it's funny bc i went to nursing school for a minute and now im a hairstylist so maddie and gansey really are my two last braincells working in unison

Chapter Five

We go through the whole week not seeing each other once. Maddie hasn't come home early since the first time, and I'm glad. I make sure not to get home until at least fifteen minutes after seven, just to be certain I won't run into her.

Today is my day off, which, only means, I either have to come up with a plan to stay out of the house until seven tonight, or stay holed up in my bedroom until then.

I check the time, it's 5:30 a.m. Luckily for me, Maddie is a workaholic like I am. She had mentioned previously that she's never home, and often picks up shifts even on her days off, so that works out well for my anxiety.

The less we see of each other, the better for us both. I don't want her to think I'm incapable of taking care of myself, so if we never talk, she never has to find out anything about me.

Though, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in her story, or why she has so many locks on her bedroom door, or how she gets irritated if I say the slightest thing that resembles an apology.

I don't know how to talk to her, so it's better we don't talk at all.

The salon is closed today, or else I'd ask to come in. The salon is usually closed on Sundays, but we are still allowed to take in clients if we book them. I just don't have any clients that require a sudden booking.

I drink my coffee in silence. All evidence that I had eaten has been washed and put away. I don't like having dishes or any food out for Maddie to see and assume I'm some slob. I had told myself I was going to up my caloric intake today, just today, to boost my energy for the rest of this week, but now that today is actually here, I have no motivation to do so. 

I can't come up with a plan for today quickly enough, and as I'm sitting at the table, my coffee now room temperature, the front door swings open, and Maddie walks in.

I clench my coffee cup, and I don't know why I feel like I have to physically brace myself for her to lay her eyes on me, but I do.

My body feels stiff, like I'm about to embrace a literal punch to the face. 

She walks in, her short pixie cut half in her eyes, half messy like she had a long night. Her scrubs are wrinkled, and she had deep, dark circles underneath her eyes like she hasn't been sleeping.

Her eyes land on me, like she's actually surprised to see me, and that was the punch in the face I was waiting for. I feel like I just ruined her morning routine. Does she wish I was somewhere else? It's too late to run and hide in my bedroom like a coward.

Her face quickly recovers though, and she actually drops her bookbag that she always takes to work with her, on the floor, and plops down at the table with me.

We are sat opposite of each other, facing each other, and I don't know what to say or where to look.

I stare at the dark coffee in my cup, and listen to her sigh, knowing she's clearly exhausted.

"You off today?" She asks me, and her voice prickles my skin. I don't know why it does that. I feel unhinged around her. I feel out of place. She always asks so many questions. She always wants to know why I'm doing something, and I don't like giving her reasons and explanations as to why I do the things I do because my reasoning for doing the things I do only makes sense to me.

"Yeah." I say and I hate how quiet my voice comes out. Why am I so afraid? I have no reason to be afraid, but still, she makes me feel small.

Still avoiding eye-contact, I see her nod slowly out of the corner of my eye, "Any plans today?"

Small talk, this is just small talk. She just trying to be nice after a week of not seeing each other. 

"Not really."

"I get that." Her voice softens like she's trying to calm a terrified puppy. It is degrading. I'd rather her be irritated with me. "I'm off tonight, so I don't really know what to do either."

"I don't do much on my days off."

"Honestly, me either, that's usually why I pick up shifts."

I nod, not really sure what to add to the conversation without admitting I have no friends, no social life, and pathetically no one to do anything with.

I don't realize just how hard I'm clenching my coffee cup, until the flimsy glass snaps, and suddenly coffee is all over the table, and dripping down onto both my lap, and Maddie's.

We both jump up, "I'm sorry!" I apologize at the same time as Maddie says, "Shit!"

Luckily for the both of us, the coffee isn't hot.

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed some towels, smothering the puddle of black liquid with several of them. I feel humiliated for ruining Maddie's clothes. Coffee stains are impossible to get out. 

"I'm really sorry, Maddie." I apologize again when she also grabs some towels to help clean up. "I don't know why I wasn't thinking."

