Chapter Text
Sirens flashed.
The red and blue had taken over her fogged vision. Everything was clouded, there was a ringing in her right ear and she felt dizzy, unable to move. She was cold. Her knees had begun to turn red, she could feel the blood seeping through her jeans, staining the snow beneath her. Her hands shook. She felt no pain, not an ounce of ache in her fragile body although she struggled to stand up, nearly tripping over her own feet. Hands that did not belong to her, but to the paramedics that surrounded her clamped onto her arms, their blurred voices tried to get her to sit back down and allow them to assess her, but she swatted them away and tumbled towards the crowd of medics surrounding her body.
And there she was. As beautiful as ever. She was as delicate as a flower and as fragile as glass. The flower that had once described her was now wilted and the petals had fallen. Her glass-like structure now cracked like a teacup that was dropped against a hard surface. She was lying on the ground, her face as white as the snow that lay beneath her and the only warmth that covered her cold body had been of her own blood. Dark cruor had trailed out of both sides of her nose, and down the sides of her face and into the snow. Her hair was now stained with a crimson colour that matched the liquid that poured out of her nose and out of the laceration that was across her head.
The medics had shaken their heads, grave looks on their faces as they began to remove themselves from the ground. Her world was spinning, she felt sick. She felt her body fall limp as they called;
“Time of dea-”
Catra bolted upright in her bed, a hoarse scream cutting through her throat like glass to skin as she fisted the sheets in her hands, sweat coating her body. Her clothes were stuck to her skin, her hair clung to her forehead and she felt the bile creeping up her throat, making its way up to her mouth. Catra leant over her bed, her hair balled in her hands and gaped her mouth, where a plastic white bowl lay on the ground, waiting for the drop but it never came and instead, Catra’s bedroom door swung open and a woman wearing black raggedy shorts, a large gray jumper and her wild, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail came in, fast on her feet. She was Catra’s mother.
“Catra?” C’yra quickly turned on Catra’s light, momentarily blinding the two of them as she stridden over to her daughter. Catra had tears streaming down her face, and her mouth was hung open as silent cries begged to come out. However, nothing but a weak whine was audible. C’yra sat down on the bed beside her daughter and pulled her into her chest where Catra fell limp, her head resting against her. Her hands still held a firm grip on the maroon comforter that enveloped her. “Oh, Mija..”
C’yra ran a hand down Catra’s hair, flattening the girl's mane as she gently rocked her back and forth, a soft and comforting shushing as Catra let out a choked sob. Her body rocked. “I can’t- I can’t-'' Catra tried to speak, but she couldn’t push out another word. She was unable to speak, unable to move. It was her fault. It was all her fault. She should have watched the road. She shouldn’t have driven that night.
“Catra, look at me.” C’yra placed her hands on her daughter's face and tipped her up to look at her. Catra’s eyes were swollen and red, her face was stained with red marks of irritation, the act of nails clawing at the skin. Catra’s lip quivered, and her body trembled.
“Mami I didn’t... I didn’t mean to hurt her... I.. '' Catra cried as she brought a hand up to her eyes and screwed the tears away, body shaking from fear and sweat clinging to her body despite the fan blowing in the corner of her room. C’yra looped an arm under Catra’s legs and pulled the fragile girl onto her lap with ease and wrapped her arms around her. Catra allowed her mother to cradle her. Pathetic. “I know. I know, baby. It’s okay, she’s okay. You’re okay. ” Catra’s hearing was muffled and it sounded as if she was underwater. Her neck was stiff, almost as if she had slept with it at a bent and unpleasant angle.
She tilted her head to look up at C’yra, who was talking to her. She didn’t know what she was saying but by the large intakes of breath, then a long exhale, she wanted Catra to breathe. Slowly, Catra took in a slow, struggling breath. Her chest paused as her lungs began to tighten whilst she held the air inside for a moment until she no longer could. She exhaled, then repeated. Catra’s hearing had begun to clear and her breathing was stronger now instead of weak and wavering like before.
