Part II - September
Vesper was usually an organised person. She always knew where her goggles were, although that's potentially because she had about ten pairs, and her homework was always on time. That isn't much of an achievement though, there's only so much one can do at 3am and even Vesper couldn't watch Lawrence of Arabia every day. She held the flashlight between her teeth and sat scratching out the responses to various equations most nights. However, she was beginning to get a new problem as August slipped away and September started to roll in. School had started again and that meant she had to get up and sleep at certain times, which was not her forte at the moment. She kept her nine alarms (one every five minutes) to go off repetitively every morning sirening through her brain until it kicked into gear. Unlike most teenagers of course Vesper's problem wasn't getting up, it was getting to sleep in the first place. When you already struggle with something it's common knowledge that focusing on it doesn't make it any easier. So, every night Vesper closed her eyes and lay there willing herself to fall asleep so she wouldn't be yawning all the way through third period the next day, and every night she felt like she was watching paint dry behind her squeezed shut eyelids.
When she did fall asleep her subconscious was plagued by a strange combination of equations flitting across the sky like sheep. It wasn't helped by the melatonin that always sent her dreams a little whacky. She fiddled with the end of her pencil in biology chewing on the tip as she tried to focus. One would think Vesper, deprived of her ability to sleep as she was, would be last person to fall asleep in class, but right now she was dangerously close to it.
Vesper blinked hard, forcing herself to sit up straighter in her chair as her head bobbed forward. Her notes, usually neat and methodical, had started to decline over the two weeks since school started up again and she almost entirely resulted to shorthand scrawl now. She jabbed the pencil's eraser against her palm in an effort to keep herself engaged but she was exhausted. The sharp poke only relieved her for a few seconds before her head started to wander away again to equations in the sky, equations and sheep, equations-
"Vesper!"
Once more, the universe's cosmic sense of humour giggled at her as it sent her the worst possible timing.
Her head snapped up, and she realised in a panic she'd been so distracted trying to stay awake, or attentive, that she had managed to miss whatever question had been thrown her way. Mr. Keating, her biology teacher, was staring at her expectantly. The rest of the class shifted in their seats awkwardly, evidently sensing her embarrassment and grateful they weren't the ones being called on.
Vesper cleared her throat, stalling for time as she wracked her brain for what Keating had just been telling them. "Uh… could you repeat that?"
Keating sighed. "I asked if you could explain to all of us what the mitochondria is or whether you plan on sleeping through the rest of my class."
A few snickers. Vesper felt her face flush. If only she had been sleeping.
Luckily the word mitochondria hit her like an activation term raises a sleeper agent from their slumber. "The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell," she said almost automatically. She thanked her lucky stars that the one piece of biology that had always stuck with her happened to be the microbe Keating pressed her about. Maybe the universe wasn't completely out to get her.
Keating gave her a long, hard look for a moment but couldn't pick a hole in her argument. "Correct, but I'd appreciate a little more attention on the board next time and a little less on your nap."
Vesper nodded vigorously despite wanting to correct him in a rather irritable tone that if she had been sleeping it would be a bloody miracle. She could feel the telltale prickle of heat creeping up her neck, a combination of embarrassment. Mercifully, Keating moved on, and Vesper exhaled turning her attention back to trying to keep her own powerhouse from shutting down.
The end of biology rolled around and as Vesper made her way to the door Keating gestured to her. She groaned internally; she was about to get another earful.
"You know Vesper," he said as she hovered between his desk and the door trying to adjust her backpack which was digging into her shoulders more than normal. "If you're struggling with class, we can make accommodations-"
"I'm not struggling" said Vesper quickly.
"It's just in class today-"
"I'm not struggling sir!" she snapped a little quicker than she meant to.
Keating opened his mouth to answer but she ducked out the door before he could get the words out. 'We can make accommodations,' so great, everyone must know now. Heaven forbid she have one aspect of her life where she was treated normally. She hurried down the hall as fast as possible her bag straps still digging into her shoulders, she needed a break.
Outside, the classroom the world was bright, crisp, awake. All things Vesper would've loved to be at that precise moment. September had barely begun, and yet she already felt like she was running a marathon with concrete blocks tied to her ankles. Like the weights she used to use to train at swimming.
'Accommodations.' The word rang in her head, like she was now the sort of person who needed accommodating, she'd never even needed an extension on an essay, she wasn't someone who needed special circumstances, she could handle this just fine.
Her face was still burning as she made a beeline for the nearest bathroom, shouldering the door open and leaning against the sink. She let out a sharp breath, gripping the cold porcelain like it was the only thing keeping her upright, realistically it was. Vesper glanced at herself in the mirror and took a few deep breaths. She knew Keating didn't mean any harm, he wanted to help her, but that was the point, wasn't it? The point was that someone had noticed – she had let herself slip and someone had noticed. She'd only been a little inattentive, so Keating asking if she needed help meant it was obvious, and if it was obvious then soon enough people would start talking. The last thing she wanted was pity from the support teachers at her school or, even worse, a concerned email home.
