Marta sat at the edge of the sorority common room sofa, the laughter and chatter of her sorority sisters echoing around her. She sipped her drink, quiet. Marta hated her ho in Poland and even her dorm, so she decided to join a sorority. For all intents and purposes, the place was hoy. They had their own chefs, a house mom, and everything there could possibly be to make her feel at him.
Yet never once was that the case for her. Was it her accent? Her accent, a soft lilting Polish, set her apart every ti she spoke. It wasn’t like they outwardly hated her, there was just...a vibe and with that vibe ca the thought that she was an outsider. Outsiders didn’t belong. Outsiders should just speak proper English. Outsiders should leave. That seed of thought had rooted itself inside her and now...
Now she felt alone.
"Hey Marta, can you pass the glass?" one of her littles, Jessica, asked with a bright smile.
Marta handed over the glass, forcing a smile. She wanted to speak. She...just...couldn’t.
"Thanks!" Jessica took the glass and turned back to her friends, who were giggling about sothing Marta hadn’t heard. They included her in their requests and greetings, but not in their conversations. It was always the sa – polite on the surface, but she could feel the distance in the halls and common areas.
She was her little too. Marta should have been the one that was comfortable and being sought after, not Jessica.
She got up. Marta had to get up. Feeling more like a ghost than a mber, Marta left the common room. She walked up the stairs, passing groups of girls who quickly fell silent when they saw her.
As she opened the door to her room, she overheard laughter. Marta stopped.
She clenched her fist and felt flesh. ’Why are they always laughing at —!?’
Marta woke up in her bed, the sunlight streaming through the curtains. "A dream..."
Her eyes were closed shut. ’Forget, forget, forget...!’
There was nothing sacred in her. This life, her past life, she was a failure every fucking ti. She spent three years in Arica, trying to speak and learn about a language she loved since she was a kid—and was rejected. Called a stupid, mumbling idiot. Left alone.
Three years in that country, graduating faster than she should have and then coming back ho to Poland to do graduate’s school because she didn’t know what else to do. She was good at math so she pursued it. Her parents never said anything. They had to be disappointed.
"They had to be..."
Marta opened her eyes, grumbling. She tried to stretch, but pain shot through her body. She winced, the aches in her phantom limbs forcing her to dial back the morning rush. Twitch by twitch, she pushed herself up, her prosthetic arms and legs feeling heavy and awkward.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, tal touching the floor, Marta took a deep breath and put on her glasses. "One step at a ti," she whispered to herself. "One step at a ti."
Breakfast was waiting for her on the side-table. Quietly, Marta put the plate of waffles onto her lap and began eating. The sound of chewing was her sole companion.
"Kazi hasn’t visited," Marta murmured. "Must be busy with a gate."
Done with her food, she put the plate back and sat cross-legged on her bed. The tal of her legs was uncomfortable to say the least. Cold and dark and unbearably heavy. She put them back down on the floor, accidentally kicking a book away. She sighed. Sprawled on the floor were textbooks and novels, all recomnded by Kazi. She looked away from her ss.
In Arica, Marta had double-majored in English and computer science. She was never sure whether she liked it. Sotis, when she solved a problem or did good on a test, she smiled and reminded herself that this was worth it. Other tis, when she was alone or wasn’t in the mood to study, she wondered what the hell she was doing.
The books Kazi gifted her were fresh and would help her with keeping the bad thoughts away. She wasn’t sure if she wanted that. She didn’t want to read. She wanted to reject everything. She just...
Was there anyone for her to lean on?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sensation. The air shimred slightly and then Elena appeared in the room with a tray of freshly baked cookies.
"Oh! Hi, Marta." Elena’s voice was gentle and the sll of chocolate turned the gentleness into sothing almost aggressive and tempting. Marta’s cravings kicked in. Because of Sun-young, she was starting to think more and more about sweets.
"Hey."
"Don’t touch !" Marta didn’t think, her arm simply reacted and slapped aside the voice. tal t flesh and she heard a loud thud. She didn’t bother looking. She didn’t want to. When she did, her heart stopped. She had made a big red mark on the woman’s cheek. "I-I’m sorry," she stamred. "I-I didn’t..." It was her left eye, she couldn’t see and judge. She just...she just wanted to smack her hand, not her face!
Elena lay there for a mont, holding her cheek. For a second, she glared up at her—
Marta focused, tal hands folding in front of her and tal feet touching the floor. She swore she saw Elena’s eyes flicker with an emotion. Fear? Oh god...
"I brought you so cookies." Elena’s smile was warm. Marta desperately hoped she was just seeing things. "Thought you might like a little pick--up."
"Thank you," Marta murmured. More than anything, she wanted to apologize for hitting Elena last week but she couldn’t find the words. She wanted to reject the world and drown herself in the darkness. At the sa ti...
Marta wanted to drink in the precious air. She wanted to escape this hell she created for herself.
Elena pulled up a chair and sat down. The cookies were on her lap. Smiling, she handed it over to Marta.
"Good?"
It was very soft. Marta nodded and said, "Mhm."
"I’m glad. You know," Elena chuckled and as though she were her mother, starting yamring about her day. "Today at work, a family ca in. The parents and their three children, all boys. They argued a lot about which to get."
Marta listened. It was the least she could do.
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