Chapter Text
Lottie was bored. She was in the nurses office, meant to be sleeping, though something about the fluorescent lights shining through the thin curtain into the dimly lit room she was in kept her awake. Or maybe it was the uncomfy bed, or the suffocating silence broken only by the soft sound of her own breathing. She sat up, thinking to herself, letting her feet dangle from the bed as she slowly swung them back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Lottie had come here on the excuse of a stomach problem, something the nurse knows all too well to let her ‘rest’ for. Lottie could handle it, of course, but she found herself terribly annoyed with the classroom environment and didn’t fancy going out into the chilly wind of New Jersey for recess, so in the nurses office she was. Sitting, waiting until she got bored enough to go back. The nurse hardly questioned her, she’d done that once and gotten a firm talking to on account of Lottie’s mother, who cared for her dearly.
The door opening and sound of footsteps shocked Lottie into pretending to be asleep once more, hoping the old cots in the nurses office wouldn't make so much noise to give her away. She found herself holding her breath, until another young girl walks to the only other cot in the nurses office, sitting down and looking over at Lottie. She doesn’t make any move to lie down, just sits. Lottie sits up to face her now, noticing a large piece of gauze taped across her face. She looked about Lotties’ age, 8, and Lottie pondered at how she seemed so calm. The girl doesn’t cry, she doesn’t scream or even give any hint that she was in pain. She sat there, dazed, as deep red blood soaked into the gauze.
“What happened to your face?” Lottie asks, staring at the gauze.
“I fell.” The girl responds.
“Why?”
“I dunno.”
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.” The girl says. She stares somewhat absentmindedly at Lottie.
“What’s your name?” Lottie asks the girl.
“Natalie. But people call me Nat. You?”
“Charlotte. But people call me Lottie.” Pause. “I have a stomachache.” Lottie explains. “Sometimes food makes me sick. My mom says it's because I have bad thoughts.”
“Like what?” Nat asks.
“Bad thoughts.” Lottie explains.
“Like about dracula?”
“About stomachs.” Lottie says.
“I have bad thoughts about Dracula." Nat says, seemingly thinking about Dracula.
“Yeah.” Lottie agrees.
“Blood tastes funny. It tastes like fruit.” Nat says.
“It does not.” Lottie says. Nat doesn’t seem to care much.
There’s a brief silence between them, and Nat looks absentmindedly around the room, before bringing her attention to the dried blood on her hands. Lottie watches the gauze on Nat’s face for a while, before her attention moves to the rest of her. She had pretty blue eyes and dark hair, pale skin and an odd feeling of intensity to her.
“Have you ever cut your face open?” Nat finally asks, looking at Lottie.
“No.” Lottie says.
“I get cut all the time by accident.” Nat says.
“I like the nurses office.” Lottie says. “It’s quiet and dark.”
“I had a stomachache when I went and saw the movies.” Nat says, looking at Lottie more intensely now.
“I like the movies.” Lottie says. “Except when I go outside and there’s sun.”
“I had three big sodas.” Nat says. “And I had gummy worms. I like to swallow them like real worms.” Nat adds.
Lottie ponders how she feels about this. She’s not all that fond of worms.
“Why do you have so much blood?” Lottie asks, pointing to the gauze on Nat’s face.
“Because I fell.” Nat says, rather unhelpfully.
“Why’d you fall?” Lottie presses. She’s fallen plenty of times with less blood.
“I rode my bike off the roof.” Nat admits.
“What roof?”
“This roof.”
“The school roof?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Nat pauses, thinking a bit. “I was playing Evel Knievel.”
“Whats Evel Knievel?”
“He’s a motorcycle guy.” Nat says. “Thats how I broke my face.” Nat points at the gauze.
“Your face isn’t broken.” Lottie says. “It’s just cut.”
“The nurse lady said I broke my face.” Nat says.
“Does it hurt?” Lottie asks again.
