ring around the rosie // erras x lovie

   
        ↳ E R R A S                                                      

Bright winter morning, snow singing in the air, and I clear my throat viciously as I walk past a group of laughing children. Their joy evaporates quick. I watch them scurry off like little vermin. Run and take your laughter elsewhere. God, why am I so bitter betty today?

Oh, yeah, it’s because I burned my throat off with whatever poison Farrah brought last night. Awful. I would say she was trying to murder me if she wasn’t busy with already doing that to Farrah.

I curl my arms tightly around my sketchbook, pull it closer to my chest. The dull ache of a hangover in my temples combined with the still-smothering anger towards fuckin’ Bailee was not making today a good morning for designs, marked by how I had drawn the same dress over and over again – trimmed neck, frock sleeves (barf), and a long train. Like, um, basic? If everyone saw that drawing and took it as an paradigm of my artistry, I would throw myself off a cliff.

I stop by the dining hall for two cups of coffee.

Gawking about, there’s not much of a crowd here, although I think I catch a glimpse of Kaine in one of the innermost tables, alone. I’d say hello, but I am late. Have fun with your whatever, dude, I have to go and meet my girl.

The path to the greenhouse is one of my most favored ones because you see the building after you smell it first. Walking up, the air suddenly turns from crisp hoarfrost to the flowery ghost of spring, lilies and lilacs, petunias and roses, and all so entirely Lovie. I take a sip from my cup as I nudge the glass door open with the tip of my shoe and before the coffee can go down, arms overwhelm my wonderfully petite frame.

I gulp the hot liquid down. “Trashed.” I slump down on the bench next to Lovie, crossing my ankles and handing her the other cup of coffee I brought, sweetened to an excess. The old saying ‘you are what you eat’ applies to her, but not me. If I was what I ate, I should be sweet as well. Clearly that isn’t happening soon.

“I had to skip even Moxen’s class today,” I huff, visibly upset. He is one of, if not the only, hot teacher in this awful institution.

I shoot a look at Lovie. “We really deserved that,” I say, and there’s a quiver in my tone I do not smooth out. With her, the pretense does not matter and does not exist. In front of Lovie, I can truly be the raw and exposed wound I see myself as, weeping ugly blood. “I am going to the fuckin’ Capitol one day, Lovie, and I am going to get so popular that I’ll tell everyone to collectively ban the name ‘Bailey’.” My hand reaches out between us towards hers. “Plus, I’ll make you a new dress every day.”