Catra bobbed her head, allowing herself to move away from C'yra as she slid off of her lap, and onto her mattress. She pulled her knees up to her chest. “What time is it?” The brunette asked, and C’yra simply shook her head. “It doesn’t matter, you should try to go back to sleep, my love.” Catra did not protest, only gave her mother yet another node and lied back down. C'yra rested a hand on Catra's back. The two stayed silent for a moment. Catra hated how weak she was. She hated that she struggled to make it through the night without waking up screaming and covered in a slick sweat.
C’yra exhaled, then bent down to place a sweet kiss on the crown of Catra’s head. Catra attempted to smile, but it barely met her lips. She had yet to notice the silent tears that slipped down her cheeks and onto the pillow below her until C’yra cupped her face, and wiped them away with the pads of her thumbs. Catra brought her hand up and swiped the remaining drops. She was tired of crying. After bidding goodnight to her mother, she tossed the covers off of her and let out a yawn that shook her body. The alarm clock on her bedside table read 5:37 AM in bright green.
There was no way she would be able to fall back asleep now that she was up, so she decided to do the one thing that seemed to pass the time. Catra slowly slid the chair out from under her desk and sat down. She would paint. Her body wouldn't allow her to fall back asleep, no matter how much Prazosin she took to tame the night terrors. So, instead, she started to paint. Her guidance counselor had agreed on the idea and Catra had always loved to paint. She loved how the weight of the pencil or the brush felt in her hand, and she loved how smooth her paint strokes were and how easy it all felt.
She felt more relaxed when she was keeping her hands busy and focusing on something other than the fear of falling asleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was her dead body. The medics and police surrounded her, Catra being questioned while someone tried to stitch up the gaping cut that shot across her jaw and assess the broken bone in her arm. It was funny. She didn't feel any pain. She felt as though she did now. Nothing. All she could see, all she was reminded of was how she hurt the one person she promised she’d never hurt. And a year later, she still couldn’t close her eyes without seeing flashes of red and blue.
Catra hadn’t even noticed that the sun had begun to creep up, peering through the slot in the closed curtains and shining onto her. The brunette dropped the paintbrush and stared down at her work. Against the crumbled and yellowed paper; a wilted flower stared at her. It was pink. The colour of the sky when it hits sunrise. With the flushed colour, it was alive. The flower bloomed and was vibrant. And as the red began to blend in towards the bottom, the flower began to wilt and decay. Almost as if time had caught up to it.
Her alarm blared, engaging that it was now 6:45 AM. Catra nearly hopped out of her seat in fear, not expecting the sudden noise. The girl groaned and brought her hands up to her sunken eyes. Catra couldn’t recall the last time she slept. The brunette stood up from her chair, and shoved the crumbled painting among the others in the corner of her desk, before walking over to the full-length mirror that stood in front of her. Catra stared. The black sweater and red, plaid pyjama pants hung loosely on her hips and shoulders, nearly falling off of her already slim figure. Her cheeks were sunken in, and the eye bags under her eyes were staring back at her, being a constant reminder of her sleepless nights, and her clothing being the constant reminder of her ceased appetite.
Sighing, Catra hiked up her loose-fitted pants, hiding the bunched-up waist band underneath her sweater, making it look as if the cloth fit her perfectly as she left her bedroom. She could hear her mother and aunt talking in the kitchen, whispers being shared amongst them. Catra knew that it was about her. It was always about her. So, she slowly crept down the stairs, making sure to take the memorized path so as to not make a sound as she neared the bottom, her body pressed against the wall, and her ears alert.
“Sharon, you know how bad this year has been for her. Do you really think putting the stress of bills will help that?” her mother asked, hushed as if she was sharing a secret. But what was being said was no secret. Everyone knew it, she was a terrible mess. C’yra had a hand on her hip as her fingers danced on the counter and her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth. She shook her head. Sharon clicked her tongue and brought the red mug up to her lips as she drank from the glass. She was unamused.
“She’s nearly eighteen, C’yra. And you’re lucky I'm only talking about her beginning to pay bills. She should have begun helping out when she turned the legal age to work. It has been a year. That girl is alive, is she not?” Catra bit down on her tongue at her aunt's harsh words slicked with venom. “She is. So I suggest that you talk to Catrina about moving on, and growing up.”
Catra’s eyes fluttered, and a frown pulled across her lips. She knew that her aunt was right, she knew that her mother knew that too because Catra knew it. It had been a year, and she was alive. And as long as Catra was out of her life, she was okay.