“One time I went ice skating with my mom, and I fell on the ice and this girl skated by me and her skate cut my eyelid open and I was bleeding out of my eye.” Nat says. “I couldn’t see because off all the blood.”
“Did it hurt?” Lottie asks.
“No, because the eyelid is small even though there is a lot of blood.” Nat says. “I have a scar on my eye. But girls don’t get scars.”
“Yes we do.”
“How come?”
“If you rode your bike off the roof, then how did you get the bike on the roof?” Lottie asks, ignoring Nat’s question.
“I climbed up a tree.” Nat explains.
“You took your bike with you up the tree?”
“Yeah.”
Lottie pauses, baffled. “Why?”
“So I could ride it off the roof.” Nat shrugs.
“And then you rode your bike off the roof?”
“Yeah.”
Lottie couldn’t believe how unbothered Nat was. The gauze on her face was reaching a deep red now, and Nat still hadn’t even cried.
“You’re stupid.” Lottie concludes.
“I am not.” Nat says.
“Yes you are.” Lottie says.
“Shut up!” Nat says.
“You shut up!”
Nat doesn’t clap back, simply looking a little upset now. More upset than she ever did with her face cut open. Lottie felt bad, for a moment, her hands getting fidgety in her lap. She slowly took a breath, before looking up at Nat again.
“One time, I threw up because I had a stomachache and I threw up so bad that my eye started to have blood in it.” Lottie says.
“Why?”
“Because I threw up so hard and so there was blood in my eye.” Lottie shrugs, as if that would explain it. Nat makes a small ‘hm’ noise.
“Did it hurt?”
“No. But it was red.” Lottie says. “I have a sensitive stomach. The doctor told me. Theres an angel on the roof.”
“No there’s not.” Nat says.
“Yes there is. Its a statue.” Lottie says. “Are you going to the doctors?”
Nat nods. “To get stitches. I like to get stitches.” Nat says.
“Why?”
“It makes your skin feel tight.” Nat says.
“Does it hurt?”
Nat nods. “Yeah.”
Lottie stands, wandering around the room a little.
“This room is like a dungeon.” Lottie says.
“What's a dungeon?” Nat asks.
“It’s a room in a castle. It's where people languish.” Lottie explains.
“Oh.” Nat says, not fully knowing what languish means.
“The rest of the castle is loud and has bright lights and flags and hot oil because of wars. But the dungeon is where people can go to languish and get peace and quiet.” Lottie tells Nat.
Nat stares for a moment, before her hand shoots to her face. “Ow!”
“What?” Lottie asks, concerned.
“My face hurts.” Nat says. “I broke it.”
“You did not. It’s just a cut.” Little insists. Before pausing. “Can I see it?”
“What?” Nat asks, confused.
“Can I see the cut on your face?” Lottie repeats.
“Why?”
“Can I?”
Nat blinks at Lottie, confused, but slowly raises her hand to the gauze, pulling it off slowly and revealing jagged, large gash stretching from her forehead to her nose. Lottie stares at it in silence.
“Does it hurt?” Lottie asks, finally.
“A little.” Nat says again.
Lottie stares at the cut on Nat’s head. Nat stares at Lottie.
“What happened to the blood in your eye?” Nat asks.
“It went back into my head.” Lottie says. They continue to stare at one another. “Can I touch it?”
“Why?”
“Can I?”
“Okay.” Nat agrees.
Lottie approaches Nat, bringing her fingers to the cut on Nat’s head. “Gross.” She comments.
“Your hands are cold.” Nat says.
“Its because I wash them a lot.” Lottie says. “You should wash your hands, they’re grimy.”
Nat shows Lottie her hands. “I fell. There’s pieces of rocks in them.”
Lottie kneels down, grabbing Nats hand gently, and starts picking small pieces of gravel that were embedded in Nats palm.
“Ow.” Nat says, quietly, gently.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.” Nat replies. She stares, transfixed at Lottie, as Lottie continues to grab small pieces of gravel from Nat’s palm.
⋆.˚✮⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺✮˚.⋆