● qυorra neverѕea ●

Elena's wailing is starting to get to me.

She has the most gorgeous, warm, innocent eyes and a toothless smile that can manipulate her father into doing the most absurd things, but dear god does she cry like a banshee.

The only plus to this is that she's keeping Lara and Bennett busy so they can't come upstairs and ask me how I am. Because, to be honest, I don't know what to reply.

I've decided that my emotions are split into the following components: relief, pride, and anxiety.

Relief because the continuous, unchanging, mundane routine of eat, study, sleep is finally broken.
Pride because I've gone from hard work achieving nothing to hard work achieving everything.
And anxiety - because, well, what the fuck do I do now?

I roll over to stare at the cream ceiling of Lara's guest bedroom, splaying out like a starfish and soaking in the three seconds of silence between the end of one crying tantrum and the start of anoth-

There we go.

"Honey, what does she want? I'm so confused," I hear Bennett's muffled voice exclaim nervously, barely audible over Elena's wails.

"God, I don't know! At this point I think she's just crying for fun!"

I block out the frenzy ensuing downstairs and close my eyes, trying to find peace in my own company.

A few moments ago, I got a text.

Congratulations.

-Mum and dad.

It's left me speechless for a good fifteen minutes now. Opening the message for the umpteenth time, I blink at the screen, trying to read between the lines of the four-word text. Honestly, it shocks me that they even remembered I graduated today. Even more honestly, I don't think I've registered that I've graduated.

Thanks?

I hesitate, finger hovering over the send button.

I replace the question mark with a full stop.

Wait.

Does that look too harsh? The full stop carries a huge sense of finality.

I swap out the full stop for a smiley face, before deciding that it is too friendly and sending the text without any punctuation at all.

Thanks

Wait, was I meant to sign off? 'Your daughter'. 'A failure'. 'Disappointment'. None of those really seem to capture the moment correctly.

I groan, wanting to punch something.

How decayed must our relationship be for me to question what I text them back? How many years of damage have we suffered through? I sigh. Maybe things could get better. God, I want things to get better between us. I just don't think they ever can - you can't just erase years of miscommunication and disagreement with a couple hugs and an 'I love you'.

Which I doubt they'd say anyway.

But people do change. Just look at Martha-May-Actually-Be-Decent-Now. I don't even want to give her obscene nicknames anymore.

Even I've changed. So why have I convinced myself that my parents can't?

The quietude of the room is interrupted moments later by a buzzing. I look down at my phone, seeing an incoming call from Lucas. Without a second's hesitation, I press 'answer' and bring my phone up to my ear, grateful for a distraction from both the ruckus downstairs and the confusion of my parental relationship.

"Hey, Lucas," I address, trying to add some strength into my tone.

Shuffling and quiet whispers that I can't quite make out plague the other end of the line for a while, before I hear the thudding of footsteps and uneven breathing, followed by the slam of a door. Did Lucas just lock himself into a room? Knocking and a muffled voice are distantly audible as Lucas greets me back.

"Good afternoon, m'lady," Lucas chirps, "What's up, boo?"

I look left and right, eyebrow disappearing in my hairline as I remove the phone from my ear to check the caller.

After a while, I reply, "M'lady? And Lucas, you called me first. Did you really only phone to ask me what is up? The answer is the ceiling."

"Actually, I was just trying to gradually move us into a conversation, but whatever. CONGRATULATIONS,  NEVERSEA!" he screams into the phone.

Luckily, I predict his yelling before it happens and move the phone away from my ear, saving my ear drums. Once a solid five seconds have passed, I press the device back to my ear, breaking out in a contagious smile.

"Thanks, Lucas," I laugh, "Does this bring you back a couple decades to when you graduated?"

I can hear his scowl, "I'm not even five years older than you, woman. Keep up the insults and my spoon and I will make sure you Neversea again."

Silence.

"OH MY GOD. AHAHAHA. DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE. AHAHAHA."

I resume a flat look.

"I'm going to hang up," I announce, thumb hovering over the 'end call' button.

His laughter is cut off instantly, "WAIT! Uh, are you going to Martha's party tonight?"

I stop.

"What? How do you know about that?" I ask, thoroughly suspicious of him, especially after Hannah's interest in the topic earlier today.

His response comes across a millisecond too fast, and a tad bit too defensively.