“She got into a car crash with her best friend and ‘ that girl ’ lost her memory. That isn’t something that you can get over in a year. She was a kid- they were both kids .” C’yra cursed. Catra felt her heart quicken a few paces, and it had gotten sickeningly harder to breathe. She felt like she was going to throw up. The bile was slowly creeping up her throat. Catra clamped a hand onto her mouth and broke past the barrier between her and the two women in her kitchen as she ran into the bathroom, her knees smacking against the tile as she used her free hand to lift the porcelain lid. The contents of her stomach emptied in the form of chunks. Her throat burned as she earned more acid than anything. C’yra ran after her, calling after her. “Catra!”
C’yra fell to the floor beside Catra, her hand on her back as she held her daughter's hair back. Catra’s body shook as she retched her empty stomach. Catra’s throat and stomach burned, and she stayed arched over the toilet, her hands holding the bowl. C’yra turned to look at Sharon, Her eyebrows pulled together as she rubbed Catra’s back. Sharon simply raised an eyebrow, shrugged then turned back into the kitchen. C’yra clicked her tongue and stood up, her footsteps echoing through the hallway and suddenly, the sound of a tap running cut through the choking that flowed out of the bathroom. C’yra returned with a glass of water. Hesitantly, Catra pushed herself up from the floor and flushed the spit-up down. She graciously took the glass from C’yra and placed the rim of the cup to her lips.
C’yra was staring at her with a concerned expression and slowly grew uncomfortable as she set the glass down and pushed in front of her mother to grab her toothbrush, avoiding the observing eyes in the mirror. “Catra, when’s the last time you ate something?”
Catra grabbed the toothpaste and squeezed the crest onto the soaked bristles. “Last night.” She answered as she placed her toothbrush into her mouth so that she had an excuse to not talk anymore. It wasn’t a lie, she did eat supper. It wasn’t as if Catra was purposely skipping her meals, more so just couldn't bear the thought of the chewed food slipping down her throat and into her stomach, only to be regurgitated at five in the morning after waking up from the same recurring thought.
C’yra sighed and placed a hand on Catra’s shoulder and this time, Catra looked up for the first time and met her mother's eyes. C’yra was a couple of inches shorter than Catra, and her hair was much more curled whereas Catra’s was frizzy and dead, due to her lack of care as a child and her hatred for hair brushes. Although Catra and C’yra looked similar, they did not share most of the same features as one another. Catra had been forced to sport the same nose and eye shape as her father, whom she had not heard from in over eight years. The only features she and her mother shared were their lips- both full and pouted and the shape of their eyebrows- sharp and structured. Catra quickly dipped her head back down, no longer wanting to stare at her own face as it had begun to turn into someone that wasn’t her as she spits out the toothpaste.
“I know that the one year is coming up,” C’yra announced, breaking the silence. Catra stiffened, and she felt her stomach churn. One year. It had already been a full year when the accident only seemed like it was yesterday. Catra rinsed her brush off and dropped it back into the plastic cup, her eyes flickering up to her mother. “Is that why your night terrors are coming bac-”
Catra turned around. “No.” She cut C’yra off, suddenly growing angry. Her hands were clenched, her nails digging into the skin of her palms and leaving crescent shapes. “I don’t want to talk about it. Okay? That isn’t it. I am fine .” The brunette growled and pushed out of her mother's way and hurried up the stairs, ignoring her mother's protests and shouts for Catra, who ignored her words and slammed her bedroom door shut. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it. Once Catra was in her room, she allowed herself to crumble like a piece of paper.
She ran.
The air was chilled. Not cold, yet not warm either. Just chilled. But she could hardly tell from the way sweat clung to her crisp skin and from the adrenaline that pumped through her body, her blood hot. With aching legs, the girl slowed to a stop, her feet still moving but not going nearly as fast as she once was as she rounded the familiar corner.
Adora Gray's heart was pounding against her ribcage in such a manner, she was sure that if she kept going, it would have burst in her chest. The girl lowered herself down and rested on the side of the road as she waited for her heart rate to settle down before even thinking about continuing the walk to her house. One thing that her surgeons recommended after the accident was not to push herself. She had no idea what the hell Amnesia had to do with running, but she never asked. She was also told she couldn’t play soccer anymore.
