● qυorra neverѕea ●

I pinch my arm to stay awake, my nails sharp enough to draw blood. My eyes focus on Slater at the front of the class as he gestures, and I take notes as he explains.

"Alright," Slater says after he is done, "You will be sorted into groups to present off these topics. This contributes to a big portion of your overall grade so I advise you to start early."

A familiar dread gathers in my chest at the insulting words 'group project'. My gaze scans the room for potential members of my group but it soon snaps back to the front of the room as Slater begins to talk again.

"I will be assigning the groups and you will be marked as a group so make sure you pull your own weight. Many degrees involve some sort of teamwork-building activites and English is no exception. Reorganise yourselves once I read out your groups," he continues as I heave a sigh and slump in my seat, already feeling more exhausted than I did ten minutes ago.

As he reads off a pre-made list (as expected, judging by his impeccable organisational skills), I zone out. The hollowness inside of me is eating me from the inside out. It's no longer hunger, it's more a desperate desire for something... more. The tedious routine of every passing day is boring my creativity like a student forced to watch yet another documentary on penguins.

I can't stand it.

"Group five is Miss Neversea, Miss Jesse Klein, Miss Jameson, Mr Adams, and Miss Howler. Group six is Mr Damon, Miss Georges, Mr Lincoln, and Miss Hannah Klein. Group..."

My lips part as he reads off my group. The room stirs as individuals stand up and find new seats in the lecture hall, closer to the members of their group. I continue to gape as Martha-May and two of her cronies stalk over to me, one of them the spitting image of my only close friend.

"Oh god," Hannah mutters beside me, as they march up to us.

"Looks like we're grouped together, Neversea," Martha-Moody-Margret sneers unkindly as I cross my arms and roll my eyes, too tired to give a snarky retort.

Her friends giggle and Hannah looks away, uninterested as Jesse smirks. They clearly have a dysfunctional relationship despite being twins, but with how contrasting their personalities are (one of them being an angel, and one a close relative of the devil), I'm not surprised.

"Oh, yay," I respond flatly, leaning onto my desk, getting fed up with their bullshit already.

As Slater addresses everyone again, we all find seats and hush up. I remain in my position of exasperation, wondering if he did this in purpose. I glance over at Hannah's group and notice Grant sitting next to her, eyes already fixed onto me heatedly.

I snap my gaze away, heart screaming in my chest.

"Alright, you are all assigned different topics. Presentations will start next week so you have a lot of work to do outside of class. Keep those grades up," Slater advises, before walking around the room to hand out slips of paper with our specific tasks.

Beside me, Martha-Muesli chatters away with her unbearable sidekicks - Clara and Jesse - and the last member of our group, Joseph Adams, shuffles closer to me in his seat.

"Hey," he greets, as I look up and analyse his short, dirty blonde hair and light brown eyes.

I nod in response, ignoring Slater's look as he walks past and hands me the slip. Without lingering my gaze on his searching eyes, I go to grab the paper, but a sharp-nailed hand beats me to it.

"Thank you, sir," Martha-May-She-Die-Soon-Please flutters her eyelashes flirtatiously, leaning up in her seat for Slater to get a good view of her excessive body.

I can't help but roll my eyes and scowl. Slater realises and leaves without a word back, and I repress a snigger at her rejection.

"Rejected, much?" I snarl at her mockingly, as she flushes a red and narrows her gaze at me.

With a huff, she slams the slip of paper down onto my desk, "Not like you've gotten any closer."

"Lying is not good for you, Marth," I brush off her comment nonchalantly, pretending to pick at my nails as she shoots me a suspicious look.

"Just 'cause you share a room with him, doesn't mean you're any closer to him than I am. Sir acknowledges me more than you, it's no surprise you're jealous," she sneers as I feel my blood boil.

My weariness is swept off its feet by anger as I place my hands down on the back of my chair and the desk to lean towards her threateningly.

"Has he seen you naked?" I ask, without thinking.

Her eyes widen.

I feel mine widen as well as I scramble back down to my original position and shut up.

Crap.

Martha-May splutters out a disbelieving response, "Well, n-now you're just making up shit."

The room falls into a silence as soon as she finishes her sentence.

"Miss Jameson - language. See me at the end of the lecture," Slater's distinct tone rips through the silence.

Unable to believe her minor punishment that I receive after every lecture (except this one, apparently), Martha-May gapes at him, "Did you not even hear what this bitch just told me?"

"Excuse your language, Miss Jameson. Another strike and you are leaving this room," he replies calmly, the concrete look on his face daring her to challenge him again.

"B-but she just said," she stumbles over her words like a drunk lightweight, "you've seen-"

My eyes bulge out of their sockets as I bolt up, chair screeching back unpleasantly, and slap a hand over her mouth.

