The suffocating darkness of the hallway pressed in on her, the low hum thrumming through her skull like a migraine waiting to happen. Dolores jolted upright in bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips. She gasped, chest heaving, as the remnants of a nightmare clung to her like cobwebs. Grimstone Institute, the shadowed corridors, the relentless pulse in the walls – it all flickered behind her closed eyelids.
Shaking off the disorienting dream, she reached for the lamp on her bedside table, bathing the room in a soft glow. Disappointment washed over her as she took in the familiar surroundings of her bedroom. No sterile white walls, no flickering fluorescent lights – just the comforting mess of her own room.
A groan rumbled from her throat as she rubbed a hand over her forehead. It felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to her skull. Her stomach churned unpleasantly, a wave of nausea rising in her throat. Memories, hazy and fragmented, started to seep back through the fog. The party, the music, the sweet, sickly punch… and Axel. His tall figure looming over her, his mocking smile. The punch. A jolt of icy dread shot through her. Spiked. They'd spiked her drink.
Anger simmered alongside the nausea. Axel. It had to be him. He wouldn't miss an opportunity to mess with her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. Had she done anything stupid? Said anything she shouldn't have? A panicked whimper escaped her lips.
Pushing herself up in bed, she snatched her phone from the nightstand, squinting at the screen. Monday morning. 8:12 am. She was late. Late for school! A groan of frustration escaped her lips. Why did they have to throw a stupid party on a Sunday night? So much for a relaxing weekend.
The dull ache in her head throbbed with renewed intensity. With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, resigned to facing the aftermath of a night gone very, very wrong.
A frantic Dolores clattered down the stairs, her arms fumbling with her black tie as she tried to wrestle it into place over her school uniform. Reaching the bottom step, she skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with Alistair, who stood in the kitchen talking to Mrs. Johnson.
"Alistair!" she exclaimed, exasperation lacing her voice. "Where did you disappear to last night? You left me stranded at that party!"
Alistair blinked, looking genuinely confused. "I thought you were with Nadia and Chloe," he replied.
Dolores sighed, frustration bubbling over. "Well, I wasn't! Thank goodness you dropped me off then." She mumbled the last part under her breath, a disquieting feeling gnawing at her already pounding head.
Dolores groaned, frustration bubbling over. Muttering a curse under her breath, she checked the clock again. "Late, late, late! We're going to be late for school!"
Alistair's frown deepened. "Dropped you off? Dolores, I didn't drop you off."
The room seemed to tilt slightly as Mrs. Johnson's voice piped up from behind the counter. "Nonsense, Alistair. A nice gentleman brought Dolores home."
"A gentleman?" Dolores echoed, her voice barely a whisper. The fragmented memories of the night before offered no clear answer. Who could it have been?
Another voice, dripping with a familiar brand of snark, cut through the tension. Melissa, leaning casually against the doorway, smirked. "Oh yeah, she was practically glued to the guy. I have to say, Dolores, you do have good taste in men. Hot, kind of mysterious… totally out of your league." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Alistair's frown deepened, mirroring Dolores' own. "Melissa, shouldn't you be at school too?" Dolores snapped, her patience wearing thin.
Melissa rolled her eyes. "Coming, coming, Miss Perfect Attendance. Just had to catch up on the latest drama first."
Mrs. Johnson chimed in again, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. "He was very charming, that young man. Red hair. Quite the gentleman, seeing you home safe and sound."
Red hair? Ivan! The realization hit Dolores like a cold wave. But how did she even meet Ivan at the party? Her memories were a jumbled mess, the spiked punch clouding everything. A wave of panic washed over her, a horrifying realization sinking in. She didn't remember how she got home, and worse, she didn't remember what she did or said while she was intoxicated. This was a disaster.
Mrs. Johnson bustled over and placed a glass of water and a couple of aspirin on the counter next to Dolores. "Here you go, dear," she said, her voice laced with concern. "Looks like you've got a bit of a headache."
Melissa couldn't resist a jab. "Looks more like a hangover to me," she snickered. "Must have been quite a party, Dolores. Maybe a little too much 'fun' with your red-headed mystery man?" Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and malice.
Dolores winced, rubbing her temple as a throbbing pain intensified behind her eye. The fragmented memories of the night before were like shards of broken glass, cutting through the haze of her pounding head. She desperately wished she could rewind time, to piece together the missing moments and erase any foolish things she might have said or done. The guilt gnawed at her, a sour taste in her already churning stomach.
~
The car screeched to a halt in front of the imposing stone facade of Grimstone institute. Dolores, barely containing her nausea, practically flung herself out of the passenger door before Alistair could even unbuckle his seatbelt. She didn't wait for the usual synchronized walk to the school doora, the need to escape the confines of the car and the suffocating atmosphere of the morning overwhelming
As she hurried towards the entrance, Dolores felt the familiar disapproving gaze of Mr. Hemlock following her every move. She forced a smile, but it felt strained and unconvincing even to herself. Reaching the relative safety of the empty hallway, she slumped against the lockers, the throbbing in her head intensifying with each passing second. Basketball practice later was looming on the horizon, and a twisted part of her almost welcomed the physical exertion. It might be the only way to confront the looming storm – Axel.
Suddenly, the world tilted on its axis, and Dolores stumbled forward, bracing herself for a painful impact on the cold, linoleum floor. A strong arm shot out, catching her just before she could hit the ground. She looked up, her blurry vision slowly focusing on a pair of familiar ginger eyes.
"Ivan?" she breathed, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.
"Dolores," he said, his voice laced with a hint of surprise. He subconsciously took a step back, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features.
"Oh," she stammered, her cheeks burning with a mix of shame and confusion. "Thank you… for dropping me off last night." The gratitude felt hollow on her tongue, an inadequate expression for the situation.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the throbbing in her head to subside. "I… I don't really remember what happened last night," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. Panic gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. Had she done something stupid?
Ivan's gaze flickered over her face, lingering for a moment on her bitten lower lip. He cleared his throat, the sound echoing awkwardly in the quiet hallway. "There's not much to remember," he said finally. "I just found you… indisposed… and took you home."
"Oh," she breathed again, the weight of his words settling heavily in her stomach. "So, I didn't… do anything… stupid?" There was a desperate plea in her voice.
He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Not that I know of." The words offered little comfort, but they were all she had to go
Dolores forced a smile at Ivan, a touch strained at the edges. "See you later," she mumbled, her mind already racing with the possibilities of what transpired the night before. With that, she took off down the hallway, her pace quickening as adrenaline coursed through her.
The squeak of sneakers on polished wood echoed as she burst into the gym, her basketball jersey clinging comfortably to her damp skin. A few students were already there, dribbling balls and stretching, their easy camaraderie a stark contrast to the turmoil within her.
Dolores clutched the basketball in her hand, a silent weapon against the rising tide of anxiety. Her gaze immediately darted towards Axel, who stood near the free throw line, talking with another student. His back was to her.
A slow smirk spread across Dolores' face. This wasn't just about basketball practice anymore. This was payback. Payback for the thrown ball, the relentless teasing, and most importantly, the spiked punch. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the familiar weight of the ball in her hands, channeling her frustration into controlled aggression.
With a flick of her wrist, she launched the ball across the court. It arced through the air in a perfect parabola, finding its target with a satisfying thud. The ball bounced off Axel's shoulder, sending him stumbling forward with a surprised yelp.
"Yo, douchebag!" she called out, her voice ringing with a newfound confidence.