Running? She could deal with cutting back. Soccer? She wished the car accident had killed her. After months of hell, she bit down on her tongue and got used to sitting on the benches. Her calves were burning, and her feet felt like they were going to fall off if she tried to stand as the girl rested her forehead on her knees: her hot breath forming a cloud as she exhaled. Then inhaled, then exhaled again to regulate her choppy breathing. The air nipped at her exposed skin, leaving her with her body slowly growing numb as the temperature around her dropped (or maybe, it was always cold and she just hadn't noticed from how long she was running).
Slowly, the blonde placed her hands against the concrete and pushed herself up, her body wavering underneath her weight. Adora shoved her hands into the pockets of her cherry red sweater and began down the street. She looked both ways, before crossing the street as she made her way to the large home. She was immediately greeted by the warmth hugging her body as she kicked off her sneakers, and walked down the hall to the kitchen where her mother was standing beside the counter, a whisk in her left hand and a glass bowl in the other as she whisked what Adora assumed to be eggs.
Adora began unzipping the sweater that clung to her body, shedding it off. “Did we always have big breakfasts every morning or are you trying to impress me?” The blonde joked, allowing a laugh to slip past her lips as Marlena looked up from the bowl, and her father, Randor looked up from his spot, arched over a sizzling pan of bacon. Adora sits down at the kitchen table, her hands placed on top as she twisted her own fingers. Marlena rolls her eyes playfully, and Randor lets out a husky laugh. “Why? Is it working?”
Marlena asked, half joking, but Adora could tell that she wasn’t entirely. Her parents have tried so hard to get her to remember anything, even the smallest detail. And no matter what they did, no matter how many home videos and photo albums they showed her, nothing worked. Nothing clicked in her head and it was so frustrating. All of these people told her all of these stories, expecting her to remember that she was the little girl in these stories but she couldn't, and she didn't. In all of these stories, there was a little blonde girl who had her hair in a high ponytail with mud on her hands and face, smiling wide with a space between her top teeth. A little boy stood beside her, except he had a gap in his bottom teeth and he wasn't nearly as muddy as the little girl. Adora had been told that the little boy was her twin brother, Adam.
But Adora never remembered him. You would think that the one person who could get to her would be her own twin brother. But he wasn't. He could teach her their secret language, handshakes and show her every hiding spot they found together but nothing clicked. Nothing happened and all it did was make her feel frustrated with her own mind to the point where she wanted to scream until her throat bled. Scream until she couldn't anymore, scream until she felt her lungs running out of air and till her vision burned with black spots.
She knows that this is who she is; Adora Gray, eighteen years old, daughter of Marlena and Randor Gray and twin sister of Adam Gray. But who was she? Really? She felt like a chunk of her was missing, yet everyone is telling her differently. “ Your memory is still recovering, it's normal to feel like that .” Her doctor had told her. And who better to trust, than the neurosurgeon who had seven years of schooling plus years of experience?
Her family, and her friends, it’s what they always remind her when she tries to beat herself up over the fact that she can't remember, and when she brings up how she feels like she was missing something, someone. She just can't remember who or what and no one will help her. Maybe it was just part of the process. Maybe it was just all in her head. She knew who her family was, she knew that this was her home and that the third door on the right was her bedroom, her best friends are named Bow and Glimmer and she was a left-handed soccer player who was known as ‘she-ra’ on her team. A stupid nickname. Adora thought Who the hell picked that?
She knew all of this information, yet she knew nothing at all.
Adora was pulled from her thoughts by a white blur running across her eyes. She focused back in and realized that it was in fact a plate of food. Two eggs, and three strips of bacon as well as a small bowl of strawberries by her side. The food looked delicious, and she knew that her parents spent a long time on it, but her entire appetite had vanished the more she thought about her state of affairs. Adora looked up at her parents, who were now seated at the table. Randor on her right, and her mother in front of her.
The empty seat beside her belonged to Adam, who was late as usual. Her father flicked open the newspaper and sipped his coffee. Pure black, no cream or sugar. Her mother was on her iPad, her glasses propped in front of her eyes as she scrolled through her Twitter feed filled with the news and updated statuses from her favourite celebrities and politicians. Adora lifted her fork and stabbed a cut strawberry. She raised the red berry up to her eyesight and stared at it.
