SIX

★Kiara★

"Just gotta make it to Friday" Is something I would tell myself almost daily throughout the entirety of my middle and high school years. Back then, that was a false statement because even when I'd make it to the weekend, I couldn't be free. I wasn't able to relax, or do what I wanted to do. I was a robot. It's why I have so few memories of those years. They've all just blurred together.

It's Thursday now, meaning I have just one more day until the weekend. And this time around, I've actually made plans for myself.

I'm going to go shopping on Saturday. I need a new mouse for my laptop, scissors, another binder, and another mascara. I'll probably just go to Target.

I'm walking up to the third floor now. When I was 6, my dad and I got stuck in an elevator for hours. I've tried to avoid them since.

When I get back to the dorm I notice Lucille hunched over at her desk. I'm a little late today since my last lecture was quite literally on the opposite side of campus.

I see that she's biting her nail. "You shouldn't bite your nails." I tease as I fully walk in, throwing my bag down beside my bed. "Especially considering you have acrylics..."

She doesn't answer. Or react in any way. Maybe she has earbuds in, I can't really tell. Oh well. I suppose I'll mind my own business for now.

★★★

I've finished all my urgent homework. I have an essay due, but I didn't bother starting that. It's not due until next Wednesday.

It's nearing 6:30 PM, so naturally I'm hungry. I rise from where I've been sitting for the last two and a half hours, stretching. Lucille has moved to sitting on her bed, still working on her computer. She looks anxious. I shouldn't ask...

I go into the kitchen, searching for something to make. I find that all the Mac and Cheese has run out. Damn. "How the hell is all the Mac and Cheese already gone?"  I figured I could say something light to perhaps draw her focus away from her presumably stressful thoughts, or to piss her off and thus distract her.

She doesn't respond though.

"Wow. Silent treatment. How mature." I'm expecting a reaction of some kind, but she gives nothing. I shouldn't push it, I suppose.

I settle for making a box of pasta. I bought that considering I know how to cook it with my minimal culinary knowledge. I'm thankful we have a proper oven, also provided pots. We really lucked out with this dorm.

When it's done, I've definitely made too much for myself. Whether that's intentional or not, I'll never tell.

"Hey, Lucille." I attempt to draw her attention, and it actually works this time. She looks over at me. "Do you want some? I made more than I need."

She looks like she's considering for a moment, then stands. "Nah." She begins to slip her shoes on, though struggling with her laces. "I'll be right back." She says hesitantly before leaving the dorm.

This is weird. Too weird. She's not annoyed with me for throwing my bag on the floor, or for some other minor thing. Something is wrong. But maybe she's going to see her friends now. Maybe they'll cheer her up.

It's really not my place to ask, but when I see anxious people, it makes me anxious, and then I want answers. Or just reassurance. But it's really none of my business. She hates me. She's made that extremely clear. Bleh. This sucks.

I save some of the pasta in a tupperware container, then pour some marinara sauce on the serving I kept for myself. Penne is the best pasta, and that opinion will never change.

★★★

It's 9 PM and Lucille isn't back yet. We exchanged numbers yesterday, so I decide to reach out to her. "Are you going to be back tonight?" I ask. Maybe she did decide to spend the night with a friend.

After a minute or so I see that the message has been read, but she didn't bother to reply.

I shouldn't be this worried about her. Especially since she's supposed to despise me, and I'm supposed to piss her off. But unfortunately I'm too empathetic for that right now.

I try to relax, laying back in my bed under my dark covers. To the surprise of many, I'm not one for staying up until ungodly morning hours. I cherish sleep.

Yet right now I cannot seem to.

And then suddenly I hear a beep. And then the sound of the door opening. I sit up immediately as Lucille walks inside. I flick on the lamp on my nightstand, I can see that her eyes are red and glossy as she walks in.

I'm not sure what to say right now. I doubt she wants me to say anything. She passes by her desk, looking down at it. And then she just freezes.

"Lucille—" I stop myself as she leans on her arms against the desk as if to hold herself up.

I stand up from my bed. "Are you..." I'm about to ask if she's okay, but I think I already have my answer for that. "Can I help you right now?"

"Stop talking." She says, speaking through gritted teeth. Her voice quiet.

I take a step or two closer, but don't invade her space. "Lucille, I—"

"If you want to be helpful," Her words and breath are quivering, "Stop fucking talking." Her voice breaks slightly.

I sigh. I move to sit down on the edge of her bed, just a foot from where she's leaning against the desk. I can hear her trying to breathe calmly. I just sit quietly, hoping to provide some form of silent comfort.

I glance over for just a second, seeing a tear roll down her cheek.

"Just focus on your breathing. That's what matters right now, okay?" I say softly.

A few minutes go by. She doesn't seem to get any worse, thankfully. I see stand up a little straighter, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Sorry." Is all she mutters, glancing to meet my eyes for a second.

"I have many sarcastic comments I could make right now, but I would much rather ask—are you okay?" I consider reaching for her hand, but refrain.

"I'm fine, yeah. Sorry." She repeats. Turning her head away.

"You don't look fine." I counter.

"Then stop looking."

I do look away, figuring that it would make her more comfortable generally. I take a small breath. "I may not be particularly fond of you, but I promise I am not heartless." I pause for a moment. "I won't make you talk about it, but I'll listen—and refrain from peeving comments—if you want to."

"I don't want to talk to you." She says firmly. She's now leaning on crossed arms over her desk chair. She doesn't look at me.

"Okay. Do you have someone you can talk to?" I don't want to leave her alone with her own thoughts in her state.

"What the hell do you care? Go back to being annoying please. I don't want your fucking pity." She snaps. I hear her breathing picking up again.

"Take a breath..." I tell her, looking away again. I want to give her a hug, or at least a pat on the back, or something!

As much as I'm sure she wants to do the opposite of what I say, she takes a few deep breaths.

"I was genuinely worried about you because you were just on the verge of a panic attack and you've been off since this afternoon." I explain. "I'm not pitying you."

"It's none of your business." She deflects.

"Okay." I try to be understanding. I'm probably the last person she would want to talk to right now. "Listen, I'll leave you alone for now, but take it easy for the night, alright? And I will quite literally be just a few steps away if you would like to vent."

Lucille nods stiffly. I stand up, going back to my own bed. I watch as Lucille finally sits down on her bed, pulling out her phone.

Then she stands again, walking towards the door. "I'll be right back."

"Wait—where are you going?" I ask. She probably shouldn't run off for three hours again.

"Just the hall. I'm gonna call my dad."

I nod, and she leaves. I lay back in my bed. I wonder what the hell happened. It must've been something during her classes—she seemed okay this morning—but what? I know practically nothing about her. Maybe she just gets random spikes of anxiety... She never seemed like much of an anxious person. Until now, obviously.

It's probably personal, but I want to know. I want her to be okay. Because if she's not okay then who will I have to annoy? Also I don't like when people are sad. It makes me feel bad when I'm feeling sad too because, generally, they have it worse.

I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight. Just make it to Friday I say. But Friday is about to be a long day.