She cries, heartsore when she loses her man to another girl, but she doesn't shed a tear when he is set to be sacrificed.
Despite being a friend of Emily, she doesn't even pretend to notice her absence now. And when she finally discovers the flower that announced Emily's death, she cries about Sadie's stepmother's passing instead, all for the sake of establishing a new friendship to replace the old one.
In truth, she sheds tears but only for herself, and then she conveniently dries her beautiful eyes on the shoulder of credulous people, and they seem to love her for it. That's how Sadie thought of her.
Cynthia rubbed the side of the apple, making it glisten in the light, then took a hearty bite. She felt happy and abit self conscious when she noticed Sadie, who rarely smiled, watching her with a satisfied expression. Cynthia instinctively brought her hand up to cover her mouth before speaking to Sadie.
"You shouldn't dwell on the sadness, I'm sure that your mother would've wished you a life full of laughter."
"Adoptive mother," Sadie corrected her. "And I doubt she'd share your sentiments, her favorite saying was, 'He who laughs much in life will weep for eternity.' "
Sadie's tone carried a hint of repproach, Cynthia swallowed the insult, conceding to criticism.
"You know, I'm aware that I can be clumsy with my emotions sometimes. I suppose we are alike in that regard."
"We are nothing alike, Cynthia." Retorted Sadie, "You focus on problems that are petty."
"Smaller grievances are easier to get to grips with," Cynthia revealed, hesitant if she should say more. Sadie narrowed her eyes, clearly listening to her with augmented interest.
"I preoccupy my feelings with what you consider irrelevant to repress the more hurtful moments." Cynthia continued.
"There is no escape from suffering." Sadie declared bleakly.
"But If I must be in pain, then I'd rather suffer with an exhausted heart and emptied tear ducts."
Sadie was silent, unconvinced that she is genuine. Which agitated the heart of Cynthia, causing her to reach for Sadie's hand, delicately clasping the tips of her fingers.
"I have a fear of losing a parent, it's why I've sat in your desk, it's why I've..." Cynthia's shaking voice trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. Sadie gave her soft hand a reassuring squeeze, in an effort to prompt her to continue.
"Sadie, when I've hugged you before, I've meant it as a way to offer my condolences, but I suppose I tend to shy away from truly sentimental moments, they often leave me feeling melancholic and morose... somewhat similar to how you perceive life."
"I do not see la vie en rose, but I'm not bitter. I am realistic." objected Sadie, as she subtly slipped her fingers away from her grasp.
"Realist, are we? You're a doom-monger," teased Cynthia, her voice filled with her usual playful sarcasm. Sadie couldn't help but wonder how Cynthia would describe the peculiar lizard stranger who had fervently preached about the impending end of the world to her. But her thoughts were interrupted once again by a smiling Cynthia.
"Someone will always give you a reason to be happy, and you were mine today." She twirled the apple in her hand as her hazel eyes crinkled with a spark beneath slightly raised brows.
"You have a beautiful smile," Sadie admitted. "It makes my day more tolerable."
Cynthia was taken aback by to the unexpected compliment.
She subtly turned away from Sadie, a faint blush creeping on her cheeks as her brown hair gracefully fell around her face.
She was not timid, but hearing Sadie who was normally reticent and bashful towards her, whisper sweet words of her smile had driven her wordless. Cynthia, now at a complete loss for words, contented herself by rewarding Sadie's kindness with her lively smile.
Sadie basked in her naivety , It was not hard for her to admit her thoughts to a girl who will soon be changed for the worse, if she even survives what awaits her. Cynthia will soon experience the reality of life. But for now, all that Sadie could think about was how comely she looked. They locked eyes for what would have been considered an awkward time under other circumstances. Then the bell rang.
As the other students rushed to class, Cynthia subtly averted her gaze, regaining composure. Then she started heading to the front where she's always sat. Caroline cast a disdainful glance in Sadie's general direction as she entered the room, and Sadie busied herself by arranging some papers on her desk before hearing her name on the lips of Cynthia.
"Sadie," called Cynthia, pausing midway and turning to glance back at her. "I'm glad we had this talk."
Sadie nodded, trying to ignore what just happened.
Mr. Waltson entered the classroom, wearing a smoky gray shirt beneath a dark blazer that complemented his neatly pulled back white hair. He arranged his bundle of books in a ziggurat on the table before starting with a greeting.
"Hello class, It's a sad sight to see half the desks empty. Those in the back, please come forward and take your friends' places, they won't be needing their desks anymore."
"What do we do with the flowers?" A student asked.