The longer she stared, the more her head began to ring. Her vision began to blur, and it was as if she couldn’t look away. She was entranced, her head was stuck and her eyes had stopped working. Everything around the berry had blurred and flashed. When the new light had dimmed, the ringing in her head had quieted down and instead, she heard laughter. It was her mother, and someone she recognized, but didn’t know. She was sitting beside Adora, but the blonde was unable to turn her head to look at who was beside her. All she saw was the crossed legs covered by a pair of ripped, black skinny jeans and a tanned hand resting across her thighs. Her nails were painted black, and she had rings on every finger and bracelets covering her wrist. The girl’s laughter was sweet sounding, and high... She sounded happy, ecstatic even. Something about the scene unfolding before her seemed so familiar, but Adora couldn’t put her finger on it, or the girl.
The sound of the girl's laughter was music to her ears and made her heart swell in her chest. Adora never wanted to zone back to reality. She felt so warm, and safe in her daydream. It felt important, and like it was begging Adora to act on it. It felt so familiar, that it was on the tip of her tongue. Everything around her began to blur, the girl's laughter getting quieter and quieter, almost as if she was fading out and a new voice was fading in.
“Adora?”
Adora blinked, and she was back in her kitchen. The familiar hum of the ceiling fan was loud, almost too loud. A hand was placed on Adora’s shoulder, and the blonde flinched, her body recoiling away from the hand. With wide eyes, she looked up from the berry, and to the eyes staring at her as if she was a wild animal. Her mother had looked up from her tablet, and the crinkles by her eyes were more prominent as she studied Adora with worry. Her father has fingers on his chin, staring at her with sorrow in his eyes. And Adam, the one that the hand belonged to had pulled back. Adora slowly turned her head to look at him. His eyes were soft. He wasn't looking at her with sorrow or worry, instead, he was looking at her with an almost ‘I’m sorry’ look on his face.
Adora dropped the fork, the metal clanking against the white plate as she blinked continuously at it, before turning her attention to the spot beside her where the girl sat in her daydream. It felt all so real. She was sitting beside her, the girl was so close to her that Adora could almost smell the perfume that clung to her clothes but she didn’t know what it smelled like. All she knew was that it was sweet. Like her laughter. Adora didn’t know if she was experiencing a memory, or if it was another daydream. She often got them, but when she asked her parents if it happened, they frowned and shook their heads. Hours later she would hear her mother weeping in her bedroom and her father consoling her. She always got their hopes up, so what was the point in telling them if it was only going to break their hearts more?
“ ‘Dor? You okay?” Adora’s eyes flickered up to Adam, who had now placed his hand on the back of her chair. The blonde swallowed the growing lump in her throat as she opened her mouth to speak, then turned to look at her parents, who were staying silent, almost asking the same questions with their eyes and still movements. Adora quickly gave them a smile and nodded her head, her eyes flickering between the three pairs of eyes surrounding her. “Yeah. Yeah no I’m fine. I just…”
Adora placed her hands on the table, and stood up, her eyes shutting. “I’m sorry. I need to take a shower.” She informed them, shooting a finger behind her towards the stairwell. Adora turned her back and nearly smacked into her chair as she quickly scampered up the stairs, her head down and her arms pressed to her sides. It technically wasn’t a lie. She did have to shower before school. Adora’s body relaxed once she got to her bedroom. She had never felt more comfortable with four white walls than the ones in her bedroom. She still didn’t remember ever decorating her room. Or if she did.
Adora shut her bedroom door, and for the millionth time, began examining every inch of her bedroom as if she had never seen it before. Her bedroom wasn’t much. She had a standard bed with a large white blanket and light purple sheets and pillowcases underneath. There was a white desk on the opposite wall, with a large shelf above it that held a small television set. Beside it was a bookcase. But instead of books, there were trophies lined up. Starting from the age of seven to seventeen. From Gymnastic tournaments to Soccer tournaments. There were medals, trophies, and even a soccer ball signed by her entire team alongside a picture of them.
