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One of the first days back - after hospital visits, and many long, late night talks where she spoke what she felt she could share - Tulip gets ready for the day like she usually does.
Wake up, glasses, brush tee-
And that’s where the first problem hits, because while she could do the mundane task without looking, the mere fact that she even can’t throws her off.
Her reflection is gone.
“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.”
She shrugs it off, already used to the unusual; her hair does give her a bit of a problem, because the routine of standing in front of a mirror is obsolete when one can’t see one’s self, and even if she usually can do this without her reflection, trying to do so with the knowledge that there’ll never be a reflection throws her off further.
She shrugs even though she can feel the uneven tilt of her ponytail. She’ll just. . .have to adapt.
Her mom gives her a funny look, but doesn’t say anything - Tulip is already racing out of the house and to the bus.
After all, school won’t wait.
“Girl, What is up with your hair? It’s leaving more than the tower of Pisa.”
“Oh, shut up,” Tulip says with equal playfulness. She gives Makayla a shove that gets the other girl laughing.
Luckily, Makayla drops it after that, though it does make Tulip feel a little guilty. She knows that Makayla blames herself partially for Tulip’s disappearance all those months. She’s been . . .quieter around her friend. Softer. Tulip misses the fiery spats they’d have, purely playful.
But she supposes that it’s not only Makayla who has changed. Especially when Tulip still dreams of glowing numbers crawling up her skin, a smug feline shadow prowling, eyes burning with hot white fire, the sharp yip of a dog dyi-
The train is with her in more ways than one.
(She swears that the first number still glowing on her hand, 113, and it feels of nothing where it’s branded in, even though she knows it’s not there.)
Tulip pulls herself out of memories still tugging, and quips with less venom and more playful sass than she would have in the past.
And Makayla laughs, and she’s laughing as well, and all is fine.
“Uh. . .what are you doing?”
Tulip feels embarrassment crawl up her neck, hot itchy. She pulls herself up and tries to shrug it off, casual. “What? They’re a noble breed.”
Makayla just blinks, the look in her eyes the same as her parents; one that says, ‘that was really strange for you specifically, and you've been being strange lately but I don’t want to upset you so I’ll let it go’.
And she’s thankful for that, especially when Makayla’s mouth quirks into a smile, and she drops her own elegant bow to one of the neighbors Corgis that’s being walked across the street.
“Never knew that, Tu. That’s cool to know.”
Tulip rolls to face the wall and clutches a pillow, hugging it. The house is too still, when compared to the constant movement of the train.
(No matter how stable the cars were, she could always feel the train moving. Forward, forward; momentum trying to shove her back.
was it a feature of the train? Did it have to do with the numbers and struggle to get home?
did she miss it?-)
She considers asking her mom if she can get a dog. Thinks about her mom’s long hours. The shortage of money. Reconsiders.
Besides; it would probably he insulting to Atticus, knowing that one of his people weren’t free but a pet.
Even if she treated such theoretical pet more like a friend. It would just feel . . . wrong somehow.
These thoughts led back into a circle of wondering about her friends. Was Atticus and his kingdom okay? Was One-one safe? How was the Cat faring? Amelia?
She might be overall in a better place, mind-wise, since the train. But it had left its own imprint and turmoil with her.
Eventually, with a sigh, she starts to drift off. There’s nothing she can do now, anyways.
It’d be better in the morning.
“Better‘n the . mo. .rnin’. . .“