"I mean, Hannah and I have gotten pretty close over the past two years. If you catch my drift. I'll spare you the details because she might castrate me if I reveal how she likes the missionary posi-"

"OKAY, SO the answer is no. I'm not going," I interrupt quickly, cringing at his oversharing nature, "But you and Hannah should go. I'm sure you'll have a great time."

I try to ignore how suggestive my last sentence was in the context of what he was talking about, and turn over onto my stomach like a tanning beachgoer.

Lucas makes a whiny puppy sound like the mature adult he is, but stays on topic.

"Please come as well. I haven't seen you in ages. Seriously, can you name the last time we met up?"

I pause and think.

...I really can't.

Guilt consumes me whole.

"I'm sorry, Lucas. I've been so overwhelmed with studying and tests upon tests lately since it was the final stretch before graduation. I didn't mean to ignore you or make you feel underappreciated," I apologise, feeling as if I just stepped on an unsuspecting snail.

He sniffs, a fake sound that still manages to make me feel worse.

"It's okay. You can make it up to me though," he perks up like a sunflower towards the sun, "Come to Martha's party."

There's no way I can refuse now.

Feeling the last of my resolve dissipate, I exhale, "Okay. I will."

With way too much childlike excitement, he cheers, "Can't wait to see you there, Neversea! Hannah'll text you the details, yeah?"

He hangs up immediately, leaving me momentarily stunned. Since when was it so easy to sway my decisions?

"You've grown weak, Quorra," I mutter to myself, sighing as my phone vibrates moments later.

Come round to Lucas' in an hour - I have some dresses here.
Glad you decided to come!

-Hannah

Huh. Guess news travels fast.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

◈ѕlaтer нarтley◈

"Dr. Hartley, we've got a final patient you need to check in room 20A," Mandy walks past, touching my arm lightly.

I nod without looking up from my clipboard, scribbling down a signature at the bottom and passing it to Jenna behind the counter, "Can you make sure that gets to Mrs Hudgens? Thank you."

Without waiting for a reply, I'm off to room 20A, smiling politely at a few children sitting down in the hospital waiting room who are staring me down with big eyes. I stride down the corridor, taking a right turn and trying to avoid a nurse who wheels an IV pole into a private room.

Over the past few months, I've gotten used to the constant smell of disinfectant and the signature scent of the disposable blue gloves every doctor wears in Bellavue General Hospital. I work day in and day out and had to quit my job down at the cafe (which I was actually starting to enjoy as a side hobby), pursuing white halls and operating theatres over roasted coffee and blueberry muffins.

This has always been my dream. And now I'm living it.

I eventually make my way down to room 20A, walking in with a warm smile and concealing my fatigue from the endless stream of patients I have tended to today.

"Hello, Miss Adams," I greet, picking up the clipboard slotted into the front of the hospitable bed, "How are you feeling?"

The checkup passes within half an hour, and, promising her some answers to her sudden illness by tomorrow, I finally leave.

An hour later than I anticipated, I finish the day's work and get into my car, switching on my phone to a flood of messages.

Of course, all of them are from Lucas. He's probably assuming that I'm quitting on our home decor meeting.

Sparing myself having to text him back, I slide across a missed call to call him back, bringing my phone up to my ear

"Hey, Lucas. Wor-" I attempt, but get interrupted.

"Slater! Finally! Where are you, man? We have some serious discussions to do about th-" he suddenly pauses, "home decor. Yes, home decor."

I hear harsh whispering in the background, followed by the sound of a slap and a, "Lucas!"

Raise an eyebrow, I decide not the question the relationship of my best friend and my former student.

"Right, well anyway, I'll be there in fifteen. I didn't realise our home decor discussions had such a tight time constraint. I'll see you soon."

He stutters out a string of incomprehensible and intriguing excuses before we say our goodbyes and hang up.

I start my car after fastening my seatbelt, backing out of the hospital parking lot and murmuring under my breath, "Strange child."

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

● qυorra neverѕea ●

"Really?" I frown, looking at the teal dress again, "You think the white one looks better?"

Hannah stands up beside me and we fall into a mutual silence as we observe the dresses side by side.

"Yeah. It's look nicer with the gold in your eyeshadow than the teal will," she advises.

"Maybe you should've done my makeup after I chose a dress."

We both realise the sensible nature of my words.

"Oh," she states, "That would have been smart."

