Forgetting

I had no idea what I did on the Fourth of July. But whatever it was, I knew it was serious. Because that night, I woke up with blood on my hands.

"Wake up, cheeky," Adelaide mumbled rather lazily. "Gym practice today."

"Oh yeah..." I croaked. Gym was good, but I hated my coach. I was only in it for the Olympics, and my meagre amount of friends, Tatiana, Blythe and, of course, Adelaide. People seemed to distance themselves from me because I was feisty and I could get angry easily. I slipped out of bed and stepped into the icy rain room.

"Stale bread or stale bread?" Adelaide laughed at the dining table. If it weren't for her, I would probably have killed myself already.

"Hmm, hard choice," I mocked, tapping my finger on my chin. "But I choose neither. I'm going to talk to Freya." I hated Freya. My previous coaches were much nicer, and praised me, instead of pushing me. Adelaide raised her eyebrows, obviously thinking this meant trouble. Whenever I talked to Freya we ended up fighting.

"Don't worry," I smiled. "It's not like I'm going to kill someone!" And given the next circumstances, this was a little bit ironic.