The Infirmary
Niamh couldn’t even bring herself to say anything to Madeleine, mumbling about the salve and leaving.
The news about her ankle was good, but Madeleine still felt a sodden, sopping misery in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breaths and trying not to cry anymore. She thought about – anything, anything at all. What worked best was going through dance routines in her head, concentrating on the steps one by one, pretending as if she were really doing them in her mind. Just now that didn’t feel so good; it seemed to set her ankle throbbing and swirl her a little deeper into misery.
Madeleine was crying a little again when Niamh returned; not sobbing, this time, just sitting on the cot with tears sliding steadily down her cheeks. Now that she had started she didn’t think she could stop; her mind skidded from topic to topic, refusing to hold onto anything, always returning to her own overwhelming emotions. Niamh thrust another handkerchief at her, looking as if she had to force herself to smile. Madeleine took it with a whispered thank you and nodded faintly in response to Niamh’s question. The touch on her ankle hurt too, and more tears leaked from her eyes. Madeleine didn’t even understand where they were coming from; she thought she ought to have cried all of the tears already.
Niamh asked if she was all right. Madeleine flinched when the older student cut herself off, embarrassed and ashamed. She knew she couldn’t control her field; it was hard for her at the best of times, and right now it was entirely out of her control, her field shifted deep blue around her, throbbing and sodden with her tears, orange tendrils of embarrassment and shame weaving through it. Madeleine sniffled, drowning in misery, too far beneath the surface to realize how different Niamh’s tone was from what she heard in her head.
And then Niamh stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Madeleine, holding the little golly close.
Madeleine tensed, caught off guard and somewhat shocked by the sudden contact. She sniffled again. Outside of dancing, and contact like being helped to the infirmary, Madeleine couldn’t think of the last time anyone had touched her like this. She couldn’t think of the last time anyone had hugged her. She thought – maybe – her grandmother, the week before Madeleine’s ninth birthday, just before she had died. Madeleine had gone to see her, in her sick bed, and her grandmother had opened her arms and Madeleine had leaned in to hug her; she had smelled awful, Madeleine remembered, but she had smiled anyway, and Madeleine had kissed her papery cheek and she had said –
Madeleine began to sob anew, and this time she couldn’t have swallowed the cries back even if she wanted to. She wrapped her arms back around Niamh, pressed against her, and cried until she thought she might be sick. The deep blue color drained slowly from Madeleine’s field as she sobbed out all the pain and misery in her chest, until all that was left was a tired, drained, hurting little girl, her face curled into the space beneath Niamh’s shoulder, sniffling weakly. She shivered a little, faint tinges of orange-shifted embarrassment swirling through her field and fading away, too relieved to concentrate on the negative emotion for long.
Madeleine sniffled again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered the words into Niamh, trembling faintly. “It just – it hurts,” Madeleine was fully aware that the explanation wasn’t anywhere near sufficient; she wasn’t sure how she could possibly explain. She didn’t have the sense that Niamh was mad at her anymore, which was nice. The hug had been nice too, very nice, and Madeleine, when she had relaxed through her embarrassment, was conscious of a deep sense of gratitude.
Madeleine’s arms were still around Niamh, and it was only now that she realized how much she was pressed up against the older girl. Madeleine sniffled again, pulling back a little to sit back against the pillows of the cot, looking at the big wet spot she’d left on Niamh’s dress, blushing a little. Her face had been – it hadn’t really occurred to Madeleine to notice, but now that she saw the wet spot she realized how close to Niamh’s chest she had been, awkwardly between her shoulder and front.
Madeleine rubbed at her face with the back of her arm, all pretense of being grown-up gone. “I’m sorry,” she said again, meaning it differently this time. “It’s okay – I’m not – I’m not a lesbian, so it’s okay,” The words were Madeleine’s best attempt at explaining that she hadn’t meant to be near Niamh’s chest. She looked hopefully up at the older student. There was no judgment or anything negative in her field, only a childish sort of innocence, well-meant.