"Just whisk them to the floor, consider it as a metaphor, that their souls are as free as flowers blowing in the wind, may they rest in peace." He performed the sign of the cross with a hasty sweep, then said. "Now open your books at page 37."
Sadie opened her literature book to distract herself, trying to distance her mind from sensitive thoughts. But she got startled when she heard Sir Wiltson speak her name.
"Miss Sadie, you cannot stay in the back like that. Please come forward to the second row, and take Emily's seat." The entire class turned around to look at her, she did not feel like being the center of their attention so she picked up her bag and dragged herself to where Emily used to sit.
The subject was about character traits and how to form a strong narrative, but Sadie could not pay attention. She has spent most of the period sneaking glances towards an oblivious Cynthia. She observed her straight posture, how the uniform collar rested on her slender neck, how her ear, which was dotted of a gold piercing, quivered when she didn't undertand a sentence.
At one point Cynthia raised her arm high up to ask a question, which caused her tucked shirt to slightly raise, revealing fair skin. and Sadie felt a need to stand up and go fix her uniform for her. "What is wrong with me?" She thought. "Is it caused by guilt? Why am I sweating so much."
Her heartbeats were palpable, her lips dry. She was awaiting the moment Cynthia would transmogrify, searching for any hints of a transformation. But Cynthia kept getting more alluring the more she stared. "What animal being would Cynthia hybridise into?" She wondered.
"Perhap a lilac-breasted roller," she mused, because of her affinity for talk, and because Sadie could glimpse the side of Cynthia's bra from the wide opening of her white t-shirt's sleeve, and it was Lilac in color.
But soon, darker thoughts pervaded Sadie's thoughts, and she worried that Cynthia would deform into a strange creature. That her attractive features would become grim, that her mind would become so disturbed she'd wind up chained in a strait jacket in a bid to restrain her from peeling the skin off her face.
Or maybe it won't work at all, lizard man said it only works on major sinners, maybe she doesn't deserve it." Sadie reassured herself, hoping that she hasn't ruined such a pretty vizard.
Sir Waltson pointed his finger right into Sadie's face, addressing to her a question, "Sadie, if you were a character in a novel, how would you make the readers care about your fate?"
"By not being an Emily," Sadie thought, but wiser words prevailed, and she has found herself describing Cynthia."I'd hide my faults, and display my best side to the world. I'd be light-hearted and delicate, focusing only on tenants which the readership finds attractive. And most importantly, I'd smile often, even when nobody's reading."
A perceptible agitation happened in the class as students traded smirks and mocking glances because of her answer. Even Sir Waltson was noticeably amused, "You are far from that description, Miss Sadie, what would you advise the author to do in your case?"
"I'd tell him to throw his book in the trash!" Sadie yelled, before storming out of the class. She held unto the wall as she ran, her vision blinded from rushing tears. Then she took shelter in the P.E's men's locker room, with no fear any boy can come disturb her.
Alone, as she should have always been, as she deserves to be. But trouble likes company, and a group of girls barged in on her as she was sitting cross legged on the floor, brooding against the wall.
"You think you can sit in Em's place with no repercussion, freak?" Asked one of the girls.
Sadie was too tired to defend herself, she did not answer. The girls surrounded her from three sides, one of them punched her in the eye, Sadie did not budge. So they took turns in breaking further, pummeling her entire being with their limbs.
Cynthia was searching for Sadie in the halls, anxious to check in on her. She heard the commotion and decided to enter the locker room. Upon seeing the sight of Sadie being beaten up by the group, she ran and shoved the students, causing herself to fall inbetween them, a second victim.
The odds were still against them, but Sadie became animated as she saw one of the attackers trying to hit Cynthia in the back. So Sadie leaned unsteadily on a locker's rack to stand up and neutralise her. But her punch was countered, and both Cynthia and Sadie found themselves at the mercy of the bullies.
After the girl group had their fun with them, Sadie and Cynthia were left half-conscious on the cold hard floor, their uniforms wrinkled and torn in many places. Sadie held Cynthia in her embrace, guilt thumping through her entire body as she hugged her tightly. Cynthia pulled her arm out of her torn shirt and laid it on the shoulder of Sadie to comfort her. They were both exhausted and breathless.
Sadie stared in the serene hazel eyes of her friend, and traced the curves of her open mouth. She was beautiful, even when injured. And Sadie kissed her hard, many times, starting from her cheek, then imprinting her kiss on her bloody lips, hoping that the poison would spread to her own lips and that they'd share the same fate.