Chapter Text
Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. All Bloomie knew was Hate. Hate for failed experiments, failed students, her loss of an arm, the cold mechanical limbs replacing it in a mockery of her past.
Hate for the weak woman in the mirror who cries from blood. Hate for the woman in the water’s reflection who takes the life of failing students. Hate until the word feel numb, her body moving of its own accord. Everyday follows the same schedule.
Awake. Her eyes, open.
Awake, her body still, wanting to be cold.
Awake, eyes dry of tears, lidded. Wanting to never get up.
Awake, memories of past cycles in her mind.
She stood in the blood. Bloomie stood in the gore of children. What stands in the mirror is not a person. She knew well of her wicked ways.
Hate, awake, asleep. The hours blurred into a mess, a torrent of hallucinations and machinations, schemes and drunken tantrums.
The lights don’t turn on today. She hasn’t paid the bills. There will be calls. Of friends, of power, of aid. She gets to her feet. Bloomie cannot waste anymore time. Her clothes, wrinkled from being tossed to the side, cling to her body in ways she had once prayed to be held. Everything in the house, in sets of 13. She cannot dwell on her favorite number, the woman stumbling, sprinting. Chased by whispers, chased by children no longer. Chased by herself.
The sidewalks are cracked and icy on the way to school, her sharp legs sending cracks spider webbing across the surface. The few people taking her route parted like the red sea, crossing the street and whispering when she seemed to be far away.
Bloomie always heard all, her ears instinctively angling towards the voices.
She’s at school now. The murmurs of children fill the halls, the nooks and crannies of her mind, jumbling up the already frazzled nerves. The semi-filled hallways seemed to taunt her, the student population smaller than in the beginning of the year.
Vision swimming, Bloomie wouldn't have even been able to tell where she was going, had she not plunked herself face first into Miss Sasha. The artistic woman let out a soft grunt, arms reaching to steady the wobbly scientist.
“Oh my! Are you okay, Flora?” She questioned.
Bloomie couldn't focus, the words in one ear and flying out the other. Her body almost molded into the taller woman, a weed clinging to a tree, roots digging into the bark and whimpering for pity, a mangy dog who desvered to get shot.
“Hello?? Miss Bloomie?” Her voice was tinged with more worry, warm hands sliding up to cradle her back.
Her lids drooped, lidded as the world went fuzzy. Not even her bed was as warm and plush. Like a ragdoll, her body went limp, lifeless save for the quick rise and fall of her chest. Her shadows, the creeps of the corner, seemed to cease in their dauntless torture.
She could tell mIss Sasha struggled to keep her upright. Deep down, she knew that her complaining of “being so short” was frankly preposterous, being the third tallest in the school. Yet the arms that held her never faltered, her feet rising from the ground as she was carried.
The science teacher's breathing evened out, letting herself be taken to the staff room like a tearful child, caring little for the gazes that followed them.
Flora soon couldn't stand it. How dare she, fall apart when the school hasn't even started? To be put back together by some woman she was practically dependent on?
Sasha was going to fucking scream. This two ton bitch of a woman was digging her TALONS into her skin, tucking her nose under the other’s chin.
She could barely take a right position, rushing to the staff room. The second she relaxes they're both toppling to the ground, and by god she wouldn't STAND or SIT for another 9/11 joke. Students pressed against the lockers, the walls, to avoid the woman on a mission, her hazardous warpath nearly punting a smaller student.
Curses flew from her mouth like a particle accelerator went though that one dude’s head, practically gibberish to the average, sane individual.
Her shoes thumped against the floor, skidding to a stop before the staff room. She panted and heaved, legs wobbling. “Hooey…hah…okay.” she put Ginormica down, unsure on her next move. “God…I should get Circle or Thavel.” Sasha reasoned to herself. Making her way to stand, she tiptoed to the door.
Before she could make any progress, she felt a tug on her sleeve.
“Look at me…look at me…please…” bloomie weakly begged, pleased with Sasha with a terrifying intensity. “Look at me…I'm here…look…”
Her mumbles became rants, cries until Sasha relented, dropping to her knees to be pulled into the scientist's arms.
Well… now what?