Besides the few picture frames of her and her family and friends, her walls were empty. It looked as if someone had ripped pictures off of her walls from the paint chips and she wondered if she did that. And if she did, why? What had happened? Adora puffed out her cheeks as she pushed off from her door, and walked over to her dresser. She pulled it open, and grabbed whatever was in the top, before walking over to her bathroom.
Adora grabbed her phone from her pocket and pulled it out. Messages from her friends, her mother and notifications from other apps flooded her feed but she ignored them all and clicked on Spotify. She shuffled her liked songs. ‘Seven’ by Taylor Swift began playing, the music bouncing off of the walls of the small bathroom as Adora set her things down and stripped out of her clothing, before turning on the shower and stepping in, not bothering to wait for the water to warm.
The water streamed down her body, flattening her blonde hair and pressing it to her body as the water trickled down her face. The steam began to rise, fogging up the glass door as Adora reached for her Cherry Blossom body wash and the blue loofa that hung on her soap rack. The blonde quickly washed her body and moved onto her hair. Massaging her scalp, and running her nails gently through her hair before finally rinsing the conditioner out. By the time she was done, her bathroom mirror was fogged over, and the counters were wet from the condensation.
Adora quickly dried herself off and wrapped the towel around her head, before getting dressed. What she had grabbed from her dresser turned out to be a pair of light blue, high-waisted flare jeans and a white long-sleeved top. She got changed into a new set of clothes, blow-dried her hair and put it into a high ponytail, pinning a small bump in the front. She had apparently cut her bangs with her best friend Glimmer and immediately hated the idea. Old Adora anyways. New Adora sort of liked the shorter pieces.
Once she was done getting ready, Adora grabbed her phone and shut off the music. The time was only 8:17 AM, but Glimmer and Bow were to pick her and Adam up soon. The blonde blew air into her cheeks and exited her bathroom and jumped onto her bed to scroll through Instagram for the time being.
Catra trudged down the hallway, her hands shoved deep into the green, flannel jacket that she wore draped over her body.
Her headphones were loud in her ears, ‘Kiss with a Fist’ by Florence + The Machine playing into her ears. As the song switched, Catra pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the time. It was only 8:41, and class started in fifteen minutes. Catra shoved the cracked device back into her pocket and made a sharp right toward the row of lockers pressed against the walls.
She twisted her combination to the lock and pulled it open with a click. Her locker was filled to the brim with loose papers, her binders and books, as well as water bottles she had forgotten to take home. Over and over again. She dipped into the stuffed locker and pulled out the red binder as well as her ‘Hamlet’ book. She had English, which wasn’t so bad. Her teacher, Netossa Rotullë, wasn’t so bad. She wasn’t as strict as some of the teachers that taught at Bright Moon, and her wife, Spinnerella was also Catra’s Guidance Counselor so perhaps there was a conflict of interest. But Catra didn’t care, she actually liked being in English this time around.
Walking down the halls of Bright Moon High was like walking down the street in Los Angeles. Couples making out, Friend groups gossiping, and the halls were never empty. And the lurking eyes and whispers never seemed to stop. Catra avoided looking anywhere but the ground. She could tell the surrounding bodies were staring at her, maybe even whispering. No one talked about the accident directly anymore, but there were still a few who glared at the brunette and put filthy words in her name.
Catra twisted her body, slipping through the cracks in the hall as she turned into her English class where Netossa was writing things on the whiteboard, and Spinnerella was sitting on her desk. They were laughing and smiling but stopped once the taps of Catra’s shoes interrupted them. They turned towards the door, where Catra stood. She gave them an awkward smile and a small wave as she began to dart toward the back of the class where she sat. But, she was stopped by a voice calling after her.
“Catra!” She turned around to spot Spinnerella walking towards her. The first thing about the woman that she noticed was that her purple hair was now accessorized with lighter strands of purple. Catra pulled out her earbuds and hid them in her pocket. “How are you feeling? How was your weekend?” she asked as Catra set her binder down to her desk, and her bag to the ground. She shrugged. “ ‘t was okay. Didn’t do much,” she said as Spinnerella nodded her head.
“And you ?”
Catra avoided eye contact just like how she wished she could avoid the question. Catra knew why she was asking, and she wasn’t going to bite. Everyone knew that the one year was coming up, even people who didn’t know her.
