the sick bastard who orchestrated the attack, angry at the horrors she witnessed, angry at the faculty for not being able to keep them safe, but above all—she was angry with herself.
The same questions ran circles around her mind: Could she have done more? Why did she get to live when she watched so many others die? What good was it to have access to the fantastic, but not possess the skill to utilize it in a way that mattered?
She was a useless waste of magic.
And when that self-loathing became a beast so large it pressed against her the confines of her skin, wanting to break free, Gen let it. She rose to her feet and pushed everything from her desk. Pulled the books from their neat places on her shelf. Ripped papers apart. Broke the mug on her bedside table. For once, she gave into destruction. She let herself fall apart. And when her room mirrored the broken, chaotic feeling in her heart—Genevieve sat on her bed and cried.
———
She hadn’t managed a wink of sleep when the headmistress’s message came. Her tears had long run dry, replaced by a deep pit in her stomach and a surprising dullness to her senses.
Last night, once she had regained a semblance of composure—Gen went about putting back together all of her broken pieces. She cleaned up the mess she had made, throwing away the things too broken to save and taking extra care to reshelve her books and organize her desk. She showered and applied products to her hair. She hung her dress back up—blood and dirt and glass and all. She finished her charms homework.
And when she had nothing left to do but wait for the sun to rise, she sat in the center of her bed, knees pulled to her chest, and cried again. This time, for herself. For the parts of her she wouldn’t be able to fix.
But the headmistress’s summons was enough to motivate Genevieve out of bed and into a fresh set of clothes—barely. She swiped at the dark circles under her eyes, but decided that she didn’t care enough to cover them.
Some of the other students were already in the office when she arrived. Alex and Tav were on one end, while Foster was already arguing with Headmaster Carmine. Gen fell into place on Alex’s other side, offering a small good morning as the rest of the group appeared in the doorway. She wasn’t sure why they were here, when the headmistress should be getting to the bottom of the incident last night.
“This hardly feels like the time to rectify our punishment for the library mishap,” Gen said sharply. “When much more pressing events have happened since then.” She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to speak to the headmistress in that way, she’d barely ever spoken in the woman’s presence before.
But that anger she had felt the night before still simmered below the surface.