Athena
I never knew breaking an arm was such a hassle.
I know things like these make the university's higher ups be all concerned about your well-being and your coping mechanisms when it comes to injury or disability, and they do whatever they can to lighten the load. Even with the perks the school gave me for the time being, this a pain in the neck.
Fitz and I were in one of the coffee shops off campus, doing whatever schoolwork needed to be done by the end of the day. While he was casually sipping his coffee as his dark eyes squinted towards the screen of his laptop, I merely stared at mine.
With only one hand, I was incredibly slow at a snail's pace when it comes to typing out all the words in my head. It was annoying how I type the words singlehandedly until I eventually forget what to put in next. In frustration, I hastily grabbed my cup of coffee to drink, but I was too rash and it ended up spilling all over my blouse.
"Fucking hell." I hissed, as I immediately put down the cup, and peered over what remained of the coffee. Might I tell you, it was not much.
Fitz shot his head up at me from the opposite side of the table, and only gave me a pitiful look.
"You want me to run all the way back to the dorm again, or?" he asked, trailing off.
Wiping off the huge, brown stain the coffee left on my white blouse with a moist tissue, I frustratingly shook my head at him and grunted.
"Nope. I think I could work with this, thanks." I said, harshly wiping off the stain.
Fitz watched me angrily battle this damn stain on my blouse. I mean, a small stain would be fine, but a stain the size of a fist? One that cascades down the middle of my chest like a spear went through me? Yeah, that's fun.
After a few minutes of scrubbing single-handedly, I groaned and took out a lavender cardigan out of my bag. It was a cropped version of a normal one, and I slid my good arm into one of the long sleeves, leaving the casted one hanging inside. I can't budge it in anyway.
At least I don't look like a spear pierced my chest or something.
"Go back to the dorm and change. That stain would be hard to get rid off once it dries and goes all crusty." Fitz told me, before turning his gaze back towards his laptop. He was working on something too.
I frowned and peered inside the cardigan I wore and over at the stain.
"If I do, washing machines would lose their potential. Besides, I need to get at least half of this done before the end of the week." I told him before I frustratingly started typing something before I ultimately delete them again.
I can't seem to get my thoughts straight.
"There's still a couple days before the week ends. Why not rest for a while? You seriously broke an arm. Profs would understand." he said, shrugging.
I deepened my frown and sat back into the soft, linen chair of the café we went to, my fingers tracing the edges where seams have been sewn.
"They would, but I wouldn't. I always go the extra mile for these. Broken arm or not, I'm getting this done." I said, subtly gritting my teeth.
Why does this frustrate me so much?
"Fine. What are you writing about anyway?" Fitz said, his shoulders slumped, knowing he couldn't convince me otherwise. He later stood up from his chair opposite of mine, and I watched him walk up to the other empty chair beside me.
I continued typing into my laptop angrily, the keys loudly clacking as I pressed.
"How I'll ban all bikes and throw them to the fiery depths of hell. How about you?" I said, before turning towards him with a wide smile.
For a second, Fitz looked uneasy, but it was easily replaced by a calm expression. At this point, I think he's starting to get used to me.
"You know, you could get someone to do things for you. Someone to type and take notes." he said knowingly, peering through what I have currently written on my laptop.
I sighed.
"No thanks. I think I could last 4 weeks without someone being forced to do things for me. I could do this by myself." I said, as I loudly pressed random keys, typing in gibberish into my laptop.
"Athena, I'm serious. Enjoy people doing shit for you. For free. Good things are always free." he emphasized, as he waved his hands around, pointing toward my laptop.
"No way. I can think better when I'm alone." I said, shaking my head as I continued typing gibberish. Hopefully, he wouldn't notice I don't exactly have concrete sentences and actual thoughts on my screen.
Fitz looked tired from keeping up with me, and I felt a bit bad inside.
"Fine. Lemme see what you're working on, then. How many pages have you written in the past hour?" he asked, as he leaned closer and took my laptop from me.
I hissed as he read through whatever the hell I wrote, and he stifled a quick laugh at it, before he looked at me.
"Less than a page. Not bad." he said, shielding his smile with one hand, with the other holding my laptop.
"At least I wrote something." I muttered, thinking back on the past hour.
I didn't actually write anything good, a few hours ago. I mean, there was an attempt, but I ended up playing those old, nostalgic dress up and cooking games.
Fitz looked at me knowingly, his curly head a bit lopsided as he stared at me behind those glasses of his.
Ha, he looks like a dad.
"You need someone to type for you." he said, handing me back my laptop.
I shot him a quick glare, before looking back at my screen, gibberish written all over.