“Yeah.” Catra looked up at her and gave her a smile. “Yeah, I'm okay. Still got a beating heart.” She tried to joke, but it did not succeed as Spinnerella only nodded and gave her an almost sad look. Catra felt awkward, and she knew that Spinnerella knew that she was lying. After seeing her for almost two years, the guidance counsellors start to pick up on your tells. But, Spinnerella did not push on the matter and Catra was thankful for that.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch?” She asked, and Catra gave her a confirming nod and smile. The purple-haired woman returned it and went to turn back to her wife, placing a kiss on her cheek before bidding her goodbye. She always saw Spinnerella on Tuesday during lunch, and sometimes she would give her an excused absence to fourth period if she felt it was necessary. Catra didn’t hate talking to Spinnerella. The woman was actually extremely kind and always listened to her, and even gave her chocolate bars on her bad days. The point was, Catra wasn’t so embarrassed to be seeing her and she was much more open with her. Especially after she started to open up to Catra too. Maybe it was because she trusted Catra, or maybe it was because she just wanted Catra to open up. Either way, the small gesture earned her bonus points.
Catra sat at her desk and puffed out her cheeks as she leant back in the seat, and turned her gaze to the window. Catra had her knee propped up, the bone pressing against the wood of the desk, but she didn’t bother to move it. Instead, she watched the raindrops slide down the window. Catra plagued a race on the two mentally rooting for the one on her right to win, but the left took a splat to the window sill first. Catra frowned. The stupid little game had been made up by her and a long-ago friend. Together, the two of them would bet on which raindrop would win the race. It didn’t matter where they were; either in the classroom or on a family road trip together. That was how they passed the time. Catra missed it. As stupid as it seemed, she missed being dumb with her. She missed-
“Adora!”
A voice shrieked, and Catra’s head shot up. She hadn’t even noticed that the bell had rung, nor had she noticed the class now filled with students. In the doorway, stood two girls and a boy with rain drenching their bodies. The boy, who she had recognized from her science class, was wearing a long, dark gray coat as well as a pair of denim jeans and an orange cropped shirt. The much shorter girl stood beside him, her face was pulled into a crinkle as she desperately tried to fix her short and dampened strands of pink and purple hair.
She wore an obnoxiously bright pink dress, with a purple knitted sweater with one button in the middle done up. She smacked the girl next to her, almost in annoyance and Catra’s heart sputtered. And there she stood, so beautiful and smiling brightly. Catra had always loved Adora’s smile. She had a dimple that protruded on the left side of her face, and she got a small wrinkle in the outer corners of her eyes. The blonde wore a pair of light flare jeans, a white undershirt and a cherry red sweater with cigarette burns in the pockets. Catra’s eyes flickered and she bit down on her tongue. She recognized the sweater. And that was because it was her sweater. She had left it at Adora’s house one night in the tenth grade, and she never got it back. The sleeves of the sweater always hung off of her hands as it was far too big for her, but it fit Adora perfectly. And she looked beautiful in it. Catra pulled her gaze away from the blonde girl, who was giggling with her new best friends as they walked down the aisles between the desks, and sat down in their designated spots.
Adora was only an aisle away from her, and from there Catra could smell the Vanilla Bean Sugar perfume that she used. It was always her favourite. Adora had loved it so much that whenever they were in the ‘Lush’ store at the mall, she always went to grab it. So naturally, Catra had to get it for the blonde. Another memory gone. She probably thinks Glimmer bought it for her, Catra thought bitterly. The brunette crossed her arms over her knee and turned her head away.
“Tragedy provoked madness. Madness provokes tragedy. We see this in the Shakespeare play ‘Hamlet’ and since we just finished the screenplay, this should be an easy question.” Netossa started, glancing around the classroom. “So, what is the main message in ‘Hamlet’?” Netossa picked up the red-covered book and held it up to show the class. Most of the students stayed silent, not wanting to answer. Catra couldn't blame them. She didn’t want to answer either.
“Okay come on guys, we just had the test and this was the big question.” Netossa let out a laugh as she placed her hands on her hips and stared at the students. “Don’t make me randomly pick because I know all of you know this.” She pointed at them with the book, before a hand was raised, and a name was called. Catra looked up, as Netossa spoke. “Adora. Thank you for speaking up. What do you think the main message or key theme would be?”
