5 Days Before the Party - Kathryn

Morning light spilled through the half-closed blinds, washing everything in a tired grey. The warmth of it didn’t touch her. Not today. Not after that dream.

Kathryn’s eyes blinked open, and for a while, she just stared at the ceiling. There was no rush to move, no desire to start the day. Her pillow was damp from sweat, or maybe tears—she couldn’t tell. In the dream, she’d been standing in the middle of a vast, empty field, strange dark flowers growing like weeds around her feet. Their petals were velvety and wide, deep as ink, with curling edges that looked bruised. They didn’t sway in the wind. They watched.

She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t even confused. She just stood there, still and blank, as the petals slowly folded inward and bled down the stems like open wounds.

She didn’t bother brushing her hair before dragging herself out of bed. The mirror in her room got only a passing glance. No makeup. No effort. No point.

Downstairs, her foster mom tried—like she always did. “Would you like to eat breakfast with us this morning, sweetheart?”

Kathryn stood at the base of the stairs, rubbing her wrist absently. “I don’t care either way, I guess.”

Her foster father looked up from his coffee with a tired smile. “You doing okay? You didn’t say much last night.”

She didn’t respond. Just grabbed her bag and walked out the door.

The bus ride was as loud and claustrophobic as ever. Chatter, squeaking brakes, thumping footsteps—each sound felt like a pinprick against her skin. She kept her eyes low as she walked down the aisle, past kids who flinched or turned their shoulders away. One girl even stood, gripping the metal bar rather than sit in the empty spot beside Kathryn. She saw it. Felt it. But it didn’t sting. It was a relief.

She hated being touched.

Instead of focusing on the moving scenery outside the window, her eyes drifted to her wrist. She hadn’t even noticed what she was doing until the stinging hit. A faint scratch bled in a precise curve. Then another. She watched, detached, as her nail dragged again, slowly carving a shape. A petal. Just one. Neat. Quiet. Controlled.

When the bus jerked to a stop outside the school, she pulled her sleeve down and walked into the building.

Class was a blur. The smell of cheap floor cleaner and paper, the dry heat of the radiator, the way her desk wobbled slightly whenever she shifted her weight. It all blended together.

Until someone touched her.

It wasn’t much. Just a guy trying to grab the pencil she hadn’t noticed fell off her desk. His hand brushed hers—light, accidental.

In less than a second, her grip had snapped over his wrist.

The boy gasped, eyes going wide as the pressure increased. He tried to yank free, but her grip tightened instead. She could feel the strain in his tendons, the sudden panic in his shallow breaths.

“K-Kathryn, hey—I was just—sorry!”

The words registered slowly. Kathryn blinked, like waking from a nap. Her hand released him with the same detachment she’d used to grab him in the first place.

The classroom had gone quiet. Eyes were on her. She hated that.

“Just… don’t touch me,” she said flatly, voice low, monotone. Then she turned back to her notebook.

Inside, she felt the pulse still thudding in her hands. Not from adrenaline. Not from fear. Just… pressure. Like something deeper had shifted without warning.

She looked down at her notes.

A flower.

Drawn right there in the margins without her even realizing. The petals were wide, almost sharp at the edges, and stacked in tight, overlapping layers. The kind of bloom that looked like it belonged in a funeral arrangement, dark and heavy and somehow wet.

She closed her notebook and waited for the bell, staring out the window.

The sun was out, so why did it feel as if the abyss in my mind was growing?

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