"I don't. Now, could we please do that thing again where we go all quiet and pretend to be working on something? I need to beat a high score." I said, as I casually opened a gaming website and headed over to one of the games I played as a kid, and yes, a few minutes ago.
Fitz didn't look the least bit surprised as a cooking game popped up and started loading, and he sighed audibly.
"I heard the people over at the school paper are fast typers." he said, out of the blue.
What's with the people at the paper?
I was slightly confused. I didn't know Fitz knew anyone from the paper.
"So?" I said, with a quick side eye. The game's about to start.
Fitz seemed to be done with my shit, and he looked at me yet again, like how a dad would look at you; all weird and knowing.
"People who work on the paper are nice. Go ask them. Maybe they can even proofread, -- whatever you wrote and guarantee you a passing grade." he said, sitting back in his chair, grabbing his coffee.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
I don't need anyone to check my paper for errors.
"I don't need anyone to check this. I'll edit it later." I told him a bit too defensively.
Am I sure that I'll really edit this? Aside from the fact that I'm still on painkillers and I get a bit drowsy after taking them, I'm kinda decent at writing papers for school. It's not like they'll end me or something. I can still get back to this.
"Athena, there's a few typos and errors in punctuation. Even I can tell. You could use some help." he said, with a seemingly forced smile that looked a bit too kind.
"I don't think so. But thanks." I said, with a one-sided shrug, going back to my game.
Fitz smiled, genuinely this time. His dark skin contrasted greatly to how bright his teeth were, and weirdly, he looked less like his asocial self and more like someone who actually knew how to talk to people.
"I'm just saying. You could savor the perks while they last." he told me, before he patted my shoulder and stood up, going back to the chair opposite of mine where he had his things.
We then again shared our silence after that.
He worked on his reqs, and I just kept playing random games.
I could do this later,
but will I?
Fitz's words swam around in my head.
When I broke my arm and had it placed in a cast just last week, I immediately sent my professors an email, and weirdly, it reached the ODS, the office of disability services.
They told me I could have someone take notes for me, since I can't technically write with my dominant hand in a cast. I declined, and just told them I could just use my laptop for notetaking, and my phone to record the lecture in case I missed something.
They were nice about it, and what Fitz told me kept swimming around in my mind, I couldn't help but get his point.
This is just temporary, and why the hell did I decline the ODS' original offer of having someone write for me, for the time being? Now I have to keep up with written tests and use my nondominant hand to avoid failing.
I still want to go for Latin honors when I graduate.
I can't believe I'm saying this.
"Fine. I'll go ask them. But only if there's someone willing." I said, closing my laptop.
Fitz shot his head up, smiling once again.
He nodded, and clapped his hands together, sighing in relief, that witty bastard.
"That sounds awesome. You better head out, though. They don't have all day." he said, as he diverted his attention back toward his work, smiling now to himself.
I shoved my things into my backpack; the one I used since I started high school. Shoving in my laptop, notes, and pens inside, I didn't bother fixing them once they were in. They're just there, like earphones tangled all together.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll go. See you later?" I said, standing up, slinging my bag over my good arm.
"Yeah, sure. Of course. Go. Before it's too late." he said, widening his smile.
I don't know for sure why he smiles like that. He looks a bit weird when his smiles get that big.
He knows something I don't know.
But I couldn't care less.
I rolled my eyes at him and walked out of the café, going over to where the paper staff all hang out. It was easy finding where it was, since I vividly remember going through Owen's things, and among his university paraphernalia, were nearly a dozen maps and directories to find his way around campus. I remember having one, but I kinda lost it, I think.
Not soon after, I got there. I was a few steps away from the door that donned the school paper's name, and saw that it was wide open.
There's still people, I thought.
Walking slowly, with my hand gripping my bag, I walked towards the door, and noticed something stopping the door from closing.
I kicked it off to the side, not thinking about it too much. The staff might need peace and quiet if all they do is write.
I went in, and shut the door, jolting from where I stood at how loud it shut itself.
I looked around inside, and felt my breath catch.
There was no one around.
Except for one.
The person was behind a computer, looking at me with the same surprised expression, his cool, icy blue eyes piercing my brown ones. His dark hair was messy, the waves all tangled up together. The sleeves of his navy blue sweater were rolled up to his elbows.
He looked at me, then at the door, then back at me, his mouth opening and closing, as if he can't seem to phrase his words right. Confused, I turned back to the door, and then back at him.
We didn't speak, and we stared at each other, then back at the door, then at each other again. I don't know what to say, and he seems to be on the same page.
Not soon after, Owen let out a visible gulp, his light eyes still wide in shock.
"Athena, what did you do?"