Catra turned her head to the right and watched Adora. She was leaning forwards in her seat as she fiddled with her fingers and bounced her knee. Her blonde hair was damp, small strands pulled from her ponytail and falling to the sides of her face. Her jaw was clenching and unclenching, almost as if she was nervous. of course, she was nervous. The idiot had never been good with public speaking. Catra thought. “I think that one of the key themes is that indecision can lead to personal tragedy.” She answered almost flawlessly as if she believed it in her bones. Netossa nodded. “Okay. Elaborate on that.”
And that was where shit hit the fan. Adora slowly leant back in her seat, her mouth opens a bit as she was not expecting there to be more to the question. The girl was freezing up, and Catra could see the fear swimming around in her eyes as she turned to her friends for help, but they too stayed silent. Some friends. Catra bit down on her tongue, before dropping her knee and leaning forwards.
“Hamlet's inability to take a decisive course of action ultimately resulted in many of the characters dying, including himself. If he didn’t wait to kill Claudius and use the chance he had to do so, he wouldn’t have gotten his mother, Ophelia and how many others killed.” Catra answered, drawing the attention from Adora to the brunette. Catra’s eyes flickered to Adora, who was already staring at her, Catra bit down on the inside of her cheek as she quickly let her head drop. “But in the end, if Hamlet did do so, then he would have been killed for treason. For killing a king.” Netossa added on, and Catra shrugged. “At least he would have gotten vengeance for his father. And he wouldn't have killed his mother, supposed wife and many innocents.” The answer was simple, and Catra watched Netossa’s eyes shimmer as she smiled at her.
“Very good. Thank you, Catra. Was that the point you were making, Adora?” Netossa asked, causing Adora to reel from her thoughts and turn to Netossa. The blonde gave her a tight-lipped smile and nodded her head.
“Yeah. Spot on.”
For the rest of the class, Adora had been taking glances at the girl who sat only a row away. When she answered the teacher's question, she wasn’t expecting a follow-up. And she had only answered because Bow and Glimmer had encouraged her to. After getting the nod of approval, Adora was at ease. Until she asked her to explain. Her mind had short-circuited, and she had no clue what to say next. She couldn’t elaborate. She didn’t think that far ahead. Her stuttering had caused her heart to begin beating faster and she felt her cheeks grow hot at all the peering eyes. Until Catra had spoken up.
Adora was taken aback, as it was one of the first times she had heard Catra talk in class. Her voice was not as raspy as Adora had thought of it to be. Instead, it was almost sweet sounding with a slight rasp to it. Adora found herself liking the sound and how she had a slight lisp that clung to her words. She thought that it was cute. She thought she was cute. But the first thing Adora had noticed about Catra was her eyes. One was blue, with hints of green in them and the other was a golden amber color. Both are strikingly beautiful and both are so uniquely different. Her hair was flat against her back and across her shoulders, small curls poking through and lying against her tan and freckled cheek. Catra’s hand was resting against her face as she leant in it, her eyes fluttering shut and it was then that Adora had noticed the black painted nails and rings. Much like the one in her daydream. But the rings weren’t the same so maybe, it was a coincidence. A damn close one.
Catra felt a pair of eyes staring at her. Scowling, the brunette lifted her head and gazed around the classroom, before locking eyes with a pair of gray-blue. Adora had been staring at Catra, her eyes on Catra’s hand, before noticing that the brunette had moved and was now too, staring at her. Adora’s face flushed and burned a bright red as she quickly looked away, a small smile struggling to be hidden as she brought a hand up and scratched her temple, attempting to hide her face. Catra snapped her eyes away from her and rolled her eyes. She tried not to smile, and she tried not to let her eyes wander back to the blonde. She and Adora weren't friends anymore. And Adora didn’t even recognize who she was. She completely forgot about her. And that seemed to be the best damn thing to happen to her. So, Catra shoved her earbuds in her ears and blasted her music as she avoided Adora completely.
The class ended in an hour. She could wait that long and then, she didn’t have to see Adora again until the last period. She had done it every day since the accident, one day with eye contact and informal communication wasn’t going to throw her off track. She had one goal in mind. Get through her classes, go to the diner, work her shifts, and then go home to wallow in self-pity. Easy, right?