She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, there was a low hum of voices outside the bathroom door as the other pupils moved between classes, third period to fourth. She took a final breath and headed back out into the corridor on her way to math. What Keating thought didn't matter she reminded herself, it was going to be fine. No one was going to treat her differently unless she let them. Straightening up and walking at a brisk pace to blend in with the rest of the surge of students in the corridor she adjusted her backpack straps again and bit back a wince. The weight was relentless, but she could take it. By the time she reached her next class, the worst of the prickle in her neck had faded. She slid into her usual seat, tugging out her notebook as the late bell rang.
By the time fourth period ended she was desperate for lunch and a break. Although maths came easier to her that biology it still seemed to take it out of her when she needed to mull any problem over for an extended period of time. She knew her brain wasn't a muscle but when the dull sparks of a headache began to seep into her brain halfway through fourth period like tendrils of fog wrapping around her brain and choking the life out of her ability to solve equations she couldn't help but attribute the same drain she felt in her muscles to her thoughts. She ran her fingers through her hair trying to pull out the tangles as she waited in line in the cafeteria for a coffee. She hated to admit it, but as she handed across a few coins and clutched onto her coffee taking a few sips immediately ignoring the scalding heat like it was a crutch, she couldn't help but think back to what her mother had said about five days a week in college being too much. After all, if this was how she felt only two weeks into the school year, she was going to be in trouble.
Vesper was sprawled out on her bed, her notebook balanced precariously on her stomach, half-filled with equations that were starting to blur together. The numbers swam on the page, and she blinked hard, trying to refocus. The dull ache behind her eyes was getting worse, but she knew she was already late into the night and handing in homework meant maintaining her grade, it meant proving she was coping. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, lighting up with the now familiar alarm – cherry bomb by the runaways – one of her several meds alarm. She finished into her hoodie pocket and flicked open a packet of melatonin the way that other kids her age would flip open a packet of cigarettes. Her fingers brushed against a few crumpled coffee receipts, a pack of gum, and then the familiar blunt cardboard corner of a pill packet. Vesper shook the packet and nothing came out, she frowned and tipped it full upside down, a few empty blister packs fell out onto her sheets.
"Oh, come on" she mumbled in frustration and shoved her hands deep into her backpack. She sifted through loose pens, homework sheets, the odd snack wrapper that was going a bit soft – still nothing. Then it hit her. She'd forgotten to pick up her refill on the way home. She groaned, tilting her head back against the wall with a dull thunk. She'd been in such a foul mood after her run in with Mr Keating that she'd forgotten to pick them up on her way home from school.
Now she was out.
Vesper closed her eyes, willing herself not to panic, it wasn't the end of the world, after all she wasn't going to drop dead without them. Probably.
Her measly five hours sleep was already impossible most nights with her melatonin—without it? Yea, she was doomed. Vesper picked up her phone again and glanced very optimistically at the time: it was already past midnight. The pharmacy at the hospital was long since closed. She exhaled slowly rubbing her temples partially from the math doing her head in and half from her own stupidity. She would just have to deal with it tonight. She rolled over and tossed the useless empty packets into the rubbish bin across her room before flipping her notebook shut and flopping down on her pillow trying to keep her thoughts quiet.
Vesper lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying moments from the last two months. She remembered her teammate's words at the pool, 'see you back at training soon once you're all healed up.' The words dug at her like a cactus thorn embedded in her skin which you'd have to pry out with tweezers. If only it were that simple. If only she could just pry out the thorn, 'heal up,' and get back to normal. For possibly the first time, as she lay there on her back without her meds, Vesper realised she wasn't sure if she ever would be again. She clenched her hands in frustration around her bedsheets, she had to prove to herself that she could get back to normal. No matter what, if it took more than just pushing herself harder in training—if it took lying, pretending, forcing herself through every single doubt—then so be it. Suddenly, a rush of motivation flooded her, like a painkiller of adrenaline flooding her muscles and joints. She hadn't felt this wide awake in weeks
She climbed out of bed and made her way softly down the stairs, she would get to the pool, swim a few lengths, get her blood going, she'd feel better. She was almost out the front door with her goggles and her towel over her arm and her feet half pushed into her trainers when she clocked herself. It was almost 3am, her lack of melatonin had messed with her sense of time, the pool wasn't going to be open. All at once the energy that had filled her up like a helium balloon vanished, like someone had taken a pin to the balloon's shiny plastic, she felt so shaky she sat down on the foot on the stairs. After a few minutes of silent catching her breath, Vesper headed back up the stairs, put her swimming gear down by her bed and got under the covers. She flicked open her laptop and with a silent exhale of a sigh hit her spacebar to press play. The opening credits of Lawrence of Arabia began to roll.