It's Friday. Last period. And I'm counting down the minutes till I can finally be out of this building. It's strange because I'm not someone who despises school though I'm not someone who rejoices at the idea of being there. I like learning, I like knowing and investigating the unknown but right now I feel queasy and sick, but I don't want to complain. All day my stomach has been acting weird and I've been sick twice. Nice, I know right?
I stretch my legs out in front of me and sift down in my seat, tapping my pencil against the side of the desk. I can't focus of the documentary we are watching because my mind is solely settled on illness. I turn around to look at Peter and he's hunched over his desk with a pencil in hand, attacking the paper at a ferocious speed. My stomach flutters and I smile. Wow wrong move. Crap. I'm going to be sick. Placing a hand over my mouth, I stand up abruptly sending my chair onto its side. I run out the classroom heading to the bathroom and as I run I hear my name called out several times.
After couple minutes, I stand up and place my hands on the sides of the sink and Peter is pushing past a girl in our class, telling her she can go back. He's at my side in an instant, brushing a hand across my forehead.
"Hey. How you feeling?" he asks and his brows furrow in the middle.
I shrug and slump my shoulders.
Peter tries to pull me towards him but I lay a hand on his chest.
"Firstly, what are you doing in the girls bathroom." I say, amused.
"My girlfriend ran out the lesson."
"And secondly, my breath probably stinks." I drop my hand and Peter produces and water bottle from his jacket pocket.
I thank him before chugging down several gulps and popping a mint in my mouth.
Peter flat out told me that we were not going to the party tonight. It's Cecelia's (she goes to our school) birthday and she has rented out a nightclub. Shocker I know. Me, Gwen Stacy wanting to go to a nightclub, especially when I have not been feeling at all good today. But I need something to get my mind off my dad. My breakdown in the library with Peter last week lifted a great weight off my shoulders and I needed that, the pain is still buzzy beneath my skin though not so evident in all the hours of the day.
I pull open the door of my closet and run my fingers along the countless number of dresses, ranging from long-sleeved to no sleeves, floor length to thighs and bright to dark. Dresses are like everyday wear for me so I turn to my skirts, pick out a denim circle-skirt and slip on some tights, followed by the skirt and then a simple short-sleeved t-shirt. I skip out of the bathroom and jump onto my bed where Peter has situated himself.
"I can't believe you want to go to a party," Peter shakes his head in disbelief. "And while you're sick. I have underestimated you, Miss Stacy. You. Are. Crazy."
"I'm feeling bright and full of life." I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
"Yeah yeah."
"Soooooo can we go?" I turn to look at him. And of course with my luck, I am suddenly struck with a banging headache, I feel the blood pumping in my ears, hot and furious. Red spots appear in my line of vision and my heart jumps into my throat at an increasing speed. I'm in full panic overload. I can't see and I try to reach the bathroom as my stomach roars in pain. I don't know how I hear a noise over the loud thumping of my heart and the hammering in my head, but I do. It's the sound of a cat being strangled and I look around to try and find it, to scream for it to stop when I realize that it is me. I am the strangled cat and the darkness takes me.
The soft touch of water wakes me; the pitter-patter of rain against stones. My eyelids fill heavy against the weight of-of...what is it? I manage to peel one open and am meet with the blaring shine of a light. I peel the other eye open slowly and blink a few times before investigating my surroundings. Aha. I'm in the bathroom. I look down. I'm in the bath, soaked through and through by the tub full of water. I sift down further into the tub and dunk my head under, relaxing there for a few seconds before resurfacing. I brush my hair behind my ears and there is Peter sitting on the side of the bathtub. I give him a weak smile.
"I'm sorry," I blurt out as my cheeks heat up and shame consumes me. I plant my face in my hands.
A feather touch of fingers pry my hands from my face and I turn my eyes downward, the thought of seeing disappointment or even embarrassment on his face is too much for me.
"Look at me." Peter says. His voice is soft and....concerned?
I shake my head.
"Please, Gwen. Look at me."
Peter places two fingers beneath my chin and tilts it up so I'm looking into his eyes. And I'm surprised. No disappointment lingers in his eyes or upon his face. No disgust either.
"Hey," a small smile surfaces on his face. "What's up?"
I shrug again. "I-I'm..." I shake my head. "I'm embarrassed."
He frowns and then asks, "Why?"
"Because I..." because I'm an idiot. "I'm just embarrassed."
He studies my face but does not reply. I look down at myself and sigh.
I stand up and am instantly hit with the blast of cold air, as one always feels when getting out of the bath or shower. Peter stands back and turns around. I wrap my arms around myself and Peter is there with a towel spread out between both of his hands.
I step out of the bath and he wraps it around my shoulders then snakes an arm around my waist and guides me to the bed. I sit down on the edge and Peter's fingers find the hem of my soaked through white shirt and has me lift up my arms so he can take it off, he repeats this with my tights and skirt till I am left in my underwear. We are both silent the whole time. I feel tears well up in my eyes and I look down.
This...what he is doing for me sparks something deep inside me, him taking care of me like I'm all pieces of broken glass, if he takes hold of a hand or foot too hard, a piece of me will shatter.
Beads of water drip from my hair to my skin, which I tie up into a knot as Peter finds my pajamas. My tears have a mind of their own because they break through the barricade and seep down my cheeks; I sniff and shiver to divert Peter's eyes from my face.
He crouches down at my feet and gestures for me to put my feet into the legs of a pair of sweatpants. I do so and move with him as they slid up my thighs and sit at my hips. Next he slips a sweatshirt over my head and I slip my arms through the sleeves. He helps to pull my hair through and untied the knot, letting my hair fall in front of my face before he's pushing it back behind my ear and returns to crouching at my feet and I finally look him in the eyes.
"Thank you." I whisper, reaching a hand out I cup his cheek and he turns his face into my hand.