I laugh at her expression, resting a hand on her shoulder, "We only just graduated. Surely all your smarts haven't faded yet?"

All of a sudden, Lucas interrupts, barging in without so much as a knock. Both of us turn around with an offended 'hey!' but he brushes us aside.

"Can you guys be ready in fifteen?" he asks, looking somewhat stressed.

I look over at Hannah, who seems to be having a telepathic conversation with her boyfriend's eyebrows. Her eyes widen and she rushes out a, "Ah-um.. Uh, yeah, sure!"

"What? Fifteen minutes? It's no formal party; we don't need to be there right when it starts," I question as Lucas gives her an awkward thumbs up before striding out, "You guys have been acting strange ever since I came here. Is everything alright between you two?"

Hannah stops unzipping the white flowy dress in her hands, giving me a reassuring nod, "Yes, I promise. I love the goofy guy and he loves me. It's just so strange - a good strange - to have you here."

My eyes only narrow further.

"You literally saw me less than five hours ago, Hannah."

She gesticulates dismissively, "Details, details. Hey, can you just try this white one on again?"

As she hands me the cold-shoulder, V-neckline, ruffle-hemmed dress, I feel the soft material in my hands. It's a gorgeous dress, and the fabric belt forming a bow at it's side will cinch in my waist perfectly, but I'm still partial to the longer, teal dress lying on the bed. To keep to the unexplained, 15-minute limitation that's been placed on us, I decide to comply and let Hannah's odd behaviour slip.

"Okay, fine," I agree as she turns around.

I slip off the satin number that I gave an immediate 'no' to earlier, and step into the white dress. Its uneven, frilled, bottom edge cuts off in a diagonal, the shortest edge sitting just above my knee.

"Maybe we should just go with this one?" I suggest, as she turns back around and analyses it, "It is nice and besides, this isn't a wedding or anything. I don't plan to stay more than an hour or two."

Smiling, she nods in agreement, "Okay then. I'm going to go put on my dress now. Think you can manage finding some complementary shoes?"

Within the next ten minutes, we're sliding our shoes on and putting in earrings.

"God, I didn't think this much effort was needed for a goddamn post-post-graduation-party party," I laugh at the sheer unnecessary nature of this whole event.

Popping in second hoop earring, Hannah returns my smile, "Me neither. You look beautiful by the way. Love the shoes."

I look down at the beige, peep-toe heels that sit just above my ankles. I had chosen them earlier to match with my gold eyeshadow, even though I know I will be complaining by the end of the night. Flats just would not have cut it for this occasion.

"Thank you," I return appreciatively, "You look ten times better though. I didn't know you knew how to wear anything else other than business-casual clothing."

There had been a solid week last year where I was convinced she slept in business-casual attire too, but if that idea hasn't already been eradicated, the sight of her in a lacy, plum dress that reveals most of her back blows it out of the water.

"Seriously, you look hot," I compliment, wishing I had her confidence, "I'd never guess that you'd wear a dress like that."

She blushes slightly at that, but thanks me genuinely.

"I don't know," she confesses as she steps into a pair of strappy silver heels, "I felt like dressing up for Lucas since I'm hardly ever out of my modest, work-appropriate clothes."

I hold my hands up, "I'm all for this new Hannah. Should we get going?"

Just then, I hear the ring of the doorbell.

"Oh, you expecting someone else too?" I ask, distractedly repositioning a tendril of loosely-curled hair that obscures my vision.

Hannah freezes up like water in an ice cube tray.

"Okay, I'm going to need you to be completely calm for the next few minutes, Quorra," she holds her hands out in front of her as if I have a giant tarantula on my forehead.

I squint my eyes, instantly relaxing my face as I remember that I can't crease the thin layer of makeup I have on,  "Um, alright?"

I hear the door open downstairs, and then sounds of male voices.

"... house decor..."

"... don't hate me ..."

"... what are you talking..."

I get up off Hannah's bed, tightening the bow at my waist and walking towards the door.

"Lucas! Who is it?" I ask simultaneously, walking down the corridor and hearing Hannah frantically chase after me with one heel on.

I get to the stop of the stairs, about to walk down them when I catch a glimpse of Lucas. And the guest.

My heart stops.

My smile drops.

Every hair on my body stands on end.

Because the source of all my problems for the past few years stands before me, a brown-haired, full-lipped, honey-brown-eyed Adonis with an expression just as shocked as my own.

Slater.