"Gansey."

I don't notice her staring at me, as I continue, "I'll pay for new work clothes for you."

"Gansey." Suddenly her hand is around my wrist and she hold my hand up. 

Her touch surprises me so much I have to swallow a gasp. It has been genuinely years since someone has made effort to actually physically touch me that wasn't just for casual sex with a stranger, and the feeling ensnares me.

I finally look her in the eyes but her eyes are narrowed, and her features look stern, "Look at your hand." 

My gaze drops to my hand, and I see blood. A lot of it. too. So much blood, that it's dripping down my wrist onto her hand. 

So, that is why she reached out to touch me. She's a nurse after all, she experiences stuff like this for a living.

Still, it was a lot of blood, and I was so nervous about making her angry that I felt nothing. 

She slowly turns my hand over to inspect the wound, and that's when we see a piece of glass still lodged into my hand.

Her focus was that of an experienced nurse. 

"Sit down." Was her immediate orders, and I do what she says, despite not feeling nearly as much concern as she was. She moves to the kitchen to fetch something, and I only stare at my hand.

The pain wasn't strong, perhaps my pain tolerance is high, or perhaps, hurting myself, despite being uncomfortable, is accompanied by a feel of comfort. I don't like pain, I just like the mental relief when I get when I feel it.

I grab the piece of glass, and begin to yank on it right as Maddie comes back. "Don't!" She yells right as I pull it out.

Blood pours out of my palm, and it drips red down onto the towel I had set on the table. I feel slightly dizzy as I feel a pounding in my hand, like my heartbeat was in my hand, and the thought makes me nauseous. 

This is precisely why I choose not to cut myself.

She sits at a chair right next to mine, and without asking for permission she grabs my hand to roughly that it captures my attention away from the pounding and the thought of my heartbeat. 

"Are you fucking insane?" She scolds, "That could have been lodged in a fucking vein."

She sounds angry. I like her angry rather than pitying me. 

"It's not that bad." I say, though I don't really know how bad it is because I'm not a nurse.

"Not that bad? You're looking pale again."

I fight back the urge to give my usual excuse that I'm always pale. I probably should have eaten more today. My lack of food was not helping this situation.

She has with her a medical kit, and immediately she's splashing some sort of solution on the gut that burns. The sharp pain it gave me makes me slightly wince, not necessarily because it hurts, but because I wasn't expecting it.

"Maddie, really, you don't have to do this." I gently try to pull my hand from her grasp but her grip is tight on my wrist.

"Just shut up and let me bandage this. Guarantee I'm better at it than you." She really does not sound happy.

I watch her intently. She has a clean towel and is gently wiping away the excess blood. Her soft touch burned more than the actual cut. Alarm bells are going off in my head, but I feel almost hypnotized by the fact that another person wasn't just touching me, they refused to stop touching me.

I sneak a glance up at her face, she doesn't notice I'm looking at her, as she is too focused on my hand. Her eyes showing her concern and concentration as she slowly wraps my hand in gauze. "You should probably get stitch-" Her voice cuts off, as her eyebrows sink lower. Her hands have seized what they are doing.

Confused, I look down at my hand, wondering what it was that had cut her off, only to see my sleeve had slightly pulled up, revealing several inches of my bruised arm. 

I panic, quickly pulling my hand away from her so hard, it slips from her grasp. I'm already standing, and taking a step back from the table. "I'm fine." I quickly try to recapture the moment, "I'll wrap my hand up myself. You don't need to worry about it. You do enough of this kind of stuff at work, you don't need to be doing it in your home as well." I nod towards the table, "I'll clean up the mess too." I'm talking so fast I can barely focus on what I'm saying.

She's staring at me now, and her expression is so dark, so full of an emotion I can't pinpoint. I fucking hate it.

I quickly grab the bloody towels off the table to throw them in the laundry room. I don't say anything to her, and she says nothing to me as I go to my bedroom and hide in it for the rest of the day.