Instantly, three things happen.

One: Martha-May tears my hands off her face and screams, as if she was just burnt with hot oil.

Two: I fall back in my chair with force of her movement and my recent weakness and throw my head into the back of the chair in the exact spot where I hit it in the shower.

And three:

"Q- Miss Neversea! Out, now!" Slater shoots me a steely look as I grasp the back of my head, feeling blood rush to the site of impact.

A string of curses leaves me, and I can barely hear his voice as the pain ricochets off every cell in my body and worsens with every passing second.

My eyes are shut time as I try to pull my breathing into check, the agony ripping through me like a knife as the room escalates to a mutual gasp before settling into a pin-drop silence.

Even Martha-May shuts up.

I blink and darkness pools around me.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

By the time I have a solid grip on reality, I'm covered in the silky duvet of my bed. The dorm is silent.

Everything rushes back to me and a splitting headache cuts through my brief moment of comfort.

"Fuck," I swear, clutching the back of my head.

It feels scalding hot, but I don't feel any blood. Nonetheless, it can't have been good to injure an already-injured area further. Especially on my head.

I force myself to sit up, the duvet falling and exposing me to cold air of the room. My head throbs as I peek open one eye and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

I have so much work to catch up on.

I almost throw up the non-existent contents of my stomach at the thought of falling behind. Things have been going really well lately, and my grades are up a whole level. If I keep this up, I'll reach the top in no time.

I can't fall behind.

I drag myself to my desk and collapse into the seat, forcing both eyes open and shaking my head, as if the lingering pulsing sensation in my skull would just fade that easily.

I pick up a pen and open the booklet to the last few pages - the only ones I have left to do.

You can't fall behind, Quorra, I remind myself as my injury pleads for me to return to bed and succumb to sleep.

"No," I resist aloud, hoping that hearing myself would strengthen my decision.

I lean over the page and skim the task, my concussion the last thing on my mind as I let myself become consumed in work.

Four hours pass quicker than you'd think.

◈ѕlaтer нarтley◈

"You can leave now," I announce, as a two hour lecture finally ends.

My eyes flit over to Martha-May and where Quorra usually sits.

I took her upstairs after she hit her head, but something tells me she was too stubborn to stay in bed and rest.

Students file out in a bundle of unintelligent chatter as I sit behind my desk and sigh, running my hand through my hair to reposition it in its usual position on my head. I stack the documents on my desk in piles for each of my classes and look up as Martha-May strides over, heels clacking away on the floor.

I remain a neutral expression as I stand up and cross my arms.

"If you do not control your language, I will not hesitate to get you expelled from this class. I do not teach delinquents, Miss Jameson," I state seriously as a shocked expression replaces her usual one.

"You never say that to other students, what the-" she cuts herself off and harrumphs, nodding curtly through her anger, "Fine."

I quirk an eyebrow, unimpressed, "I hold you to the same standard that I hold everyone else to. I expect nothing more or less from you; do you understand me?"

She mutters something under her breath.

"I suggest you speak up before you dig yourself a deeper hole," I warn, my respect for her spiralling downhill.

"I said," she repeats, seething, "not everyone."

I narrow my eyes at her. A student has never been so disrespectful to me before.

She turns to walk away, making a beeline for the door as I clear my throat.

"Don't I dismiss you, Miss Jameson? You can leave after you tell me what you and Qu- Miss Neversea were talking about."

I catch myself for the second time today, wondering if I should revert back to calling her Miss Neversea both in and outside of lectures to stop me slipping up.

At that, Martha-May turns around, a smirk plastered across her face as she replies in a sickly-sweet tone, "Absolutely."

She walks back down towards me.

"She was just lying, as usual. I was trying to stop her because lying is a bad habit to have," she says, reaching my desk and leaning over it towards me.

I step back and raise an eyebrow at the action, "What did she lie about? I would prefer if you hurry this up, I have work to do."

With a giggle, she continues, "She said that you've seen each other," she leans impossibly closer as I start to wonder if she'll just topple off the desk, "naked."

I blink.

Rendered speechless, I decide to be very careful with my phrasing.

"We haven't both."

That was not what I wanted to say.

"Okay, you may leave now," I state, trying to keep a calm and collected exterior as her jaws drops to the centre of the Earth.

I repeat myself.

When she still doesn't move an inch, I grab my blazer and suitcase, and walk out, closing my eyes briefly in regret.  I really shouldn't have said that.

The whole journey back to my doem, I think of all the ways I could have phrased that, but none of them seem any less shocking. I brush off the moment as I scan my card and open the door, sighing at myself with a shake of my head.

I just can't-

My eyes zero in on an unmoving person slumped at the desk.

Quorra.